The Strange Case of the Lopsided Town — What Happens When Tourism Arrives Before Ethics
When most people think of a tourist town, they picture cobblestone streets lined with cafés, Instagram-worthy vistas, or that sleepy countryside village now buzzing thanks to a viral travel blog.
But what happens when tourism shows up somewhere before the basics do?
Recently, I found myself in a small regional town — the kind you don’t see on postcards. At first glance, it was charming: heritage buildings, a lush river bend, and a main street filled with potential. But spend an hour here, and you begin to notice something… strange.
The public toilets are closed indefinitely due to maintenance — and have been for over a year. The local health clinic operates two days a week with a three-month wait list. There's nowhere to recycle. No public transport. Not even a pharmacy. And yet… there are newly built Airbnb cabins with glossy finishes, a hipster coffee van parked on the oval, and a well-funded campaign inviting visitors to "escape to the wild."
Strange, isn't it?
Strange that a town can be too under-serviced to meet the needs of its own residents, yet “ready” to cater to guests. Strange that the most consistent job opportunities here are in cleaning holiday homes or pouring lattes for people passing through — not in education, health, or essential services. Stranger still, this isn’t an isolated case.
Across Australia (and the globe), communities are being branded as “undiscovered gems” and marketed to tourists before they are supported, resourced, or protected in any meaningful way.
This isn’t just ironic. It’s unethical.
When Tourism Arrives Too Early
Tourism, in its best form, can breathe life into regional economies. But when it's rushed or built on uneven ground, it creates more imbalance than opportunity.
Here’s what happens when we prioritise visitors over residents:
Strain on Infrastructure: Locals line up behind tourists for the few services that exist.
Rising Costs: Housing prices skyrocket, and rentals vanish into the short-stay economy.
Cultural Erosion: Long-held traditions and stories are packaged into marketable sound bites.
Community Burnout: Locals feel unseen, unheard, and exploited — especially those in care, cleaning, or casual jobs.
We wouldn’t build a hotel on an unstable foundation — so why do we build visitor economies on under-supported communities?
Reimagining What Tourism Could Look Like
Let’s get a little stranger, shall we? What if we flipped the model?
What if we asked, “Is this place well enough to welcome others?”
What if the health of a town’s people was more important than the growth of its visitor numbers?
Imagine tourism that:
Invests in the local school before it sponsors a new art trail
Brings in infrastructure that serves both guests and residents
Listens to the needs of the community, not just its councils
Measures success in wellbeing, not just overnight stays
The towns that last — and become truly magnetic — are the ones that honour their people first. The places that are slow, strange, proud, real. Places where locals don’t just “host,” they live, lead, and thrive.
So, next time you plan a trip...
Ask yourself:
Is this a place ready for visitors, or is it a place that needs investment before invitation?
And if you’re someone in the tourism, events, or wellness industry — maybe even like me — consider this an invitation to be a better guest, a more mindful contributor, and an advocate for ethical tourism that leaves towns better than it found them.
Because sometimes what’s strange… is simply what we’ve been too used to calling normal.
Want to chat tourism ethics, community-led development, or how to build conscious experiences that serve everyone involved?
Let’s talk.
📩 Email Brooke | 🌐 Be Well With Brooke
