5 things Western tourists do in developing countries without realizing how entitled they come across

I was staying in Thailand a few years back, and I watched a fellow Westerner at a local market haggling aggressively over what amounted to about 15 cents. The vendor, clearly uncomfortable, eventually gave in. The tourist walked away triumphant, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone around him was staring.

That’s when it hit me—how often do we travel to developing countries without realizing the impact of our behavior?

During my time in Southeast Asia, I witnessed countless moments like this. Well-meaning tourists who would never dream of acting entitled at home somehow transformed the moment they stepped off the plane.

The truth is, many of us carry invisible privilege that becomes glaringly obvious when we travel. We’re not bad people—we’re just unaware of how our actions come across.

Today, let’s explore five common behaviors that make Western tourists seem entitled, often without them realizing it.

1. Treating everything like it’s negotiable

Picture this: you’re at your local Starbucks back home. Would you ever think to haggle over the price of your latte? Of course not.

Yet I’ve watched countless Western tourists do exactly this equivalent in developing countries—haggling over fixed prices at restaurants, arguing with taxi drivers using meters, or trying to negotiate entry fees at museums.

Here’s the thing: not everything is a market stall.

During my travels through Southeast Asia, I noticed this pattern everywhere. Tourists would walk into a family-run restaurant with clearly posted prices and still try to negotiate. Or they’d argue with a tuk-tuk driver who was charging the standard rate, assuming they were being ripped off.

The reality? Many businesses in developing countries operate on razor-thin margins. That “expensive” meal you’re haggling over might represent someone’s entire day’s earnings.

I learned this lesson the hard way in a small Thai village. I spent ten minutes arguing over a 20-baht difference (about 60 cents) for a motorbike taxi ride. Only later did I realize the driver was a grandfather supporting his family, and I’d essentially argued over his lunch money.

The entitlement comes from assuming that because you’re in a “cheap” country, everything should be dirt cheap for you. But “cheap” is relative to your income, not theirs.

Save the negotiating for appropriate places like markets and street vendors where it’s genuinely part of the culture. Everywhere else? Just pay the asking price and move on.

2. Expecting everyone to speak English

“Excuse me, do you speak English?”

I can’t count how many times I heard this phrase during my time in Southeast Asia. But here’s what really got to me—it wasn’t the question itself, it was the tone. The expectation. The slight annoyance when the answer was no.

I watched a tourist in a rural Thai market get visibly frustrated because the elderly vendor couldn’t understand his order. No attempt at Thai words, no gestures, no patience. Just louder English, as if volume was the missing ingredient.

It hit me then: we’ve somehow convinced ourselves that English is the universal language of tourism.

But think about it—if a Thai person visited your hometown and got irritated because you couldn’t speak Thai, you’d think they were pretty entitled, right?

The worst part is how this plays out in practice. I’ve seen tourists dismiss perfectly intelligent locals as “unhelpful” simply because of a language barrier. Meanwhile, these same locals probably speak two or three languages already—just not the one the tourist demands.

I remember feeling embarrassed when I realized I’d spent months in Thailand without learning basic phrases like “thank you” or “how much?” Here were people running successful businesses, raising families, and contributing to their communities, yet somehow I’d positioned myself as superior because I spoke the “international” language.

Learning even five phrases in the local language transforms your experience. It shows respect. It acknowledges that you’re the visitor in their world, not the other way around.

3. Assuming locals have nothing better to do than serve you

This one stings because I’ve been guilty of it myself.

Let me set the scene for you. You’re at work, focused on an important task, when a stranger walks up expecting you to drop everything and help them with directions. You’d probably find it a bit presumptuous, right?

Yet this happens constantly in developing countries, and we don’t even notice.

I watched this play out repeatedly during my time in Thailand. Tourists would approach locals who were clearly busy—eating with family, working, having conversations—and interrupt them for photos, directions, or recommendations. No “excuse me,” no acknowledgment that they might be interrupting something important.

The entitlement becomes obvious when you flip the script.

The assumption seems to be that because you’re spending tourist dollars, everyone should be available to cater to your needs instantly.

Here’s a reality check: locals have their own lives, priorities, and schedules. They’re not extras in your travel movie.

A simple “excuse me, sorry to bother you” goes a long way. And if someone seems busy or unavailable? Find someone else or wait your turn like you would anywhere else.

4. Complaining about infrastructure like it’s a personal inconvenience

This might be the most tone-deaf behavior I witnessed during my travels.

I remember sitting in a café in rural Thailand when the power went out. Within minutes, a group of Western tourists at the next table started complaining loudly about the “terrible infrastructure” and how this “would never happen back home.”

The local staff scrambled to bring out candles and battery-powered fans, apologizing profusely. Meanwhile, the locals around us just continued their conversations like nothing had happened.

That’s when it hit me—we’re complaining about infrastructure problems to the very people who live with them every single day.

Think about the absurdity of this for a second. You’re temporarily inconvenienced by something that affects these people’s daily lives, work, and families. Yet somehow you’ve made yourself the victim in this scenario.

The entitlement here runs deep. It assumes that developing countries exist primarily for our comfort, and any deviation from Western standards is a personal affront to our travel experience.

Instead of complaining, try appreciating the resourcefulness you’ll witness. Watch how locals adapt, innovate, and maintain incredible hospitality despite these challenges.

5. Taking photos of people like they’re tourist attractions

This one makes me cringe the most, probably because I see it everywhere.

I was walking through a local market in Thailand when I watched a tourist pull out her phone and start snapping photos of an elderly woman selling vegetables. No permission asked, no acknowledgment, no interaction—just click, click, click.

The woman looked uncomfortable but didn’t say anything. The tourist walked away with her “authentic local shots” while the vendor went back to her work, clearly unsettled.

Would you want strangers photographing you while you’re trying to work? While you’re with your kids? While you’re just living your life?

Of course not. Yet somehow, when we travel, we treat locals like they’re part of the scenery.

I’ve seen tourists photograph people’s homes, their children, their daily routines—all without consent. There’s this weird assumption that because you’re in a “exotic” location, everyone and everything is fair game for your Instagram feed.

The worst part is how this reduces real people to props in our travel stories. That vendor isn’t just a colorful character for your photo—she’s someone’s grandmother, a business owner, a person with her own thoughts and feelings about being photographed by strangers.

It takes two seconds to point to your camera and ask. Most people will either smile and nod yes, or politely decline. Either way, you’ve shown basic respect for their dignity and autonomy.

Your travel photos shouldn’t come at the expense of someone else’s comfort or privacy.

Final words

Travel has this incredible power to open our minds and challenge our perspectives. But it can also reveal blind spots we didn’t even know we had.

Here’s what I’ve learned from my mistakes: the best travel experiences happen when you approach new places with curiosity rather than expectation, with humility rather than entitlement.

That means learning a few words in the local language. Respecting people’s time and space. Understanding that infrastructure challenges aren’t personal inconveniences aimed at you. Treating locals as individuals, not photo opportunities.

Most importantly, it means remembering that you’re a guest in someone else’s home.

The goal isn’t to feel guilty about past behavior—we’ve all been there. The goal is to travel more consciously going forward. To recognize our privilege and use it responsibly. To leave places better than we found them.

Because when we shed the entitlement and embrace genuine respect, travel becomes what it should be: a bridge between cultures, not a wall between us.