Lifestyle
The New American Travel Anxiety: ‘Will They Hate Us?’
As Franck Verhaeghe and two friends planned a March trip to Mexico City, they plotted out not only where they would stay and which museums they would visit but also the language they would speak: French. “It’s not that I think it’s unsafe for Americans,” said Mr. Verhaeghe, 65, who lives in California, but “I can imagine people there aren’t very happy with us. So my friends and I decided that on this trip, we would all just speak French to each other.”
Two months into his second term, President Trump has set off panic in Europe about the potential collapse of alliances; inspired boycotts of American products in Canada; heightened tensions between Denmark and Greenland over the island’s independence; and prompted protests in Istanbul and Panama over the possibility of U.S. territorial expansion.
His proposals are also making some Americans reconsider their travel plans.
Behavior adjustments
Since the inauguration, some agencies are noticing a drop in sales for international travel by Americans. Tour operators are fielding inquiries from customers concerned about how they will be received abroad. The risk management company Global Rescue recently conducted a survey that found that 72 percent of “experienced” U.S. travelers expected Americans to be less welcome abroad this year.
The nervousness does not seem to have translated into widespread cancellations, but social media and travel forums are filled with Americans asking variations of “Will they hate us?”
Christine Bauer, a New Hampshire retiree who is planning a trip to France, asked travelers on a Rick Steves’ Europe forum for insight into how the French were responding to American foreign policy changes. A few days later, she grew more worried when “Trump and Musk began insulting NATO and allied countries.” She and her husband haven’t made any changes “at least for now,” but they are “hoping that travel doesn’t become more unsafe.”
Vicci Jaffe, 68, has second thoughts about an excursion to Berlin this fall. Her concern stems not only from the rise of the far right in Germany, but also from political changes at home. “How will I be regarded while in Berlin?” she asked. “At the very least, I am embarrassed, but also now afraid of retribution or violence.”
Some people, including Mr. Verhaeghe, who is traveling to Mexico using his second, European, passport, are adjusting their behavior. Cheryl Carlson, 63, a Chicago educator, plans to reveal her nationality ahead of time to the owners of the accommodations she and her husband will be staying in during a trip to Canada “to make sure our presence would not cause a small business to feel uncomfortable hosting us.” Peter Serkian, 60, who travels to Canada twice a month from Farmington Hills, Mich., pays in Canadian dollars, not U.S. dollars. “I try to hide that I am an American,” he said.
Feeling spooked
Those measures are preventative; none of the interviewees for this article have actually experienced anti-American sentiment. But the nervousness is taking its toll. Cameron Hewitt, content and editorial director for Rick Steves’ Europe, has seen a dip in guidebook sales, “literally starting the day of the inauguration,” he said.
Lisa Wirth, an owner of Ataxito, which offers tours to Oaxaca, Mexico, said that some prospective guests are feeling spooked. “We had several American travelers decide to cancel our February weeklong tour, either because the travel partners they had planned on traveling with backed out due to concerns regarding safety in Mexico or because the current administration and their anxiety around it caused them to pause any trip decisions in the short term,” she said. Others are postponing because of “concerns regarding inflation and job losses.”
Jack Ezon, founder of Embark Beyond, a New York-based luxury travel company, had a client cancel a trip to Mexico. “They were doing a birthday-party trip and had booked out the whole hotel,” he said. “But this was right after the whole tariff thing, and their security team said, ‘Don’t go, there’s anti-American sentiment, it’s going to be too dangerous.’”
That fear has not been borne out in the experience of other clients, said Mr. Ezon, who added that bookings to Mexico have rebounded. And sales to Europe are booming. “Ever since Covid, the recovery from crisis is a lot faster,” he said.
It’s hard to pinpoint the cause for travelers’ unease. Plane crashes, tariffs and stock market instability have contributed, said Jeff Roy, executive vice president of the tour company Collette. “We’ve been a little bit behind for the last four to five weeks from what we were producing last year at this time,” Mr. Roy said. “There’s so much swirling around right now, it’s really hard to know exactly what’s causing the change.”
What Mr. Roy describes as “mild trepidation” is playing out more in nervous calls than in cancellations. And because many bookings are made far in advance, he’s not too worried about this year. If the uncertainty continues, he said, “I don’t know about 2026.”
Unexpected interest
A few destinations have experienced increased interest since Mr. Trump took office. After he said that he wanted the United States to “buy” Greenland — one of The New York Times’s 52 Places to Go in 2025 — the Greenland tourist authority said it was seeing evidence of “piqued curiosity about the destination.”
The new attention has had a similar effect on Panama, whose canal Mr. Trump has said he wants the United States to reclaim. Carlos Ivan Espinosa, the owner of Panama Canal Tours, said his company has experienced a significant increase in bookings by U.S. tourists. “President Trump’s declarations,” he said, “are awakening curiosity.”
That isn’t to say there haven’t been protests against American rhetoric, notably in Canada, where citizens have objected to Mr. Trump’s tariffs as well as his expressed desire to turn the country into “the 51st state.”
But those protests aren’t directed against American individuals, said Donna Salter, a retired journalist in Vancouver. She, like many Canadians, is swearing off travel to the United States for the duration of this administration but welcomes Americans. “We love Americans and we also love the American dollar, especially now,” Ms. Salter said.
Not all foreigners are receptive. One TikTok user in Scotland told “MAGA tourists” that they are not welcome, and a farmer on the Danish island of Bornholm terminated an agreement he had with a U.S. travel agency to receive tourists in his home for coffee and a chat. “I would feel ridiculous if I had to discuss democracy with representatives of such a government,” Knud Andersen, the farmer, told the Danish broadcaster DR.
On a trip to Italy, Rebecca Andersons, of California, and her family had a taxi driver whose criticisms of American politics started with Ronald Reagan and ended with Mr. Trump. Ms. Andersons told him they were “too young to vote for Reagan and actually are Californians who voted for Harris.” Apparently forgiven, they later found themselves singing along with the driver to “Volare.”
Other Americans are adopting tactics designed to deflect criticism, like answering the question “Where are you from?” with their state’s name. Sue Rook Nichols from California ordered buttons off Etsy that read, “I didn’t vote for him.” She plans to wear them on a trip to Europe.
The tactics may not be necessary. Mariana Hamman, who owns a tour agency in Mexico, said that none of her colleagues had reported encountering anti-American sentiment. “Sometimes you see ‘Go home, gringo’ graffiti,” she said. “But that’s about overtourism, not politics.”
When David Rojas-Klein, of California, traveled to Mexico recently, his expectation that he would “see something anti-American” never materialized. “What I learned was that people make a distinction between the American people and the American government.”
The fear that people in other countries will equate them with their politicians’ actions is a peculiarly American anxiety, one that also surfaced during the Gulf War, said Mr. Hewitt of Rick Steves’ Europe. “If you look at history, most European countries have had experience with a ruler who, especially in retrospect, they’re not particularly proud of.”
Bo Albertus, a 57-year-old school principal in Denmark, agrees. He administers a Danish Facebook group, 89,000 strong, that is dedicated to boycotting American products. But American citizens are welcome in his country, Mr. Albertus said. “The Danish people don’t have a problem with Americans. We have a problem with the American administration.” Even a tourist in a MAGA hat would be treated fine, he added, “Because in Denmark, we have freedom of speech.”
Follow New York Times Travel on Instagram and sign up for our Travel Dispatch newsletter to get expert tips on traveling smarter and inspiration for your next vacation. Dreaming up a future getaway or just armchair traveling? Check out our 52 Places to Go in 2025.
Sunday Puzzle
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This week’s challenge
Today’s puzzle is a tribute to Mimi. Every answer is a familiar two word phrase or name in which each word starts with the letters MI-.
Ex. Assignment for soldiers –> MILITARY MISSION
1. Pageant title for a contestant from Detroit
2. One of the Twin Cities
3. Nickname for the river through New Orleans
4. Super short skirt
5. Neighborhood in Los Angeles that contains Museum Row
6. Just over four times the distance from the earth to the moon
7. Goateed sing-along conductor of old TV
8. American financier who pioneered so-called “junk bonds”
9. Little accident
10. Land-based weapon in America’s nuclear arsenal
11. In “Snow White,” the evil queen’s words before “on the wall”
Last week’s challenge
Last week’s challenge comes from Benita Rice, of Salem, Ore. Name a famous foreign landmark (5,4). Change the eighth letter to a V and rearrange the result to make an adjective that describes this landmark. What landmark is it?
Answer
Notre Dame –> Renovated
Winner
Chee Sing Lee of Bangor, Maine
This week’s challenge
This week’s challenge comes from James Ellison, of Jefferson City, Mo. Think of a popular movie of the past decade. Change the last letter in its title. The result will suggest a lawsuit between two politicians of the late 20th century — one Republican and one Democrat. What’s the movie and who are the people?
If you know the answer to the challenge, submit it below by Thursday, April 23 at 3 p.m. ET. Listeners whose answers are selected win a chance to play the on-air puzzle.
This story is part of Image’s April’s Thresholds issue, a tour of L.A. architecture as it’s actually experienced.
A landmark is a landmark because it tells you that you’re home now — the piece of earth you’ve chosen to inhabit saying, “You’ve made it back, congratulations.” We identify our cities with their landmarks, and because we identify with our cities, we identify with the landmarks too. They are us and we are them, mirroring each other through eternity. A city like New York or Chicago, with the Chrysler Building, the Bean, etc., has landmarks that exist in the world’s popular consciousness. But L.A.’s most cherished landmarks belong to us and us alone, a secret you’re let in on if you live here long enough and pay attention.
The Fashion Nova baddie in horizontal sprawl off the Vertigo, for example, is an emblem for those in the know. Our twisted version of a capitalist guardian angel, patron saint of spandex in a cropped matching set. Welcome to El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Fashion Nova. Merging on the 110 South from the 10 East while the sunset burns and traffic thickens is a miracle in more ways than one, and in the spirit of compulsively performing the sign of the cross when you pass a church on the freeway, this billboard is deserving of its own acknowledgment.
It may not be the landmark L.A. asked for, but in Sayre Gomez’s painting “Vertigo,” you begin to understand why it’s the one we deserve. At the opening for “Precious Moments,” Gomez’s solo show at David Kordansky, the room was vibrating. A game of energetic ping-pong unfolded underneath the gallery’s fluorescent light, beams of identification, recollections or stabs of grief bouncing off each piece in the exhibition. People were seeing hyperspecific parts of a city they love reflected in a hyperspecific way — for better and for worse. Recognition has two edges and they both happen to be sharp. Gomez twists the knife deeper for a good cause: He wants you not just to look but to really see.
In his work exist iconic signs of beloved local establishments — like the Playpen — the blinding glint reflecting off downtown’s skyline, telephone poles regarded as totems. The line to see Gomez’s replica of L.A.’s graffiti towers, “Oceanwide Plaza,” snaked through the gallery’s courtyard. Once inside, at least three graffiti writers whose names were blasted on the replica pointed it out proudly, even gave out stickers to take home. The truth can be beautiful and it can be ugly — in this case it’s both — on the flip side showing up in the form of smog, tattered flags and an abandoned graffiti tower that starkly represents the pitfalls of capitalism and greed, a neon arrow pointing to the homelessness crisis.
Because the Vertigo is something everybody who lives here recognizes as central to a sort of framework of Los Angeles. And I think the encampment has become that as well. It’s connecting these integral components — something that’s more revelatory and more fun with something that’s more grave.
— Sayre Gomez
In the main gallery, I was stuck on “Vertigo.” On the 12-foot canvas, my eye went to the place out of focus: the thin strip of billboard in the background featuring a young woman with sand-dune hips, patent knee-high boots and long black hair laid up on her side, wearing cat ears and a tiger bodysuit as flush as second skin. The model made the kind of eye contact that felt dangerous — might cause an accident if you’re not careful. “#1 Halloween Destination … FASHION NOVA,” it read. I knew her, anyone who has driven through the two main arteries of Los Angeles knows her. The black-and-white smiley motif of the Vertigo, an events space, sat right next to her face, just happy to be there, it seemed, above a painted sign that says “Ready to Party?”
The sky was the color of cotton candy, but the stale kind that’s been hardening in a plastic bag for days after the fair. Something rancid about it. In the foreground of the painting was a car encampment with a tattered floral sheet woven through the windows, cloth tarps and couch cushions creating a shield against the elements. Small plastic children’s toys lined at the top of the car — dinosaurs and dump trucks and sharks — creating their own shrunken skyline in front of the Vertigo, signaling that young kids likely lived there. It’s less juxtaposition for juxtaposition’s sake and more an accurate reflection of the breakneck duality of living in a place like L.A.
Even angels exist within the context of their environments. Our Fashion Nova baddie hangs off the Vertigo, a building that has used its ad space as physical clickbait and political posturing for over a decade. It’s promoting the kind of fast fashion brand that’s been regarded as a case study on the industry’s environmental impact. In the years the billboard has been up, it’s looked over dozens and dozens of car encampments like the one depicted in Gomez’s piece.
She feels dubious, yes. But no less like ours.
Julissa James: I’ve lived in L.A. for 13 years now. For me, the city and the architecture of the city is less the Frank Lloyd Wrights and Frank Gehrys — there’s that — but other landmarks that signal, “Oh, I’m home.” The Fashion Nova baddie above the Vertigo has always been that for me. Your piece is layered and there’s so much more to it than just that, but that’s the first thing I saw and was like, “Whoa. I need to talk to Sayre. We need to talk about ‘Vertigo.’”
Sayre Gomez: It’s like L.A.’s Statue of Liberty. It’s the city of anti-landmarks, you know what I mean? I mean, there’s the Hollywood sign, which I think is so telling, because it’s the remnants of a real estate venture. The city is built by real estate schemes and 100 years later we’re feeling the effects of it. You’ve got empty skyscrapers and a massive homeless catastrophe. L.A. doesn’t really have real landmarks. It has anti-landmarks.
JJ: When did the Fashion Nova billboard above the Vertigo click for you as something that felt representative of the city, or something that you wanted to depict?
SG: My studio is in Boyle Heights, so I pass that billboard multiple times a week. This is my 20th year in L.A. and that building’s always been a big mystery to me. It was empty when I moved here before this guy Shawn Farr bought it and turned it into Casa Vertigo. I think he probably makes more money on it with the ad space than anything. I know nobody who has ever been there. Very mysterious to me. So that’s what I was drawn to.
(Paul Salveson from David Kordansky Gallery)
The Vertigo has always been mysterious to me. And that whole fashion industry is mysterious to me — the kind of shmatta, American Apparel-adjacent, or maybe coming out of the wake of that. These kinds of businesses, or the representations of these businesses, how do they function and how do they flourish? Is it aboveboard? What more perfectly encapsulates that than that building? It’s this weird thing you can’t quite figure out but somehow it has a lot of money and then it’s an event space, supposedly billed as that. Clearly it’s this big ad thing, and I’m very interested in the changing dynamics of capital. The capital of yesteryear, which was based on the brick and mortar, where things are being made in a specific location, maybe on an assembly line or in a specific way, to a kind of capital that is based solely on advertising or on viewership. These beautiful buildings acting as pedestals for some kind of ad space, you know? It becomes an anti-landmark for me. Something where I’m like, “Oh, there’s that thing again.”
JJ: It’s this gorgeous Beaux Arts building …
SG: It’s a Freemason building!
JJ: When I’ve talked to some people about the Vertigo, they’re like, “the Fashion Nova building?”
SG: They always have the woman in the same pose — same pose, different clothes. If you remember before Fashion Nova, they would have these provocative ad campaigns or provocative slogans. “Twerk Miley” was up, remember that? They did a Trump one: “TRUMP NOW.” They did one for Kanye when he ran for president. The 10 and the 110 are literally the crossroads of the city, so it’s really poised to be a special building. It has a special designation because of the location.
JJ: Talk to me about the process of doing this piece. Where did it start and how did it evolve?
SG: I was cruising around that vicinity trying to see if I could get a good vantage point to take photos of Vertigo. And then I stumbled upon this car — the car that’s in the foreground of the painting. Anytime I see an encampment that has kids’ toys, things that reference back to the lives of children, it hits hard. But I like to lay it all out there. I like to make things confrontational. I want it to be difficult. The painting isn’t based on a one-to-one photo [Gomez paints from a composite rendering of images he’s taken around town], but I knew that I wanted to use that car, and I knew I wanted to get the Vertigo building, and so I started just messing around with different iterations. I could never find a good angle to take a good photo of the building, so I just went on Vertigo’s website and I was like, “I’m just using these.” I switched the sky and put a more moody, atmospheric sky in.
JJ: Which I loved, because we know that feeling — you’re merging onto the 110 and you see a beautiful sunset. The euphoria of like, “L.A. is the best city in the world.” But you know what? What I found so interesting about your piece is that it was revealing to me about myself, but also about so many of us that live in L.A. and have lived here for years and have developed a jadedness. When I saw your piece, immediately I was like, “Oh my God, the Vertigo! The Vertigo! The Vertigo!” And then I was like, “OK, wait, hold on, there’s so much more going on here.” But the fact that my eye went to that first instead of the car encampment, the kids’ toys, brought up a lot of questions about my own relationship to the city and the things that we choose to see, the things that maybe we’ve seen so much of that we subconsciously filter it out. Why was it important for you to put these two things up against each other in this way?
SG: Because the Vertigo is something everybody who lives here recognizes as central to a sort of framework of Los Angeles. And I think the encampment has become that as well. It’s connecting these integral components — something that’s more revelatory and more fun with something that’s more grave. That’s what I’m doing in my work at large. I use the sunsets and the beauty to create a dialogue, to entice people to sort of look a little bit at how things are contextualized, how things act, what’s actually happening. I don’t make things in a vacuum. I was working on this show and I was going to really push this agenda of incorporating more of my experience with my kids into the work. That’s also a double-edged sword. I wanted to interject some levity, because the work can get so dark. I wanted to bring in some iconography from their world and things that they get excited about. When you’re juxtaposing that with really stark things, it becomes darker. I want to thicken the stock a little bit. Make things a little more complex.
Phil Pritchard of the Hockey Hall of Fame works the 2019 NHL Awards at the Mandalay Bay Events Center on June 19, 2019 in Las Vegas, Nevada. (Photo by Bruce Bennett/Getty Images)
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