I know how it feels: I've been to Hungary and
Austria, and while it's wonderful to be there and
see the sights, it's also refreshing to be home
where you know the social rules, for better or
worse.   

(But I still have the little souvenir that I got
by putting 50 forints into a little vending
machine with incomprehensible instructions that I
found in the restroom of a little hostel on the
Hungarian/Russian border, plus a little scrap of
Hungarian toilet paper that I'm saving for a tough
jobs when coarse sandpaper or steel wool just
won't cut it.) 

Um ... how about privacy deprivation?  This is
Syaoran in the elevator when the doors open rather
unexpectedly.