How much tourism can a city bear before it loses its soul?

Every summer, when millions of visitors flood the squares of Venice, Barcelona or Dubrovnik, a scene repeats itself that locals have long stopped seeing as a sign of prosperity. Tourism, of course, brings income, jobs and tax money, without which many Mediterranean regions could hardly survive. But when the number of guests permanently exceeds the so-called carrying capacity of a place, the benefit turns into a burden that noticeably disrupts the daily life of residents. For this phenomenon, which in the specialist literature and in the media is referred to as overtourism, there is so far no universal recipe.

Venice is considered a textbook example: fewer than 50,000 people live in the historic centre today, which is less than a third of the number of inhabitants in the middle of the last century. At the same time, millions of tourists visit the city every year, a large proportion of whom come only on a day trip and leave again after a few hours without leaving significant income. That is why since 2024 the city, as the first in the world, has been charging an entrance fee of five euros on a trial basis, which day visitors must pay on days with the biggest crowds. Critics, however, object that the fee has more symbolic than practical significance and that it could even accelerate the transformation of the city into a theme park. As early as 2021, after years of protests by citizens' initiatives and under pressure from UNESCO, the Italian government banned large cruise ships from the Venetian lagoon.

In Spain, one of the most visited countries in the world, the discontent of residents has turned into mass protests in recent years. In the summer of 2024, thousands of demonstrators in Barcelona sprayed tourists with water pistols, a symbolic act that attracted great attention abroad too. The demonstrators complained that mass tourism is driving locals out of their neighbourhoods because rents are rising faster than wages. Similar demonstrations also took place on the Canary Islands, where residents are demanding a limit on the number of visitors and a different model of development that would be less dependent on tourism. For many young people there, living in their own city has long been an unaffordable luxury.

At the centre of the debate is the short-term rental of flats via platforms such as Airbnb, which for owners is far more lucrative than classic long-term letting. Every flat that is let to tourists disappears from the regular market, whereby supply shrinks, and prices for the local population continue to rise. Barcelona therefore plans to abolish all of its roughly 10,000 licences for holiday flats by 2028, a step that owners and the tourism industry sharply criticise. At the same time, the European Union adopted a regulation under which platforms are obliged to share data on rentals with the competent authorities so that the authorities can better control the market.

A particular problem is posed by the cruise ships, which can unload thousands of passengers into the narrow alleys of small historic towns within a few hours. Dubrovnik, which experienced a real invasion of visitors after the filming of a popular television series, therefore limited the number of cruise ships that are allowed to dock in one day, and Amsterdam also introduced similar restrictions. Other cities are turning to higher tourist taxes, to bans on opening new hotels in the most crowded neighbourhoods or to campaigns that are meant to redirect visitors to less well-known districts.

Nevertheless, many city administrations hesitate to take more radical steps, as tourism in some regions accounts for a significant part of the economy and employment. Moreover, restrictions carry the risk that tourism will simply spill over into neighbouring places that are not prepared for it, or that the city will become a reserve for the rich. The question remains open whether a balance can be found in which guests would be welcome and the cities would still remain a home for their residents.