Is “The Whole Country, All Year Round”? really a good approach?
“Hele landet, hele året” aka The wholde country, the whole year around has been Visit Norwas motto for a while. In Norway, the tourism industry often dream about making the whole country a year-round destination. From Lofoten's dramatic peaks to the fjords of Western Norway, the push to fill every month of the calendar is strong. The reason is obvious. The country has very defined seasons, while some are more attractive than others. The country also has a few hotspots taking the burden, while other places are not taking part of the tourism fairytale.
The idea is simple: more tourists, more income, more life in rural communities. But this approach raises a fundamental question: what happens to places, and the people who live there, when tourism never takes a break?
In Cascais, the small fishing village outside Lisbon that once served as a retreat for Portugal's elite, it used to be summer that filled the streets. The season dictated everything—economy, people’s moods, and the pulse of life. During the summer months, tourists arrived in waves, bringing wealth and energy. Then came winter, when calm returned, businesses closed their doors, and locals reclaimed their village. Life followed the natural rhythm of the seasons—busy periods of work followed by much-needed rest.
But something changed. Social media started showcasing dreamy images of Cascais in the off-season. Budget airlines made quick escapes more accessible. And the global hunger for new experiences pushed travelers to visit places year-round. The once-predictable seasons stretched out, overlapping and blurring into a near-constant stream of visitors. This transformation has become a defining feature of modern tourism, not just in Cascais but across the globe.
Venice: A City Perpetually Flooded
Venice is perhaps one of the most striking examples. Once a city that thrived during festivals and cultural events, its canals now overflow not just with water but with visitors every day of the year. Cruise ships might no longer be allowed to unload thousands of tourists at once, but St. Mark’s Square remains rarely free of crowds, even on a rainy weekday in November. The city no longer has an off-season to recover from the wear and tear that millions of feet bring to its ancient streets and delicate infrastructure.
For the locals, it’s a crisis. Housing has become unaffordable, with apartments turned into short-term rentals. The Venetian population continues to shrink, replaced by waves of transient visitors. Locals complain of losing their community and traditions, replaced by a 24/7 tourism economy.
Not long ago, we visited some friends in Venice who live on Lido. More and more Venetians are moving out of the city’s historic center, to the mainland or nearby islands like Lido. While rising housing costs make it increasingly unaffordable to stay in the heart of Venice, the bigger issue is the intensity of life there. For many locals, the constant crowds, noise, and influx of visitors have made it nearly impossible to live comfortably in their own city.
Bali: Paradise lost
Half a world away, Bali tells a similar story. What was once a serene island paradise with its own seasonal ebb and flow has become an Instagram hotspot. The island's rice paddies, temples, and beaches are now staging grounds for influencers and content creators. The relentless influx of tourists has led to environmental degradation: plastic waste clogs rivers, water shortages plague the island due to overdevelopment, and sacred sites are overrun by disrespectful visitors.
For Balinese communities, the costs of year-round tourism are steep. Farmers struggle to find water for crops as hotels and resorts drain resources. Locals are increasingly forced to work in the tourism sector, where wages often don’t match the rising cost of living brought on by development catering to foreigners.
And yet, the pace of development shows no signs of slowing. Luxury villas, new resorts, and tourist infrastructure projects continue to spring up across the island, swallowing more land and straining already overstretched resources. The question looms: when will it stop? How much can an island take before it loses the very essence of what drew visitors in the first place? For many locals, the fear is not just environmental collapse but the erosion of their cultural identity as Bali becomes more like a global tourist playground and less like home.
To grow strong, you need time to recover—just like building muscles after a workout.
From Barcelona to Banff, Reykjavik to Kyoto, destinations across the world are grappling with the challenges of year-round tourism. While the industry celebrates the growth in global travel, the costs are becoming harder to ignore.
When tourism followed a seasonal rhythm, places could recover and rebuild. Like resting after intense exercise, this downtime allowed streets to be repaired, beaches to be cleaned, and ecosystems to heal. Locals had time to regroup, reclaim their spaces, and prepare for the next season. But today, overtourism eliminates this essential recovery period. Without time to rest, cities and communities risk breaking down, losing the very qualities that made them attractive and resilient in the first place.
What Happens When Destinations Never Rest?
Constant tourism leads to a range of issues:
Environmental Strain: Natural sites, like the beaches of Thailand or the trails in the Swiss Alps, suffer from overuse. Coral reefs are bleached by too many snorkelers, and mountains erode under the weight of excessive hiking traffic.
Cultural Erosion: Local traditions and ways of life are diluted as communities are forced to adapt to tourists’ expectations. In some places, cultural performances and rituals are staged for entertainment rather than practiced as living traditions.
Economic Dependence: Once tourism becomes a year-round business, economies become overly reliant on visitors. This creates vulnerabilities during downturns, such as the COVID-19 pandemic, which devastated tourism-dependent regions.
Social Fatigue: Locals grow weary of living in perpetual peak season. Noise, crowds, and the loss of privacy lead to frustration and resentment toward tourists.
Rethinking Tourism: The Need for Balance
Perhaps the problem isn’t too much tourism but the lack of pauses. What if instead of extending the high season indefinitely, destinations focused on creating breathing spaces?
In Japan, the cherry blossom season is an example of a natural tourism cycle. Visitors flock to see the blooming trees, but once the petals fall, the crowds dissipate, and life returns to normal. Similarly, in Norway, many fjord towns experience an influx of visitors in the summer, but winter brings a quieter pace. These cycles allow places to regenerate—physically, environmentally, and socially.
We could learn from these natural rhythms. Instead of aiming to fill every gap in the calendar, tourism strategies should embrace seasonality. Travelers might also benefit from this approach, as visiting during quieter times could offer a more authentic and meaningful experience.
Practical Solutions
Tourism Caps: Some destinations, like Machu Picchu in Peru and Dubrovnik in Croatia, have introduced caps on the number of daily visitors. These policies help limit the strain on infrastructure and the environment.
Promoting Off-Season Travel: Encouraging travel during true off-peak times could help strike a critical balance. By spreading out visitor numbers, we can reduce the strain on popular destinations during peak seasons while still respecting the natural rhythms of places. This approach ensures that communities and ecosystems have time to recover and maintain their integrity, allowing tourism to coexist sustainably with local life and the environment.
Community-First Policies: Governments and tourism boards should prioritize local needs over maximizing visitor numbers. This could mean limiting short-term rentals or investing in infrastructure that benefits residents year-round.
Educating Travelers: Campaigns could raise awareness about the value of sustainable travel and the importance of respecting local rhythms and customs.
Respecting Natural Rhythms
At its heart, the problem of overtourism may be less about the volume of tourists and more about the loss of rhythm. Destinations, like people, need time to breathe. Without it, they risk burnout—losing their identity, beauty, and sustainability.
Perhaps the future of tourism isn’t about extending the season but respecting it. Every place has its cycles, its quiet moments, and its natural balance. By giving destinations time to rest, we not only preserve them for future generations but also offer travelers the chance to experience something richer and more profound: the true essence of a place.
Maybe overtourism is about never getting a break? Maybe the solution is as simple—and as essential—as learning to pause?
