American tourists crave acceptance. Their favorite story will be of the time they weren't treated as a tourist. It's always some off-the-beaten-track, met-some-charming-locals thing. Admittedly, I have some of those.
Euros rarely have these. They're just content to tell you, "Ya, I've been to New York. It was good."
Touristed Euros get understandably calloused to the endless parade and even the most hardcore dollars-high prostitute will find continuing to smile at one hopeful chubby mug after another to be a challenge. Admittedly, I got kinda surly with my own countrymen after awhile.
So there's that disconnect happening.
And we're not so much loud as piercing, especially when bunched together. Like a brace of ducks. You hear 'em and you look around and they're away down there but coming through clear as a bell. Several have maps they're consulting and most of them are pointing in your direction. That's us abroad.
