By Leo Mirani, Asia correspondent, The Economist

Is there such a thing as “overtourism”? Ask people lucky enough to live in or near Amsterdam, Goa, Mount Fuji or any decent-size city in southern Europe, and they will answer with a resounding “Yes”. They are, you might say, over tourism. The influx of tourists, they grumble, is causing congestion and pollution, driving up housing costs and skewing development priorities away from the needs of locals. Many are calling for authorities to do something about it.

Some things have been done. In 2024 Venice limited tour groups to 25 people and, on peak days, instituted a €5 ($5.30) fee for day-trippers. Amsterdam is planning to move its cruise-ship terminal away from the city centre, and forcing some ships to dock 85km away in Rotterdam. Barcelona and some parts of Greece are cracking down on cruise ships and short-term rentals, like those offered by Airbnb. Rome is mulling a €2 fee to see the Trevi fountain. New Zealand, a country with eight times as many sheep as tourists, has tripled its levy on visitors.

The impact of these moves is unclear. Nearly half a million people happily paid Venice’s fee, about the cost of a coffee in Piazza San Marco, which suggests that it was too small to deter day-trippers. Large tour groups split up into parties of 25, but stuck close together. Moving cruise terminals out of city centres may increase road traffic as tourists travel to and from ports. And abolishing Airbnb-type rentals reduces competition and lets incumbent hotel operators charge more. Such moves are not only cosmetic, they are an overreaction to overtourism.

The summer of 2024 was a record-breaking one for travel as post-pandemic tourism continued to boom. Arrivals for the whole year are expected to slightly exceed the 2019 peak. Yet that boom is misleading. Globally, between 1995 and 2019, international tourist arrivals grew at an average annual rate of about 5%, before collapsing with the lockdowns of 2020 and 2021. For arrivals to return to 2019 levels meant growth rates of 66% in 2022, 46% in 2023 and at least 38% in 2024. A growth rate of 5% can seem manageable; a growth rate of 40% can feel like an unstoppable deluge. Confronted by 25 years’ worth of growth in three, even the most hospitable people will reach their limits.

The good news is that 2025 is likely to feel quieter. Airlines, hotels and cruise lines are seeing traffic to their websites dip. Airbnb warned in August that foreign demand from Americans—a huge tourist market—was slowing. Online travel agents say prices are moderating. Hotels and other travel-and-tourism companies are issuing similar warnings. The signs are that things, especially in Europe, may be returning to normal. Tourist numbers will still climb, but growth will return to its more sedate, pre-pandemic pace.

To take advantage of the economic opportunities tourism offers, cities blessed with visitors might want to avoid putting up barriers, and instead enhance their readiness to welcome travellers. This includes measures like encouraging off-season travel and managing how tourists are distributed across a city or island so “they’re not all in the same square kilometre”, says Margaux Constantin of McKinsey, a consultancy. In 2023 London received 18.8m visitors, more than any city except Istanbul. Yet few Londoners complain about tourists (though they do complain about many other things).

The alternative is to pull up the drawbridge and lose business to other destinations. But tourism is a lucrative export industry; many countries that envy Europe’s problems are easing visa restrictions to lure travellers from places such as India, where outward tourism is booming. And noisy protesters in European cities are only a small minority. Asked in a recent survey about the impact tourists had on their cities, 75% of Spaniards said it was positive. Just 8% felt the opposite. The same people who complain about overtourism in their neighbourhoods are, after all, sometimes tourists in other people’s cities, too. ■