I Don’t Believe in a Thing Called “Regenerative Tourism”

I don't believe in a thing called "regenerative tourism."

And yet, I talk about it all the time. And with this blogpost, I begin a new content series on regenerative practices—or at least what we understand them to be.

In May, I'll be taking a course with a biologist, because I suspect I still don't fully grasp the depth of the concept of "regeneration'. Perhaps I never will. And that is precisely the difficulty. We live in a world that insists on understanding everything, on placing things neatly into categories and frameworks. As Emmanuel Levinas reminds us in his distinction between totality and otherness, the moment we fully define something, we risk reducing it—stripping it of its complexity, its alterity, its life.

We do this all the time. With people we do not know. With ideas that do not fit dominant paradigms. Even with concepts that have existed for centuries, once they fall outside our familiar frames, they feel foreign.

"Regenerative tourism" suffers exactly this fate.
To some, it sounds vague, idealistic, naïve.
To others, it promises an unreachable heaven.

But perhaps the real issue is simpler, especially when we talk about the second part: 'tourism':

I think we should stop pretending that tourism needs to be saved. Tourism works perfectly. It does exactly what it was designed to do: generate movement, increase consumption, and scale growth. The problem is not that the system is broken. The problem is that the system is working, even crisis after crisis—just not for the outcomes we now claim to desire.

Tourism is not a neutral activity. It is an industry. And like any industry, it is built on scale. More arrivals, more overnight stays, more spending. We measure success in numbers, not in relationships. In volume, not in value. And so, unsurprisingly, we get exactly what we measure.

But let's be honest. A system that depends on a constant influx of outsiders can never truly be rooted in place. A system that grows through movement cannot create stability. A system optimised for visitors will never be optimised for those who live there.

We say we are 'developing' places. In reality, we are not. We are just 'packaging' them: Landscapes become backdrops. Cultures become experiences. Communities become service providers. Places become products. And products are designed to be sold.

This is design.
Within the logic of Tourism Economics, this is entirely rational.
Within the logic of a living system, it doesn't make any sense.

I personally don't think the answer is not 'better' tourism. Not more 'sustainable', not 'regenerative tourism', at least not as long as the underlying logic stays the same. These adjectives often feel vague and debatable, too easy to use and misuse, especially in this age of transition.

Imagine a different system that is designed not around visitors, but around residents. Not around growth, but around carrying capacity. Not around assets, but around meaning.

In such a system, tourism is no longer an industry—it becomes a byproduct. People do not come because we attract them, but because a place is healthy, alive, and worth relating to.

That shift changes everything.

We stop maximising numbers and start protecting limits.
We stop selling experiences and start strengthening relationships.
We stop optimising for stay and start investing in presence.

And yes—people will still come. But different people. Less transient, more engaged, more attuned to the place. Not everyone will come. And that is precisely the point.

Because a healthy place is not for everyone.
A healthy place is for those willing to enter into relationship with it.

This is not an anti-tourism argument. It is a post-tourism one. A recognition that mobility will not disappear—but its role must fundamentally change.

The irony is that when you stop putting tourism at the centre, what remains often becomes more valuable—economically, ecologically, and socially!

So no, I don't believe in "regenerative tourism" in the sense that we can make tourism regenerative. The combination of the word 'regenerative' and the word 'tourism' is incompatible. It starts from a different logic.

But I do believe in regenerative places.

And perhaps, if we learn to care for those well enough, the right kind of travel will follow—quietly, naturally, and without needing a name.

This series aims to share what we have learnt when working with different places across the globe that have some regenerative practice seeds.

- ELKE DENS