An American turns sixty-five, or moves to Europe already past it, and runs headlong into a decision that Medicare presents badly and almost nobody prepares them for. Should they keep paying for Medicare Part B, at more than two hundred dollars a month, for coverage that will not work where they now live? Or should …

Americans understand, deep in their bones, that salt makes sweet things better. It is why salted caramel took over dessert menus, why chocolate-covered pretzels exist, why kettle corn is addictive. The salt-sweet contrast is one of the great pleasures of eating. And yet Americans mostly confine it to candy and dessert. Greeks apply the same …

On a Sunday afternoon in America, a familiar ritual plays out in kitchens across the country. Someone cooks a large batch of chicken, rice, and vegetables, then divides it into a row of identical plastic containers, one for each day of the week ahead. It is efficient, organised, and, to much of Europe, faintly baffling. …

The produce section is the first place a visiting American gets it wrong, and it happens within thirty seconds of walking in. Someone reaches for a tomato with a bare hand, gives it the practiced supermarket squeeze, and a nearby shopper glances over. In much of Europe that squeeze is the tell. The rule is …

A family sits down at a restaurant in Seville, orders lunch, and asks for water. A waiter brings two large bottles of mineral water and, at the end of the meal, adds them to the bill: several euros for water that came out of a factory. The family pays without thinking, as tourists do across …

Walk through Paris, Rome, or Madrid in the middle of August and you will notice something strange: half the city seems to have gone home. Neighbourhood restaurants have handwritten signs in the window reading closed until September. Bakeries are shuttered, the corner shop is dark, and the streets where locals live feel oddly hollow. Europe, …

An American checks into a charming hotel in Florence, unpacks, and heads to the bathroom to wash their face, reaching for the small square washcloth that is always there. It is not there. That night they pull back the top sheet to get into bed, except there is no top sheet, only a duvet. And …

Stand near the sunscreen wall of any Spanish farmacia in July and you can watch the phenomenon in person. The wall itself is impressive, a floor-to-ceiling display of ISDIN, La Roche-Posay, Avène, and Vichy that gets prime real estate in even the smallest village pharmacy. The phenomenon is the American tourists in front of it, …

Picture a single American retiree who traded a mid-sized US city for the Spanish coast, and now rents a two-bedroom apartment in Alicante for six hundred and fifty euros a month, roughly seven hundred and ten dollars. Back home, that figure would not have covered a small one-bedroom, let alone left anything over. Here, it …

Say the word pesto and most people picture one thing: the bright green Genoese sauce of basil, pine nuts, and Parmesan from the north of Italy. But travel to the far western tip of Sicily, to the port city of Trapani, and you will find a different pesto entirely. It is red, not green. It …

An American walks into a bar in Rome, orders an espresso, and glances at the price list. The same coffee appears twice, at two different prices. One column says something like €1.20, roughly $1.30. Another says €3.50, about $3.80. Same cup, same beans, nearly triple the price. It looks like a mistake, or a trick. …

The waiter in Barcelona brings the card machine, and as an American taps their card, the screen offers a choice: pay in euros, or pay in US dollars. Relieved to see something familiar, the tourist presses dollars. The transaction goes through, the amount shown looks reasonable, and they hand back the machine feeling savvy. They …