For Americans, the biggest annoyance of international travel this fall isn’t Zika or getting pickpocketed in Rome. It’s the 2016 presidential race.

Travel outside of the United States and chatter about the election will descend upon you like a stubborn flock of hungry pigeons in Trafalgar Square. Once your identity as a US citizen is confirmed, the questions swiftly commence.

“So, is Trump really going to win the election?’’ a cabdriver in London asked me.

“Do Americans really think he’s sane enough to be president?’’ a tour guide inquired in Mexico City.

“Donald Trump is going to make a great president. Are you voting for him?’’ a waiter in Israel asked after first checking whether I preferred still or sparkling water.

“What the hell is going on in the United States?’’ a rather blunt woman asked me at a shop in France. I wanted shampoo that didn’t smell like peach melba; she wanted to gnaw on political gristle.

What I’ve learned over the past year is that the international community is warily watching the US election as if it were taking place on their own soil. They are fascinated that Donald Trump is his party’s nominee, and when they have an American to speak with, they go into full interrogation mode. They want to know what it’s like to be living in the greatest, and most surreal, show on earth.

That makes it a difficult time to be an American abroad, especially if you’re suffering from election burnout and the purpose of your travel is pure escapism.

I was at a loss when a man I met in Germany this year sent me a Facebook message after the third presidential debate worried that Trump may not concede the election if he loses.

“I find this very troubling,’’ he wrote. “Are you worried for your future?’’

I don’t mind talking about politics, but to explain the American psyche in broad strokes is akin to guessing what each head of the Hydra was thinking when Hercules started throwing flaming arrows at it. There are many reasons these candidates rose to the top of their tickets, and when I’m traveling I prefer not to think about any of them, let alone explain them. Likewise, while watching the sunset at a Mediterranean beach bar, I’d rather reflect on the grandeur of nature than chat about Hillary Clinton’s likability.

Unless you’re capable of faking a good British accent, I guarantee that you will be pulled into political discussions.

On a recent cruise I met a charming Canadian couple. They were fantastic dinner companions. However, every conversation inevitably turned to Trump — usually because another woman had come forward alleging an unwanted sexual advance. More fresh material for a tired topic.

“How does he get away with making these ridiculous statements?’’ one of the kind Canadians asked. At this point in the evening I tried to turn the topic to something more pleasant, like peppermint stick ice cream, or root canal surgery. Within five minutes we were back to the election.

According to my unscientific survey, discussion of Hillary Clinton begins after approximately 22 minutes of solid Trump talk. When I travel, there seems to be more support for Clinton, but people would much rather talk about Trump. When Clinton and Trump were neck-in-neck in the polls, there was sheer astonishment that a former television reality show host could have as much support as a former secretary of state.

The question of Clinton’s likability doesn’t appear to be a widespread international issue, except perhaps in Brussels, where I encountered a Belgian “Bernie bro.’’ I nodded my head as he spoke, all the while thinking, “They know who Bernie Sanders is in Belgium?’’

I was in Iceland the day Trump alluded to a possible Clinton assassination when speaking about gun rights at a rally. At a bar that night I fielded questions from perplexed residents of Reykjavik as if I were the head of the US consulate.

“Could that possibly be true?’’ a woman named Helga asked me, genuinely concerned for the safety of the former secretary of state.

I was embarrassed because I couldn’t answer her question. She was probably envisioning ours as a country full of gun-toting Yosemite Sams and Samanthas, ready to rebel.

With each country I visit, the conversation begins anew. How do you assure people you meet around the world that one candidate won’t put the other in jail, or grind the democratic process to a halt by claiming the elections are rigged? I try to remain patient, but sitting through a screed about Clinton’s e-mails while trying to enjoy an adult beverage in Tel Aviv is not my definition of a good time.

I know the election cross-examinations won’t end until Nov. 9, so I’m adopting a new technique to handle the questions. I’ll say I’m from a small farming town in Alberta and that I’m also quite concerned about the outcome of the US elections. At least I’ll only be half-lying.

Christopher Muther can be reached at muther@globe.com. Follow him on Twitter @Chris_Muther.