What Three Months of Public Bathrooms in 22 Countries Taught Me About Squat Toilets, Bidet Etiquette, and Why You Should Never Flush Paper in Greece

I was standing in a train station bathroom in rural Thailand when it hit me – literally and figuratively. The squat toilet stared back at me like an ancient puzzle I’d never learned to solve, and my backpack was about to slip off my shoulder into the wet floor below. This was day twelve of what would become a three-month odyssey through public bathrooms around the world, and I was already questioning every life choice that brought me here. By the time I’d navigated facilities in 22 countries across Asia, Europe, the Middle East, and South America, I’d accumulated more bathroom wisdom than any travel guide ever prepared me for. The truth is, nobody warns you about the cultural minefield that is international toilet etiquette until you’re standing there, desperately needing to go, with no idea which basin is for what purpose or whether that innocuous-looking trash bin is actually your best friend.

Public restrooms reveal more about a culture than any museum ever could. They expose infrastructure priorities, hygiene philosophies, gender norms, and economic realities in the most visceral way possible. After three months of careful observation, awkward mistakes, and countless conversations with locals and fellow travelers, I’ve compiled the unfiltered truth about bathroom culture shock. This isn’t your typical sanitized travel advice – this is the real deal, complete with the mishaps, the revelations, and the practical strategies that will save you from becoming another cautionary tale whispered among backpackers.

The Squat Toilet Learning Curve: From Disaster to Mastery

My first encounter with a squat toilet in Istanbul was nothing short of catastrophic. I’d read about them, sure, but reading and doing are separated by a chasm of physical reality. The porcelain footpads seemed impossibly far apart, my thigh muscles screamed in protest within seconds, and I had absolutely no idea what to do with my pants, my bag, or my dignity. The learning curve was steep, but by month three, I could navigate a squat toilet in a moving train without breaking a sweat.

The Physics of Squatting

Here’s what nobody tells you: squatting is actually more natural for the human body than sitting. Our ancestors did it for thousands of years before someone invented the throne-style toilet. The problem is that most Westerners have spent decades sitting, and our hip flexors, ankles, and quadriceps have adapted accordingly. When I first attempted a proper squat in Japan, I could barely hold the position for thirty seconds without my heels lifting off the ground. By week six in Southeast Asia, where squat toilets are ubiquitous, I could maintain the position comfortably for several minutes. The key is keeping your feet flat, your back straight, and your weight distributed evenly. Roll up your pants to mid-calf, remove your backpack entirely, and if you’re wearing a long jacket or dress, bunch it up and hold it against your chest. Trust me on this – wet clothing is not the souvenir you want from Thailand.

Regional Variations Matter

Not all squat toilets are created equal. Turkish squat toilets often have raised footpads and are positioned differently than Japanese ones. Chinese public restrooms frequently feature squat toilets with minimal privacy dividers, which requires a whole different mental adjustment. In India, I encountered squat toilets with built-in water jets – a hybrid system that took some experimentation to master. The direction you face matters too. In most Asian countries, you face the hooded end of the toilet, but I’ve encountered variations in the Middle East where locals swore the opposite was correct. When in doubt, look for wear patterns on the footpads – they’ll show you where people actually stand.

Essential Squat Toilet Gear

After ruining two pairs of pants and nearly losing my phone down a squat toilet in Hanoi, I developed a strict protocol. First, invest in pants with zip pockets or a small crossbody bag that stays secure against your body. Second, carry hand sanitizer religiously – not all squat toilet facilities have soap, and many don’t have running water at all. Third, pack tissues or toilet paper in a waterproof bag. The number of times I’ve entered a stall to find absolutely no paper would shock you. In rural areas of China and Southeast Asia, I’d estimate only about 40% of public squat toilets had any paper supply whatsoever. Fourth, and this sounds paranoid until it saves you, bring a small flashlight or headlamp. I’ve used squat toilets in basement restaurants in Prague, rural bus stations in Peru, and highway rest stops in Turkey where the lighting was either nonexistent or so dim that I couldn’t see what I was doing.

The Great Bidet Mystery: Why Americans Fear What Europeans Love

I’ll be honest – I was terrified of bidets before this trip. Growing up in the United States, bidets existed only in fancy hotel rooms and European comedy sketches. The first time I encountered one in a Barcelona Airbnb, I stared at it for a solid five minutes trying to decode its purpose. Was it a foot bath? A drinking fountain for pets? The instructions weren’t exactly intuitive. Three months later, after using bidets across Italy, France, Spain, Portugal, and parts of South America, I’d become a complete convert. The real question isn’t why Europeans use bidets – it’s why the rest of us don’t.

Bidet Basics: The Mechanics

Traditional standalone bidets, common in Southern Europe and Argentina, are separate fixtures positioned next to the toilet. You do your business on the toilet first, then move to the bidet for cleaning. The water temperature controls work like a sink – hot on the left, cold on the right, with a mixer in between. The spray direction is adjustable, and yes, you control it manually. In Italy, I learned that you’re supposed to straddle the bidet facing the wall controls, though I’ve seen locals face either direction depending on personal preference. The key mistake Americans make is treating it like a toilet – it’s a cleaning station, not a waste receptacle. In a Rome café, I watched a mortified tourist try to use the bidet before the toilet, which resulted in a very awkward conversation with the bathroom attendant.

Japanese High-Tech Toilet Revolution

If traditional bidets are bicycles, Japanese toilets are Teslas. The first time I pressed a button on a Japanese toilet in Tokyo and received an unexpected warm water jet, I nearly jumped off the seat. These technological marvels feature heated seats, multiple spray patterns, air dryers, deodorizers, and control panels that look like they could launch a spacecraft. The standard setup includes a bidet function, a feminine wash option, a dryer, and pressure controls. Some high-end models in Tokyo department stores even play music to mask embarrassing sounds. The learning curve involves understanding the symbols – a wavy line usually means bidet, a flower or different wave pattern indicates feminine wash, and a fan symbol activates the dryer. I spent an entire week in Japan gradually increasing my confidence with these systems, and by the end, I genuinely missed them in other countries.

Bidet Etiquette Nobody Mentions

Here’s what the travel guides don’t tell you: in countries with bidets, there’s often a small towel near the bidet that’s specifically for drying after use. This towel is not for your hands – that’s what the hand towel by the sink is for. In Portuguese and Spanish homes, the bidet towel is typically a different color or has a distinct pattern. Also, in many European countries, it’s considered perfectly normal to have an open conversation about bidet use, whereas Americans tend to treat it like a state secret. When staying with a host family in Buenos Aires, my host mother gave me a fifteen-minute tutorial on proper bidet technique without a hint of embarrassment. The directness was refreshing compared to the awkward silence that surrounds bathroom topics in American culture.

The Toilet Paper Paradox: When Flushing Becomes a Cultural Crime

The sign in my Athens Airbnb was crystal clear: “Do not flush toilet paper. Use the bin provided.” My American instincts rebelled. Put used toilet paper in an open trash can? That seemed unsanitary, not to mention unpleasant. But after clogging a toilet in a Santorini restaurant and causing a minor plumbing emergency, I learned this rule exists for very good reasons. Greece’s older plumbing systems, installed decades ago with narrow pipes, simply cannot handle toilet paper. The same rule applies in much of Turkey, parts of Eastern Europe, most of Central and South America, and scattered locations throughout Asia.

The Infrastructure Reality

Understanding why you can’t flush toilet paper in certain countries requires a quick plumbing lesson. Modern sewer systems in countries like the United States, Canada, and Northern Europe were designed with larger diameter pipes and higher water pressure specifically to handle toilet paper. Older systems, particularly in countries with ancient infrastructure or limited water resources, use narrower pipes with lower pressure. In Greece, many buildings in historic areas still use plumbing installed in the 1950s or earlier. Flushing toilet paper in these systems causes blockages that can affect entire buildings or even city blocks. In Istanbul, a local plumber explained to me that a single tourist flushing paper can cause backups that take hours to clear and cost hundreds of dollars to fix.

The Bin System Explained

Once you accept that the bin is necessary, the next question is hygiene. How do these bathrooms not smell terrible? The answer is that in countries where this is the norm, the bins are designed differently. They’re typically small, pedal-operated, with tight-fitting lids and frequent emptying schedules. In well-maintained facilities in Mexico City, I noticed bins were emptied multiple times per day. The toilet paper used in these countries is often thinner and less absorbent than American brands, which helps with odor control. Additionally, many facilities use scented bin liners or place deodorizers in the bins themselves. Is it perfect? No. But after three months of using bin systems across multiple continents, I can confirm it’s far less problematic than I initially feared.

Countries Where You Can (and Can’t) Flush

Knowing where to flush and where to bin is crucial. In my experience, you can generally flush toilet paper in the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, Northern Europe (Germany, Netherlands, Scandinavia), Japan, South Korea, Australia, and New Zealand. You should use the bin in Greece, Turkey, much of Eastern Europe, most of Central America (Costa Rica, Panama, Nicaragua), South America (particularly Peru, Bolivia, and parts of Brazil), and many parts of Asia outside of Japan and South Korea. When in doubt, look for signs or a bin next to the toilet. If there’s a bin with a lid specifically positioned next to the toilet, that’s your answer. In Mexico, I developed a simple rule: if the accommodation costs less than $50 per night, use the bin. This worked about 90% of the time.

Pay Toilets in Europe: The Hidden Tax on Bladder Relief

I spent approximately 47 euros on public bathroom access during three weeks in Western Europe. That’s not a typo. In cities like Paris, Munich, Prague, and London, using a public restroom often requires payment ranging from 0.50 to 2.00 euros per visit. Train stations are particularly notorious for this – Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof charged me 1.00 euro for a bathroom visit that included a 0.50 euro voucher for station shops, which sounds reasonable until you realize the cheapest item in those shops costs 2.50 euros.

The Economics of European Public Toilets

Why do Europeans charge for bathroom access? The official explanation is maintenance and cleanliness. Pay toilets in Europe are generally much cleaner than free public restrooms in the United States. They’re staffed by attendants who clean constantly, stock supplies, and ensure everything functions properly. In Munich, the pay toilets at Marienplatz were genuinely spotless – better maintained than many restaurant bathrooms I’ve used. The attendant was actively mopping and restocking while I was there. The system creates jobs and ensures quality, but it also creates a barrier for people without cash or coins. In an increasingly cashless society, this is becoming problematic. I watched a desperate tourist in Prague get turned away from a pay toilet because she only had a credit card and the machine was coin-only.

Strategies for Minimizing Bathroom Costs

After hemorrhaging money on bathroom access in my first week in Europe, I developed several strategies. First, always carry coins – specifically 0.50 and 1.00 euro pieces. Second, use bathrooms in places where you’re already a customer. Buy a coffee at a café and use their facilities. Purchase a small item at a department store and access their restrooms. In Paris, I found that Galeries Lafayette had beautiful, free bathrooms for customers. Third, learn where the free public toilets are. Most European cities have some free options, usually in parks or public buildings. In Berlin, I discovered that many U-Bahn stations have free bathrooms, unlike S-Bahn stations which often charge. Fourth, consider getting a museum pass. Many museums have excellent free bathrooms, and if you’re visiting anyway, it’s a bonus. The Louvre’s bathrooms are nicer than some hotels I’ve stayed in.

The Attendant Tipping Dilemma

Even in free bathrooms, you’ll often encounter an attendant with a tip plate. This created constant anxiety for me. How much should you tip? Is it mandatory? What if you don’t have change? After observing locals and asking around, I learned that 0.20 to 0.50 euros is standard in Western Europe. In Eastern Europe, smaller amounts are acceptable. The tip is technically optional, but the social pressure is real. In a Budapest restaurant bathroom, the attendant handed me a towel before I could reach for one myself, making the tip feel obligatory. Some attendants in tourist-heavy areas are quite aggressive about it. In Rome, I encountered an attendant who literally blocked the exit until I contributed. The system feels exploitative at times, but these are often older women working for minimal pay, so I tried to tip when I could.

What Are the Most Common Types of Public Bathrooms Around the World?

After three months of intensive bathroom tourism, I can categorize public bathrooms around the world into several distinct types, each with its own protocols and challenges. Understanding these categories helps you prepare mentally and practically for what you’ll encounter. The variation is staggering – from pristine Japanese smart toilets to holes in the ground in rural Cambodia, the spectrum of bathroom experiences is wider than most travelers anticipate.

The Western Sit-Down Standard

This is what most Americans, Canadians, and Europeans know – a porcelain throne with a seat, tank, and flush mechanism. You’ll find these throughout North America, Western Europe, Australia, and in upscale establishments worldwide. The variation comes in flush mechanisms (handle, button, sensor) and water pressure. In the United States, toilets use a siphon system with lots of water. In Europe, they often use a shelf system where waste sits on a porcelain shelf before being flushed away – supposedly for health inspection purposes, though it creates its own cleanliness challenges. Australian toilets often have dual-flush buttons for liquid versus solid waste, a water-saving feature I wish was more common globally.

The Asian Squat Toilet

Prevalent throughout Asia, the Middle East, and parts of Southern Europe, squat toilets come in many forms. Japanese squat toilets are typically porcelain, well-maintained, and include handles for stability. Chinese squat toilets might be porcelain or stainless steel, with varying levels of privacy and cleanliness. In rural areas of Southeast Asia, I encountered squat toilets that were essentially holes in concrete slabs with footpads. The flushing mechanism varies wildly – some have automatic sensors, others have manual flush handles, and many require you to scoop water from a bucket and pour it down the toilet. In Thailand, the bucket system is common even in mid-range establishments. You get used to it faster than you’d think.

The Hybrid and High-Tech Options

Japan deserves its own category for bathroom innovation. The standard Japanese toilet combines a Western sit-down design with built-in bidet functions, heated seats, and more features than my first car. South Korea has adopted similar technology. These toilets represent the pinnacle of bathroom engineering – they’re comfortable, hygienic, and remarkably user-friendly once you understand the controls. Some Tokyo department stores have toilets that automatically open when you approach, play music, analyze your health metrics, and practically give you a massage. The contrast between these high-tech marvels and the squat toilets I used in rural Japan was jarring – sometimes separated by just a few train stops.

Cultural Bathroom Norms That Will Surprise You

Beyond the hardware differences, bathroom culture varies in ways that can catch you completely off guard. These unwritten rules govern everything from who cleans what to whether bathroom conversation is acceptable. Violating these norms won’t get you arrested, but it might earn you some very confused or disapproving looks from locals. I learned most of these through embarrassing trial and error.

The Shower-Toilet Combo

In many Asian countries, bathrooms are designed as wet rooms where everything is waterproof and drainage is built into the floor. The toilet, sink, and shower all share the same space with no separation. This was confusing at first in my Bangkok hostel – why was there no shower curtain or separate shower area? Because the entire bathroom is the shower. You spray water everywhere, it drains through floor grates, and everything dries between uses. This system is actually more hygienic than Western bathrooms in some ways, but it means you can’t leave anything on the floor (it will get soaked) and you need to wear shower shoes at all times. In Japan, even homes often have separate toilet rooms and bathing rooms, treating them as completely distinct functions.

Gender-Separated Facilities Aren’t Universal

In some countries, particularly in rural areas or older establishments, bathrooms are single-stall facilities used by all genders. In Istanbul, I used several restaurant bathrooms that were simply labeled “toilet” with no gender designation. In parts of Scandinavia, I encountered fully gender-neutral multi-stall bathrooms where everyone used the same sinks and stalls. This is gradually becoming more common in progressive urban areas worldwide. Conversely, in some conservative countries, gender separation is taken extremely seriously. In Iran (which I visited briefly), bathroom facilities are strictly segregated, and violations are taken very seriously. Understanding local norms prevents awkward situations.

The Bathroom Attendant Economy

In many countries, bathroom attendants are a normal part of the experience. In the United States, they’re mostly found in upscale restaurants and nightclubs. In Europe, Latin America, and parts of Asia, they’re everywhere – train stations, shopping malls, restaurants, tourist sites. These attendants maintain cleanliness, stock supplies, and expect tips. In some Eastern European countries, the attendant might be selling individual sheets of toilet paper for a small fee. In Morocco, I encountered attendants who controlled the water supply to sinks, turning it on for you and handing you soap. The system provides employment but can feel uncomfortable for travelers who aren’t used to having an audience for their bathroom routine.

Emergency Bathroom Strategies Every Traveler Needs

Despite your best planning, bathroom emergencies happen. You’ll find yourself desperately needing a toilet in a city where you don’t speak the language, with no obvious public facilities in sight. These situations taught me more about creative problem-solving than any business course ever could. Here are the strategies that saved me repeatedly during three months of bathroom adventures across 22 countries.

The Universal Bathroom Finder

First, download bathroom finder apps before you travel. Flush Toilet Finder, Toilet Finder, and SitOrSquat are legitimate lifesavers in unfamiliar cities. These apps use crowd-sourced data to show nearby public restrooms, often with ratings and details about whether they’re free, clean, or accessible. In Prague, when I desperately needed a bathroom after too much Czech beer, the Flush app directed me to a free public toilet in a park that I never would have found otherwise. Google Maps also shows public toilets in many cities if you search for “public toilet” or “WC.” The key is downloading these apps and maps for offline use before you need them – trying to download an app while doing the bathroom dance is not ideal.

The Café Strategy

When in doubt, find a café. This works in virtually every country. Order a small coffee or tea, use the bathroom, and sit for a few minutes to avoid looking like you’re just using their facilities. Yes, this costs money, but usually less than pay toilets and you get a beverage. In Paris, I used this strategy constantly – a 2 euro espresso at a café bought me bathroom access and a brief rest. The key is choosing the right establishment. Large chain cafés like Starbucks, Costa, or local equivalents are usually safe bets with decent bathrooms. Small independent cafés might have bathrooms that are… challenging. In Rome, I made the mistake of using the bathroom at a tiny family-run café and discovered a toilet situation that still haunts my dreams.

Hotel Lobbies and Department Stores

Large hotels and department stores almost always have public bathrooms, and they’re usually much nicer than street-level options. Walk in confidently, like you belong there, and head straight for the bathroom. If questioned, you’re meeting someone or looking for a specific department. In Bangkok, I regularly used bathrooms in large hotels along Sukhumvit Road. In London, department stores like Harrods and Selfridges have excellent bathrooms that are technically for customers but rarely monitored. Museums are another excellent option – they always have bathrooms, and even if you’re not visiting, you can usually access them from the lobby or gift shop area. This strategy works less well in smaller cities where there aren’t many large establishments, but in major tourist destinations, it’s reliable.

The Last Resort Options

Sometimes you’re truly desperate with no good options. Fast food restaurants are a reliable backup – McDonald’s, KFC, and other international chains have bathrooms that are relatively consistent worldwide. They’re not always clean, but they exist and they’re usually free. Gas stations vary wildly by country. In Germany, highway gas stations have excellent bathrooms (though they charge). In rural Thailand, gas station bathrooms ranged from acceptable to “I’ll hold it, thanks.” Train and bus stations always have bathrooms, but quality varies enormously. I’ve used train station bathrooms in Switzerland that were nicer than my apartment, and bus station bathrooms in rural Peru that were… let’s just say they were technically functional. When truly desperate, ask locals. The phrase “Where is the bathroom?” in the local language is the single most important phrase you can learn. I’ve had locals walk me several blocks to show me the nearest decent bathroom more times than I can count.

Health and Hygiene: Staying Safe in Sketchy Bathroom Situations

Let’s address the elephant in the room – or rather, the bacteria in the bathroom. Not all public bathrooms around the world meet Western hygiene standards, and some don’t meet any reasonable standards at all. During three months of using public bathrooms in 22 countries, I never got seriously ill from bathroom-related exposure, but that required constant vigilance and a well-stocked hygiene kit. Here’s what actually matters for staying healthy when you’re using questionable facilities multiple times per day.

The Essential Hygiene Kit

After my first week of travel, I assembled a bathroom kit that I carried everywhere. This kit included: hand sanitizer with at least 60% alcohol content (I went through four bottles in three months), individually wrapped wet wipes, a small pack of tissues (because toilet paper is never guaranteed), a travel-size soap in a waterproof container, and a small microfiber towel. I kept this in a waterproof pouch that could handle getting wet or dirty. The hand sanitizer was non-negotiable – I used it before and after every bathroom visit, regardless of whether soap was available. In countries where I encountered squat toilets without running water, having my own supplies was the difference between maintaining hygiene and just hoping for the best.

When to Hover, When to Sit

The hover technique – squatting over a Western-style toilet without actually sitting – is exhausting and often unnecessary. Unless the toilet seat is visibly dirty or wet, sitting is fine. Most bacteria that concern people don’t actually transmit through toilet seats. Your skin is an excellent barrier. What matters more is hand hygiene afterward. That said, I did hover in situations where the seat was wet, damaged, or obviously unsanitary. In those cases, I used the thigh-burning squat technique I’d perfected on actual squat toilets. The key is not touching anything with your hands if you can avoid it. I became adept at using my foot to flush, my elbow to open doors, and paper towels as barriers between my hands and surfaces.

The Water Safety Question

In countries where tap water isn’t safe to drink, should you use it in bathrooms? This depends on the specific risk. For washing hands, tap water is generally fine as long as you’re using soap and not putting your hands in your mouth afterward. For bidet use, this gets trickier. In most countries with bidets, the water is the same as tap water. If you wouldn’t drink it, you probably shouldn’t spray it on sensitive areas. In Southeast Asia, I was cautious about bidet use in places where the water quality was questionable. In Japan and South Korea, where tap water is safe, I had no concerns. When in doubt, use toilet paper or wet wipes instead of water-based cleaning, or use bottled water if you’re truly concerned. I met travelers who’d gotten infections from bidet use in countries with poor water quality, so this isn’t paranoia – it’s practical risk management.

What I’d Tell My Past Self Before This Journey

Looking back on three months and 22 countries worth of bathroom experiences, there’s so much I wish I’d known before I started. The learning curve was steep, expensive, and occasionally humiliating. If I could send advice back to myself standing in that Thai train station on day twelve, desperately trying to figure out squat toilet mechanics while my backpack threatened to fall into the wet floor, here’s what I’d say. These lessons apply to anyone planning extended international travel, particularly to regions where public bathrooms around the world differ dramatically from what you know.

First, invest in the right gear before you leave. A good travel-size hygiene kit costs maybe twenty dollars but saves you countless times. Include hand sanitizer, wet wipes, tissues, and a small towel. Don’t cheap out on the hand sanitizer – get one with a carabiner clip so you can attach it to your bag and access it instantly. Second, practice squatting before you encounter your first squat toilet in a crisis situation. Seriously. Spend a few minutes each day doing deep squats with your heels flat on the ground. Your future self will thank you when you’re not toppling over in a moving train bathroom. Third, learn bathroom-related phrases in every language before you arrive. “Where is the bathroom?” “Do you have toilet paper?” “How much does it cost?” These phrases have saved me more times than asking for directions or ordering food.

Fourth, always carry coins in Europe. Always. I cannot stress this enough. Those pay toilets don’t take cards, and they don’t make change. Fifth, download bathroom finder apps and offline maps before you travel. When you’re desperate, you don’t have time to figure out app stores in foreign languages. Sixth, don’t be embarrassed to ask for help or clarification. I wasted so much time and anxiety trying to figure things out myself when locals would have happily explained in thirty seconds. That bidet in Barcelona? The hostel owner would have shown me how to use it if I’d just asked. The squat toilet in Istanbul? The restaurant staff could have explained the water bucket system. Pride is expensive when you’re traveling.

Seventh, adjust your expectations and embrace the experience. Yes, some bathrooms will be uncomfortable, unfamiliar, or downright unpleasant. That’s part of travel. The pristine smart toilets in Tokyo and the holes in the ground in rural Cambodia are both valid bathroom experiences that teach you something about the places you’re visiting. Finally, remember that billions of people use these systems every day without incident. You’re not being asked to do anything impossible – just different from what you’re used to. The squat toilets, bidets, pay toilets, and paper bins exist because they work for the cultures that use them. Your job as a traveler is to adapt, learn, and maybe appreciate that there isn’t one right way to handle basic human needs. After three months of bathroom adventures, I came home with stories, skills, and a genuine appreciation for the diversity of human solutions to universal problems. And yes, I seriously considered installing a bidet in my apartment. Those Europeans might be onto something.

References

[1] World Health Organization – Global Water, Sanitation and Hygiene: Annual Report on global sanitation infrastructure and public health standards across different countries and regions

[2] National Geographic Traveler – Cultural studies on bathroom etiquette and sanitation practices in various countries, including historical context for different toilet systems

[3] Journal of Travel Medicine – Research on traveler health risks related to sanitation facilities and hygiene practices in international destinations

[4] International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health – Studies on public restroom infrastructure, maintenance standards, and their impact on public health outcomes globally

[5] Lonely Planet – Comprehensive travel guides covering practical bathroom advice and cultural norms for international travelers across multiple continents