One of the more entertaining phenomena of 2026 is happening right now. Freddy, an anonymous German tourist, is traveling through the United States with two friends for World Cup games. He is documenting the journey on X/Twitter. To be clear, Freddy isn’t awed by famous landmarks. He’s fascinated by the mundane—the little things Americans take for granted. Sometimes it takes a foreigner to remind us how good we have it.
His journey has included eating Waffle House scattered, smothered and covered hash browns at 2 a.m.; a visit to Buc-ee’s, the 75,000-square-foot “gas station” with 80 toilets and urinals; seeing enormous Ford pickup trucks that look capable of towing an aircraft carrier; traveling interstate highways that run smoothly for hundreds of miles; and enjoying ice-cold air conditioning, something increasingly uncommon in parts of Europe. What’s striking isn’t simply that these visitors are enjoying America. It’s the sense of wonder they bring to experiences most Americans stopped noticing years ago. Freddy walks into Buc-ee’s and reacts as though he’s entered another dimension. Americans walk into Buc-ee’s and wonder why the brisket isn’t ready yet. Freddy marvels at the selection in Walmart. Americans complain because they stopped carrying their favorite candy. Freddy drives six hours and is astonished to learn he’s still in the same state. Americans complain about the traffic. For us, they’re just part of everyday life.
Back in the 1300s, Chaucer wrote that familiarity breeds contempt. The modern version may be that familiarity breeds indifference. Familiarity doesn’t just make things comfortable—it makes them invisible. Many Europeans arrive with a mental picture of America shaped largely by corporate media coverage from Los Angeles and New York. If that were your primary source of information, you might expect a nation perpetually on the verge of collapse. Instead, visitors often find ordinary people living ordinary lives in ordinary towns, talking to strangers, enjoying sporting events, buying each other drinks and enthusiastically recommending local restaurants serving portions large enough to feed a family of four.
The America they encounter is often friendlier, warmer and more cheerful than they expected. Not perfect. Not free of problems. Just more normal. And that normality can be surprisingly attractive. One recurring theme in Freddy’s social media posts is how nice Americans are. What Americans regard as casual friendliness can feel remarkable to people from cultures where interactions with strangers are more reserved. Last week, NFL legend J.J. Watt arranged for the group to stay in a five-star Houston hotel, where they found signed jerseys and gifts waiting in their room.
Visitors notice things Americans overlook because they haven’t spent decades tuning them out. Their perspective reminds us that many aspects of American life are neither universal nor inevitable. They’re cultural habits and conveniences we’ve come to regard as table stakes. It’s like a stranger staying in your home. They admire the space and beauty. You’re focused on the leaky faucet, the nosy neighbors and the dysfunctional homeowner’s association. Americans complain constantly. We have high expectations, but beneath those expectations remains a stubborn belief that anything is possible here. This is the country that produced Walmart, Apple, Amazon, Google, Facebook and Starbucks. It’s the country with reusable rockets that launch into space and are plucked out of the air with “chop sticks.”
What we often forget is how unusual much of American life appears to outsiders: stadiums holding more than 100,000 fans, unlimited chips and salsa at Mexican restaurants, bean burritos for a few dollars at Taco Bell, and sporting goods stores selling firearms alongside camping gear.
The Germans remind us that many of the things we take for granted are, in fact, remarkable.
That may be why these travel stories resonate. They aren’t merely accounts of Germans discovering America. They’re accounts of Americans rediscovering America through German eyes. Every nation possesses qualities that outsiders admire, and residents overlook. There is value in occasionally borrowing someone else’s perspective. It helps us distinguish genuine flaws from mere familiarity and reminds us that gratitude often begins with noticing.
Watching Germans marvel at America may say less about Germany than it does about us. Their sense of wonder highlights how thoroughly we’ve adapted to a place that remains, by almost any measure, unusual. The scale, ambition, abundance, contradictions and optimism all blend into the background when you’ve spent a lifetime surrounded by them. Visitors don’t have that problem. They arrive seeing America clearly. For a brief moment in 2026, so do we.
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