15 Americans Share What It Was Like Traveling Abroad During Election Night

"Like everyone, I watched intently on Tuesday night, hoping for ‘my’ candidate to win. Unlike most Americans, however, I was watching from an airport bar at JFK, preparing to leave the country for a conference in Europe. 


I boarded the plane just after 11 p.m., and even though the race wasn’t officially over, by the time the flight attendants asked everyone to turn their phones off, it was pretty clear to me what was happening. Not in the matter-of-fact kind of way, but in the deep-down-you-just-know kind of way.


A few hours later, somewhere over the Atlantic, our pilot came over the PA system and declared -- in the same tone he’d used several times before to remind people to keep their seat belts fastened -- that Donald Trump had been elected President. 


A few women in the back of the plane gave a quick cheer and started clapping. A woman in front of me broke down in silent tears. The rest of the plane was quiet. Not shell shocked or anything like that. Just processing. Or maybe not all that interested.


When I landed and started reading the news, almost every ‘hot take’ talked about how the country was even more divided than we thought. They asked, ‘How could we have gotten it so wrong?’ The gulf between us, the pundits implied, was wider than it had ever been. My first instinct was to nod in agreement. But the second thought was something different. 


When I walked onto the plane, I couldn’t have pointed out the Clinton supporters. Or the Trump supporters. Or the people who couldn’t care less. They were all just decent people boarding a plane trying to get somewhere. And yet, the hate on both sides -- leading up to election night and after it -- was very real. The joy and pain from two different parts of the plane was very real too.


Far from home, that paradox rolled around in my brain for the next 24 hours. And like the rest of the country (I hope), I’m still thinking about it. To me, it comes down to one of two things: 1) Our candidates failed us by not talking about the real issues, or, more likely, 2) We failed us by not forcing them to, and by not talking to one another about the nuances of our disagreements.


Because those hard conversations are how progress happens; how divides are closed; how hate is replaced with understanding. And no one else can make it happen but us." -- Kyle Giunta

"We were in Riviera Maya (Cancun) on Election Day. Although we were away, we were certainly not isolated. Between Wi-Fi on our phones and frequent trips from the pool back to our rooms to watch CNN, we were as informed as if we were at home. We even stayed up until 2:44 a.m. to see Trump's speech. It was and still is very surreal. Being on top of the world marrying off your daughter one day and worrying if our world will ever be the same three days later -- quite the contrast. 


I actually talked to a lot of the resort employees about the election and their reaction was twofold: first, when Trump was brought up, almost uniformly, they would give a sarcastic giggle -- every one of them. Secondly, they are afraid -- afraid of not achieving their dreams by immigrating to the U.S., afraid for their children that are in the U.S. without citizenship and what will happen to them, afraid for their grandchildren born in the U.S. to non-citizens who potentially could be separated from their parents. Oh, and nobody is afraid of a wall; nobody thinks it will ever get built and certainly not with one penny of Mexican money. They are also afraid of the effect on their economy as Trump has vowed to overtax Mexican imports, which could crush their factories who depend on the U.S. to buy their products. They, like many of us, think he's crazy. One waiter at the pool tried to translate a word from Spanish to English and when I Googled it, it translated to buffoon (bufon). That explains it all." -- Jerry Silberman

"I'm an English teacher in Thailand. On Election Day, I was in school sticking to my normal routine of teaching my second grade class. Like most of my friends and family, I was excited to see the first woman president get elected. I woke up with a huge smile and was ecstatic to see America make history. Around 10:30 a.m. Thailand time (10:30 p.m. EST), my Western friends started a group chat about how Trump was in the lead. I opened the election results and couldn't believe what I was seeing. 


When he won Ohio, my heart sank. I was sitting in a classroom with 20 Thai kids who had no idea what was happening on the other side of the world. I was so jealous of their naivety. And then suddenly, I felt so alone and so guilty for being here when my friends and family were at home watching a nightmare unfold. On my break I went outside and called my parents. The guilt took over and I started bawling. 'Could he really win? What happens then? Is evil actually going to triumph? Where's the good in the world? I thought America was better than this? How do I explain this to my class? Do I explain it? Oh god, I need to stop crying and go teach.'


I got off the phone, pulled myself together, and taught kids the present simple tense for an hour. As the day went on, my Western group chat got more and more sullen. 'It's over.' 'He took Florida.' 'This is really happening.' It was about 2:30 in the afternoon when they called it. Donald Trump is the next president of the United States of America. My friend from England walked into my classroom and gave me a huge hug. She, of course, just went through her own nightmare with Brexit. 'The one thing that got us through Brexit was knowing that at least Donald trump wasn't president,' she said. We cried. 


Several Thai teachers saw me and asked if I was okay. 'A very bad thing just happened in America. A man full of hate is now the president. I'm scared for my friends and family and for the future,' I said. Even though they didn't understand the details, I felt comforted by them. It was a very human moment. Countries and politics are man-made boundaries, but the human heart and soul is the same across all of planet earth. They didn't know why I was in pain, but they didn't want to see me in it. It was strange to feel so comforted yet so alone. I wanted them to hug my family and friends in America and tell them it was going to be okay, too. 


I had no choice but to keep teaching and finish out the day. My students could tell something was wrong, but how could I possibly explain what just happened. I decided not to try and instead told them I was having a bad day and needed a hug. To my surprise, the entire class stood up and rushed at me. The sight of 20 giggling kids running to comfort me made me smile. It was the first time I had smiled since 10:30 a.m. that morning. What a beautiful moment. I'll never forget the kindness in their eyes. 


Later that night I watched Hillary's concession speech with my Western friends. Her message was so powerful: Our work isn't done; it has just begun. We all came to Thailand to make a difference in young people's lives. Even though America needs so much good right now, so does the rest of the world. All that I can do is be the best English teacher and person that I can be and spread love everywhere I go. America and the world need that now more than ever. We're all in this together. We can't give up or we'll destroy each other and there will be nothing left to fight for. We've been given the chance to live a life on planet earth -- how can we take that for granted? Let's fight for it together. Let's spread the good. Love will win." -- Erica Schneider

"I know I'm not alone when I say that following this election was surreal. But I have been essentially alone while trying to process its results. Since November 8, I've been on a work trip in Tenerife in the Canary Islands, a beach resort that caters primarily to British travelers. It has been six full days now since I landed and I have yet to meet a fellow American, someone with whom I can commiserate with. That sounds so formal, but what I mean is that I just really need a hug. There were so, so many emails, Facebook posts, and texts that first day (the hardest one, from my mom, after several FaceTime attempts: 'Don't cry, my beautiful darling'), but digital support only goes so far. I needed analog love, too. I needed hugs, hands, my sisters' shoulders, a sleepover with friends. Tenerife is an unremittingly laid-back Spanish beach town -- even an event as shocking and strange as the 2016 American election can’t kill its vibe. Tenerife’s non-stop vacay mode, sunshine, palm trees, and endless parade of happy people (none of them American, to my knowledge) are so ill-matched with my sadness and shame. Just another way this election has felt  a this-can't-be-real fever dream." -- Anne Bauso, Associate Editor, Oyster.com

"On Election Day and the day after, I was in Akureyri, Iceland. I was on a yoga retreat with several Americans and a few Canadians. I was also in Reykjavik a few days after the election.


Right around the time I woke up on Tuesday morning, the news had broken that Trump won. To say that I was surprised would be an understatement, and I was thankful to be away from America as I processed the news. The few quiet hours in the morning allowed me to be alone with my thoughts, but even across an ocean, you can’t escape social media. In the next several hours, as my East Coast friends and family woke up, I found myself glued to my phone. 


The people of Iceland were very informed about the U.S. election. All week, the Iceland headlines were about Clinton and Trump. I found this fascinating because I am rarely as informed about other countries’ elections. Icelanders were curious to know how I felt about the results as a U.S. citizen. (A barista asked if I was American as I ordered my second hot chocolate of the day. When I told her yes, the transaction, which should have been 30 seconds, last five minutes as I answered her questions). Interestingly, I didn’t meet a single Icelander who was a Trump supporter. It almost seemed like many Icelanders were feeling me out as they asked for my thoughts. I had the impression they viewed those Americans that voted for Trump as largely uninformed (whether this is a fair impression or not).


I started each day with yoga on this vacation as well. Yoga can bring out emotions in us all, and it really held true during this practice. As I bent over into one of the poses, our teacher talked about our ability to spread positivity and peace, regardless of the situation. She compared it to a ripple effect, and I was brought to tears. (Let me add that I am not typically an emotional person). Later in the class, some of my Canadian friends hugged me -- I just really needed it at that time. 


I wish I had spent more time asking Icelanders how they felt about the results. I think I did too much talking and not enough listening that week. I brought home an Icelandic political newspaper to read this weekend, so hopefully I’ll have a better idea after that. I did get to ask one Icelander how he felt and I wrote down the quote in my phone. It’s powerful. 'Politics is politics. It’s the personality that scares me. It’s someone with such low esteem for humanity. That’s what scares me.'" -- Ashley Kimmel

"I served in the Peace Corps in Thailand, right after the 2012 campaign and re-election of Barack Obama. I remember being able to have a good conversation with locals about our democratic process. Locals I worked with really had a sweet spot for Barack Obama, without having anything negative to say about Mitt Romney. 


This time around I was traveling for work to Manila, Philippines to attend a conference with non-profits and social enterprises. I left on November 5 pretty nervous about the country I would return to. I had to bite my tongue and felt ashamed by my less than enthusiastic responses when asked about our election while waiting in immigration at the airport. I could hear other visitors from the U.S. ignore the questions and immediately dive into their disdain for either candidate. I thought some opinions were pretty ironic given where we were and the recent election of Duterte in the Philippines. He's seen by many as a controversial populist with a strongman approach to leading.


I wasn't as worried by Donald Trump's policies as I was the rhetoric I thought we as a country were moving past. Trying to explain to my colleagues here that our country was still a place they could look to as leaders on human rights should never come with caveats. We owe it to ourselves and the rest of the world to distinguish our belief in humanity, despite what our politics might indicate in the media. I learned how to be an agent for change as an individual, and I intend on continuing this wherever I am. 


One moment stuck out to me after it was clear Donald Trump would be our chosen leader. I was obviously a little stressed. After a few minutes, I got up to walk around and a regional director from an NGO we were working with came up behind me. He put his hand on my back and asked about the election. Before I could say anything, he calmly said, 'That is why we're here. This is what we stand for. Don't let the politics get you down.'" -- Phil Greenwood

"I'm in Bali right now and people are walking around with 'F*** Trump' shirts. Everyone is just really shocked. Most of the people here are visiting from Australia or Europe, and keep comparing this to Brexit. I'm just glad to be in a peaceful place right now, rather than the U.S. I'm going to Singapore this week to extend my Visa, so I have no plans on coming back to the U.S. for at least another month or so" -- Aurelie Ruch

"I arrived late Tuesday evening in Tanzania -- at roughly 4 p.m. EST. I was fortunate enough to have CNN running on one of the local channels when I woke up at 5 a.m. East Africa time (9 p.m. EST). I got on the phone and started talking about how things were going. I could barely keep awake and decided to go to sleep for another hour. When I woke up, I had frantic texts talking about Hillary not being as strong in a few swing states.  I called my wife and we talked until the internet went out in the hotel. CNN went out as well and all I had was CNN audio as they announced the results. This coupled with my wife texts was how I got the news that Trump was pulling ahead.


When she went to sleep at 1 a.m. EST (9 a.m. my time), I lost all comms of a likely scenario that Donald Trump was going to be our next president. I was alone -- not even my Tanzanian friends were around. It was just the hotel staff and no one knew what was going on. I couldn't access internet. 


I tried to eat breakfast, but couldn't keep it down. I went back to my room and broke down. I was fearful for my future and for our country's future. I then had a call with an American living in Europe. We were both demoralized, but it felt nice to talk to someone who knew what was going on. She told me the question her adopted son from Ethiopia asked her: 'Mommy, can Mr. Trump find me in Germany?' It broke my heart and I lost it again. Eventually, we finished our call, but I couldn't focus for the rest of the day.


As people started waking up, friends across the globe from Europe to Asia to Australia to Africa reached out. They expressed their condolences. My Tanzanian friends understood where I stand and asked where to go from here. They asked how it happened and I explained. They couldn't understand and frankly I couldn't either.


Finally, America woke up and my wife called me. It helped me through the day realizing I wasn't the only one grieving and that there were people willing to fight for our country. It is a long road ahead, but I am hopeful that we can keep it all in check and make sure we continue to progress." -- Jonathan Godbout

"In November 2008, I was sitting nervously on a couch in Buenos Aires, alone, staring intently at the TV. I watched the election results stream in, silently cheering each time a state turned blue. There were plenty of Americans -- expats and tourists -- watching from local bars, but I preferred to take this seriously, without excessive beer and loud, obnoxious comments that many consider the trademark of Americans abroad. My Argentine roommate would periodically stop by, showing minimal interest. I guess that when you're from a country that once had five successive presidents in less than a month, transfers of power tend to dull in significance.


I'm a nervous election watcher, even in the best of times. This election was different. I was in a family home in the Cordillera Blanca (northern Peruvian Andes), where I was helping teach English. Though privileged to have internet access at home, these people usually unplug all of their electronic devices at 9 p.m. to save money. They graciously allowed me to continue burning watts, first watching a pirated stream of CNN via YouTube, then, when that got pulled for copyright infringement, Sky News. 


But what was happening? Instead of Wolf Blitzer's comfortingly familiar visage blithely confirming our female president-elect, state after state turned red. Maybe I wasn't imagining the undertone of panic in every reporter's voice. Maybe this wasn't just high altitude-induced delirium. I feverishly refreshed FiveThirtyEight at the expense of interrupting the live-stream. Trump's chance of winning, according to Nate Silver, had gone from 23 percent to 85 percent in just a few hours.


My hosts -- mother, father, and son -- occasionally wandered past, gazing upon me with a look that was somewhere between confusion, pity, and 'please stop burning through our electricity.' Sitting in an uncomfortable desk chair, alone with the TV, I hadn't moved in hours.


The magnitude of this election was different -- is different. Sitting there, it felt like my lungs were being crushed under its weight, and no one else in a 100-mile radius understood. This election means my healthcare, my civil liberties, my equality under the law -- not to mention, control of a nuclear stockpile. The problem was that I never truly believed it was possible, never mentally prepared for this reality. It felt like the world was ending, but the people around me were unfazed. 


The fact is that megalomaniac populists are elected (or "elected") in other countries all the time. This isn't supposed to happen in America. I suppose that's the ultimate fallacy of our American supremacy complex: assuming we are nobler than the rest of the world. Travel is supposed to teach you that this isn't true, but it doesn't, really. More than anything, it hurts to have this ideal crushed. 


I desperately wanted to grieve for this loss with other Americans -- it felt like someone had died. I felt like I should be home in Massachusetts, standing in solidarity, holding a vigil with everyone else who was terrified of a future image of America that they wholeheartedly reject. Instead, I unplugged the TV at 12:30 a.m. Suddenly, America was once again just a place very far away. The silence was impermeable, and until the morning, I could pretend this was all a bad dream.


I fell asleep repeating 'this, too, shall pass.' The sun rose over the Andes the next morning. My host family went to work. Minimal news of the election trickled in amidst local soccer team updates. The world has continued to turn (and will do so, I assume, in January). Though still devastated, I have to believe that the balance of power and the sane people left in America will prevent anything terrible from happening, and besides, no one here has patience for my misery. And maybe the sooner we Americans learn that we are no better than any other country -- that we are subject to the same political machinations and corruption and social tensions -- the sooner we can begin to work to counteract them." -- Janna Herman

"I just moved to Romania and feel very fortunate to have been in good company watching the results. I went to a friend's apartment, along with a small American-international crowd. I spent the entire night there, only sleeping an hour or so. My partner is not with me, so we did our best to be in touch over the time difference, but it was difficult. I was in a state of shock in the morning. I had meetings from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. (results were in around 7 a.m. my time), and I felt like a zombie. I went home and crawled back into bed. On the whole, my colleagues were very kind. Some didn't understand how horrible I felt, but others brought over some sweets in the evening. I had a bad interaction with a barista who basically repeated propaganda about Clinton and complained about America's presence in Romania (a legitimate complaint, but it wasn't the right time and I'm not the ambassador). But I still feel quite isolated. On the one hand, I'm reading the news daily, checking Facebook, and generally grieving along with my friends. On the other, I don't walk into the streets and feel comfort from neighbors, there are no protests to join, and the time difference feels tougher now." -- Sarah Zarrow

"I spent Election Night glued to my laptop watching a live feed as the results came in. I dozed off as Trump took the lead and woke up a few hours later with my laptop next to me. I kept refreshing the results page in complete, jaw-dropped shock. To be honest, shock is an understatement. Fear, anxiety, distress, and sadness immediately overtook me. I spent this year never truly believing that Trump could become president. I woke up on November 9 in a state of disbelief. It was something so world shattering, a feeling those who have known tragedy know well. I sat motionless for a while and ended up gathering myself enough to hop on the bus to the university. I teach English at a federal university in Brazil. I had class that morning, but ended up foregoing the lesson plan and talking about the U.S. election instead. Talking to Brazilian students truly did help me process this. They asked questions only those with an outside perspective could, and explaining our election process only furthered the confusion. Ultimately, they wanted to know how this could happen. I struggled to answer because, frankly, I wanted to know, too. They drew comparisons to Brazil’s political nightmare, but when asked 'what now?' their responses were empowering. We have to stand together as allies, be a voice for marginalized groups, and spread love. I left class with a little more hope than I had woken up with, yet I still am wondering how to move forward." -- Kerianne Baylor

"I was in Tunisia for work on Election Day. I work in international development, specifically on trying to improve democratic governance in developing countries. I am doing research in Tunisia on the justice system for a potential project here funded by the U.S. State Department. On November 9, I woke up at 5 a.m. in Tunisia (it was November 8 at 11 p.m. EST) and could not believe that this was happening. I FaceTimed with a friend, which helped me deal with some initial shock, but the rest of the day on Wednesday was strange. Some of the meetings conducted were in French, which I don't speak. I zoned out and thought about the implications of the election. It was strange not being with friends to process things. And it was all over the news in Tunisia, too. Almost everyone we met with brought it up, asking me how I felt about the new president-elect. Yesterday the feelings of isolation hit. I voted for Clinton, so I was already experiencing feelings of isolation from this huge group of Americans who felt Donald Trump was the right choice to lead our country. The fact that I was in Tunisia to study ways that we could give more and better financial aid to the country while millions of Americans basically voted against my lifestyle and what I stand for was really isolating." -- Julia Fusfeld

"I moved to London in April 2016 after five years in New York City. I got here just in time for Brexit. I remember waking up the morning after and feeling a mix of shock, fear, anger, and anxiety. Little did I know, those feelings were nothing compared to what I would feel on November 9. I spent November 8 at work obsessively updating social media and my "New York Times" app for a glimmer of information on what was happening at home. I purchased extra wine and cracked open the peanut butter M&Ms from my last trip to the east coast (you can't get them here) in preparation for a long night. I was anxious, but mostly in an anticipatory way. I had made plans weeks before with friends for Wednesday evening to celebrate. I had taken Wednesday off from work, thinking I'd be tired from a night of watching the results come in. I had imagined a lazy, triumphant day. 


Around 9 GMT (4 p.m. EST), my British partner got home and we had dinner and shared a glass of wine. Around 9:45 (4:45 EST), our downstairs neighbors came over to watch the results. They're a gay couple -- one is British, the other a Ukrainian immigrant who recently gained British citizenship. They visit the U.S. often and are passionate about our politics. We laughed, we made fun of CNN's coverage ('what is with the Key Race alerts!? More like, we have nothing to say but don't you dare change that channel!'), we switched to BBC to watch their attempt at a CGI capitol building. It was weird.  Over the course of several hours of wine-drinking and M&M eating, I was filled with an increasing sense of dread. I still held out the belief that she had to win. But things just didn't seem right. He seemed to be leading everywhere and the numbers just weren't adding up. My heart was pounding and I couldn't stop it. I felt physically sick. I was texting with friends and family at home and we were finding it harder and harder to stay positive and light-hearted.  At around 2 a.m. GMT, our neighbors left to get some sleep. My partner and I lasted another hour (despite his full work day on Wednesday), but by 3 a.m. it became clear it would be at least a couple more hours before we new the result so we decided to shut our eyes. My 5 a.m. alarm went off. I checked my phone and saw all of my alerts. -- he won Florida, he won North Carolina. I tried to calm myself and get some more sleep. But I couldn't. I lay in bed for two-and-a-half hours, heart pounding and mind racing. I waited until my partner's alarm went off to tell him. We just hugged each other. There wasn't much to say.  By the time I was up again, America had finally gone to sleep. I spent the morning hours alone, in my pajamas, on my couch in too much pain to watch the television. I tried to sleep so as not to be awake.


I guess being abroad when a tragedy like this occurs hits on multiple levels. For one, my partner can sympathize and feel shock, but he can't feel what I feel because it's not his country that made this choice. He can be shocked and angry, but he doesn't feel the shame and hurt that I do and my friends and family do. So it's a bit lonely on the other side. And then, to make matters worse, I have become the representative American for our friends, my colleagues, and even my clients. Every person (no matter how little they understand about American politics) wants me to explain what happened or justify my views." -- Courtney Flint

"It has felt rather isolating. I am out here in Italy working with two people -- a French girl who has been considering a move to the U.S. for school and a half-Italian, half-American man who lives in Italy. The shock and sadness that even they felt has carried on throughout the days. But after we stayed up together, the next day was completely isolating. I had no one to talk to -- and still don't. I can't commiserate with any strangers. I've tried to communicate what little I can in Italian, but it has been useless. I'm met with confusion. However, I did catch coverage of it on one of those Italian TV shows that mocks news, so I do know that an awareness exists. But Italy has also had its share of scary leaders. I'm not sure if there's much empathy. The Italians I personally know scoffed at Trump. But there's a frustration I feel for not being able to connect in person with my peers in my home city. " -- Danielle Mandell

"Traveling to Brazil the week of November 7 was a one-of-a-kind experience. After enduring a full day of meetings with our Brazilian colleagues in São Paulo on Monday, it was off to the quiet little town of Presidente Prudente to tour a facility in Paraguacu Paulista. 


During the entirety of Tuesday, everyone but me was constantly checking for who was ahead. Having had to remind them that first indications would come as early as midnight local time, they continued to check at every break in the tour. The next day was rough. With a 4:45 am flight back to São Paulo, I awoke to a text from a friend: 'this is terrible.' After a quick Google search, I saw his point. Trump had taken the swing states of Florida and North Carolina and was closing in on the almighty number of 270. After much banter about our general fears, the rest of my party convened in the hotel lobby at 3:30 a.m. and we departed for the airport. No cell service, no Wi-Fi, and the election results in the balance. We land in São Paulo at 6:25 a.m. I feel complete shock and dismay run throughout my system as I know exactly what happened. 


We depart the airplane and regroup with our seven other colleagues (an Englishman, a Canadian, a German, and four Brazilians). They congratulate me on my new president and ask what our 'illustrious country' plans to title the first of a four-year reality show. After many jokes, they can see the general fear in my normally confident personality. No more words are spoken and reality sinks in. We leave the airport quietly and get into separate taxis. The radio is blasting traditional Brazilian music. Suddenly, an interruption in the music and the DJ begins speaking in a dialect foreign to me. I make out very little, except the words Presidente Trump. The cab driver laughs, looks in the rear view mirror, and says "America louco, Mr. Trump muito louco." He takes his index finger and makes small circles around his ear, saying "louco louco." I look at the driver and back at my colleague, a Swiss Englishman. He says, 'there you have it, the first real international reaction to your country's choice.' Wednesday morning was the first time in my life I was embarrassed to be an American." -- Richie Goldsmith


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