So you’re back in Luxembourg after a vacation in an actual summery place where rays of sunlight tickled your precious freckled nose all day long, and where overly sweet but affordable cocktails rained from the sky like … no, actually it didn’t rain there at all. How will you ever readapt? Here are a few things to keep in mind.
Your sleek German car with an L on the license plate might have got you respect from the churro vendor on Playa Magnifica, but remember that here it won’t even get a second glance from the McDonald’s drive-thru girl. Get used to again being just another Josy Schmosy with a leased vehicle.
You might be tempted to take a colleague out for lunch so you can recount your now-funny dolphin-riding disaster story, but don’t. Sure, that burger, fries, and beer combo at Poseidon’s Beach Bar might have only cost you three euros, but don’t forget that here you need to add a zero to the price.
Now that you’re back at work, you might find yourself daydreaming about that afternoon 10 days ago on the turquoise lagoon where the skipper Kasim sang Turkish sea ballads while his wife served you homemade lokum and anise-flavored liquor she distilled in her bathtub. That’s fine, but please stop smiling while you do so, especially in front of others whose most exciting summer activity was driving to the Upper Sûre Lake and trying to light a BBQ grill in the rain.
You might think it’s fun to show off the bronze veneer you developed playing beach volleyball in the Algarve every afternoon, but to many of us, especially those who went abroad in search of sun but only found more rain, it’s offensive and hurtful. Until your tan fades, when you go out in public, wear a long-sleeved shirt, gloves, and a balaclava.
We know how it goes. After only two minutes, you and the hotel bartender Enrico became best friends. And Calista from the animation team, she immediately liked you and never failed to call you all sorts of cute nicknames. You wondered why people in Luxembourg can’t be friendlier. Now, the truth: it was all a ploy to get a few euros of tips from you when you left. Wait, you did tip Enrico, right, especially after all those free doubles he gave you? Anyway, it’s important to recall that service sector workers here aren't going to slap you on your back or call you “my little Galaktoboureko,” but, if you go to the same cafe every day for five or 10 years, the barista might one day ask to address you with the informal “tu” instead of “vous.”
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