The narrow alleys of Venice echo with the shuffle of tourists, their footfalls blending into the soundscape of lapping canals and the occasional cry of a gondolier. In the distance, St. Mark’s Basilica gleams in the late afternoon sun. But beneath its enduring beauty lies an uncomfortable truth: Venice is drowning. A combination of rising sea levels, subsiding land, and an unrelenting flood of visitors threatens to pull this iconic city into oblivion. And Venice is not alone. From the bleached corals of the Great Barrier Reef to the melting glaciers of Patagonia, fragile destinations around the world face a ticking clock. This reality has given rise to a controversial new trend: last-chance tourism.
It is the ultimate paradox of modern travel. As travelers rush to see these places “before they’re gone,” the very act of visiting hastens their demise. Tourists clog fragile ecosystems, add to carbon emissions, and strain the cultural and natural resources of communities trying to preserve their heritage. And yet, for many destinations, tourism is also the lifeblood of their economies, offering funds and visibility that might otherwise be lacking. This tension—between preservation and exploitation—defines the growing phenomenon of last-chance tourism.
A Race Against Time
The term “last-chance tourism” has gained traction in the past decade as reports of climate change’s impact have become more alarming. In 2018, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) issued a stark warning: global warming was likely to reach 1.5°C above pre-industrial levels as early as 2030. The effects of this warming, already visible, are devastating. The Maldives, for example, is losing its battle against rising seas. Made up of 1,192 coral islands scattered across the Indian Ocean, the country has long been a honeymooner’s paradise. Yet its highest point rises barely two meters above sea level, leaving it acutely vulnerable to storm surges and inundation. Projections suggest that by 2100, most of the Maldives could be underwater.
For travelers, this knowledge has created a sense of urgency. “People want to say they’ve been there, seen it, and experienced it before it’s gone,” says a guide in the Amazon rainforest, where deforestation continues at a staggering pace. According to Brazil’s National Institute for Space Research (INPE), an average of 11,000 square kilometers of forest has been cleared annually in recent years, driven by cattle ranching, mining, and logging. In some areas, the damage is so extensive that ecosystems are nearing their tipping points, with rainforests at risk of turning into savannahs. The Amazon, often referred to as the “lungs of the planet,” is critical for regulating global climate, yet its survival hangs in the balance.
This sense of impending loss isn’t confined to nature. Cultural landmarks are also under threat. Venice, designated a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1987, has struggled with overtourism for decades. Before the pandemic, the city received up to 30 million visitors annually, overwhelming its infrastructure and pushing out long-term residents. In recent years, the situation has worsened due to catastrophic flooding, exacerbated by climate change and the erosion of its lagoon. Despite the implementation of a billion-euro flood barrier project called MOSE, which began operation in 2020, experts warn that rising seas could make parts of the city uninhabitable by 2100.
The Ethics of Visiting
For environmentally conscious travelers, the question looms large: is it ethical to visit a place that’s already on the brink? Advocates argue that tourism, if managed responsibly, can be a force for good. In the Maldives, for instance, resorts often fund reef restoration projects, while eco-tourism ventures in the Amazon employ local guides and invest in conservation. In Greenland, another “last-chance” destination, tourism revenues have helped fund scientific research into glacial melting. These examples highlight how travelers can contribute positively to at-risk destinations—provided they are willing to go beyond surface-level engagement.
But not all tourism is created equal. Many of the most popular sites, from Machu Picchu to Mount Everest, are grappling with the negative consequences of their popularity. Machu Picchu, the iconic Inca citadel in Peru, received over 1.5 million visitors in 2019—far exceeding its recommended capacity of 2,500 visitors per day. The result has been erosion, littering, and wear on the ancient stones. In response, Peru’s government has implemented timed entry tickets and capped daily visitor numbers, but enforcement remains a challenge.
The situation on Mount Everest is even grimmer. The mountain has seen a surge in climbers in recent years, fueled by commercial expeditions that cater to less-experienced adventurers. This influx has led to overcrowding on the mountain’s summit routes and a buildup of trash—including discarded oxygen canisters, tents, and human waste—that tarnishes the pristine Himalayan environment. Despite cleanup efforts, the problem persists, sparking debates over whether access to Everest should be more heavily restricted.
Seeking Solutions
The key to sustainable last-chance tourism lies in striking a balance between access and preservation. Some destinations have embraced innovative strategies to manage their visitor numbers. Bhutan, for instance, has long adhered to a “high-value, low-impact” tourism model, requiring visitors to pay a daily fee that includes accommodation, meals, and a sustainable development fee. This approach limits the number of tourists while ensuring that those who do visit contribute directly to the country’s economy and conservation efforts.
Similarly, in Palau, an island nation in the Pacific, all visitors must sign an “eco-pledge” upon arrival, committing to protect the environment during their stay. Palau has also designated 80% of its territorial waters as a marine sanctuary, banning commercial fishing to preserve its rich biodiversity.
For individual travelers, adopting more sustainable habits can also make a difference. This might mean choosing eco-friendly accommodations, supporting local businesses, or offsetting the carbon emissions from flights. However, experts caution against relying too heavily on carbon offsets as a panacea. “Reducing emissions is more important than offsetting them,” says a climate scientist. “We can’t solve the climate crisis by paying for trees to be planted while continuing to pollute.”
A Call to Reflection
Last-chance tourism raises uncomfortable questions about our role as travelers. Do we have the right to experience a place, knowing our presence may accelerate its decline? Can we find ways to visit that leave a positive legacy? Ultimately, the answers may depend on how willing we are to rethink our relationship with the planet—and with each other.
As the sun sets over Venice’s Grand Canal, its waters reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors, it’s impossible not to feel a sense of wonder. But for the city’s residents and environmental advocates, wonder isn’t enough. They hope for action: from governments, from businesses, and from travelers. Because if we fail to protect these vanishing destinations, we may not just lose beautiful places—we may lose the chance to truly connect with the world’s most fragile and irreplaceable wonders.
