More and more often we talk about high prices in tourism. We talk so much that a picture forms in our minds in which we approach vacation in advance with thoughts of what will I do, how will I manage, how much? It will be expensive.
Although the perception and level of any price is a relative thing, and although not everything is for everyone, going to the sea still should not be a luxury.
Those who grew up beside it know that. Like me. The sea is close, everyday. It does not ask for equipment, it does not require preparation.
It asks for nothing except time and presence. Unlike, say, skiing, because even those born at 1,500 meters above sea level have to invest in gear to stand on skis. The sea does not ask for that. For some people, whether snow is falling or not, and it is there less and less often, while for others the sea is simply there.
But when I see a 24.5-square-meter apartment for 150 euros a night? That is not a realistic price; that is market illogic. That is greed. And I am not saying this out of anger, but out of disappointment. Because when the offer does not match the price, what makes tourism meaningful is lost: the feeling that you are welcome, that you matter as a guest, that someone wants to give you something beautiful and is not looking at you as a walking ATM.
In many destinations, when providing a service, people are expected to be walking ATMs. Who, then, are the service providers? It does not take great skill or much time to punch a few numbers into an ATM. Right?! Are they hiding behind minimal contact at an unrealistic price because of a lack of know-how? Nothing ruins the impression of hospitality more than that.
With restaurants, at least, we have a choice. There I am only angry if the food quality is weak and the service is truly bad. I can tolerate weaker service. I can tolerate youth. I support the desire to learn. Let some of that even be on me. But please do not charge me for all of that as if I were at the top of the Eiffel Tower, because I am not.
But those endless apartments, or say beaches, leased, captured, marked, charged by the breath, by the hour, by the drop of shower water. There you do not really have a choice once you have already arrived. And then that increasingly common thing begins: the math. A notepad and a pencil. A calculator in hand. Today ice cream is possible, tomorrow coffee is not. Not to mention traveling with children. Try explaining to a child that today is not possible because yesterday was.
And that brings us to the question: what is a vacation, really? Do we rest on vacation, or does the brain (the calculator) keep running 24/7? Is it truly an escape from work and obligations, or just another source of stress? More time is spent looking for the right meal than enjoying it. More on searching for accommodation than on staying.
Still, there are ways of resting that do not have to hurt either the wallet or the mind.
I draw attention to lakes. Rivers. Rural households. Vineyards. Nature. I draw attention to agro estates where you are a guest, not a customer. Where neither the view nor a place for your towel is charged.
Maybe you will not stay ten days. Not even five. Maybe two. But those two days you will be truly present. Without calculation, without pressure, and without stress.
The sea is good. The sea is free. I love ordinary things. I love the sea. But today, people turn the sea into everything except what it is; they take away its simplicity, they take away its freedom. And with that, they take it from you too.
And the feeling of freedom is why we actually travel. Vacation should not be a luxury. Vacation is a right. And the right to freedom is not something you charge for. At least not that much.
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A small case study in authenticity
At the green market in Trebinje, a sign reads "white garlic" next to what has always been called saransak or cesan. The green market has long been a synonym for gathering, a place of local supply and demand, conversation and commentary. For a long time people have stopped by as if by duty and bought home-grown produce. From Trebinje, or from a little farther away, from the neighbors. Why white garlic, and not saransak? Probably so they would not have to explain it to the buyer, so they would not have to repeat the same story to the tenth customer, so they would not waste time on a word half the people do not know. You call it what the customer calls it. You sell faster. But every time we replace a local name with a universal one, we lose something that is hard to bring back later. Saransak carries place, language, and the generations that called it that. White garlic is the same product, of course, but without a local address. When you sell saransak, you have sold a local product with an authentic name. You have gained an experience and new knowledge. When you sell white garlic, you have sold, or bought, white garlic you can find at your own market too. Saransak has an address; white garlic does not. Tourism lives from that address. From what cannot be bought at another market, in another town, at least not under that name. And not with the same value. And when we erase the word, we erase part of that value too. I am not talking about nostalgia. I am talking about a resource that disappears just as quickly as any other when no one protects it or uses it.
The tourism product that never made it into the brochures
In tourism we often talk about investment, hotels, accommodation capacity, attractions, and statistics. We measure arrivals, overnight stays, and revenue. Yet none of that is what a guest carries home in the backpack of memories. Let us start with ourselves. What makes us happy when we travel? I am sure most people give similar answers. We want the journey to pass without stress. Without unnecessary complications. We want to feel welcome, safe, and at ease. That is precisely why the tourist experience begins long before arrival at the accommodation. It does not begin on the road, at the airport, or, especially relevant for us, at the border crossing either, even though queues at border crossings during the tourist season are among the most serious obstacles to competitive tourism development in the region. When a traveler spends hours in a line in the sun or shut inside a bus, it is hard to expect them to rate the experience as pleasant. Time meant for rest turns into a test of patience, and the first impression of the trip becomes frustration. The issue of tourist buses is especially sensitive, where the ride to the destination is often shorter than the wait at the border. Such experiences leave a mark and often cancel out much of the effort invested in promotion or in developing the tourism offer, not to mention the effort invested by the agency. And that is where the tourism of feeling begins, because a tourist does not divide their experience into sectors and jurisdictions. They do not care whether the queue is the fault of border police, road infrastructure, a travel agency, or someone else. They remember only how they felt in that moment. If we fly, we are happy when there are no excessive crowds, when check-in goes quickly, and when the flight is safe and comfortable. When we reach the accommodation, we want a kind host to greet us, a clean room, no noise, and everything looking as it was presented at the time of booking. We care about the receptionist's smile and a good coffee. We care that the taxi arrives on time and that we feel safe walking through the city. In one of my earlier texts I wrote that a destination should be viewed as your own home, and the tourist as a guest coming into your house. When friends or family visit, we do not show them the furniture. We try to make them feel comfortable, welcome, and relaxed. The same should apply to destinations. A tourist wants to feel the atmosphere of a place, meet people, try local food, walk the streets, and for a few days become part of everyday local life. A personalized approach to the guest is a tourism product The tourist experience begins long before the tourist arrives in person. We do not know when someone first caught themselves thinking, I am going there. When exactly we invited them, who invited them, and how many times we invited them before the decisive moment. That is why the invitation to tourists begins with the way our city streets are arranged, with the cleanliness of promenades, with flowers, with the safety we promise. It begins with how we dispose of waste, with our attitude toward nature. It begins with the culture of how we treat one another. With the service and the offer they have researched. When they arrive, a guest quickly senses whether they are welcome somewhere. They sense the waiter, the receptionist, the taxi driver, the shopkeeper, the guide, the grandmother at the market, the clerk at the exchange office, and the passerby they asked for directions. A destination's reputation is built precisely in those encounters. That is why I believe the future of tourism will not belong to destinations with the most attractions, but to those that best understand people. Those who learn to manage guests' feelings. Those who work on emotion. And that is exactly why a personalized approach to the guest should never be seen as an added value of the tourism product, because it is a tourism product in itself.
The destination as home
Imagine a tourist destination as your own home, and the tourist as a guest who brings gifts into that house: their money, time, trust, and a recommendation to others. We often tend to trivialize the word "tourist", treating them as someone who stops by to "sleep over" and "see a few things". Yet today's traveler seeks far more than a quick tour and wants to know where we sleep, what we eat, where we go out, what our courtyards, streets, and riverbanks look like. They want to try our food, walk our paths, and meet our people. In short, they want to become part of our everyday life for a few days, and they are ready to pay fairly for it. Even by a rough estimate, the average tourist in our destination leaves about 100 euros a day. That amount is quickly and easily distributed through the local economy, from bed and breakfast, through morning coffee and lunch at a restaurant, all the way to a taxi or car rental, fuel, souvenirs, local products, and the like. And how do we behave when we expect guests in our own house? We do not leave dirty socks in the middle of the room, we do not pile garbage bags behind the door, and we certainly do not throw an old mattress into the yard. We tidy up, air the rooms, wipe away the dust, and often buy flowers for the table. With that gesture we show respect both for ourselves and for the person arriving. Why, then, should it be any different with our destination? Why is it acceptable that containers overflow, that plastic and trash pile up along rivers and lakes, right beside the roads tourists use, and our children walk every day? If we carefully protect our living room, why does a riverbank serve as a dump? If we would clear things around the house so a guest does not have to step over them, how can we in good conscience leave trash on the shore and naively expect no one will notice? Statistics and global trends do not forgive neglect. According to data from relevant tourism platforms and organizations, more than 70% of today's travelers directly take ecological awareness and cleanliness into account when choosing a destination. A bad review because of an illegal dump on the way to a viewpoint, or a photo of trash on social media, can wipe out dozens of good ratings in an instant. A tourist who stumbles over our carelessness rarely returns. To change this, we must understand that tourism is not only the business of tourism workers, the municipal utility company, or local hospitality operators; it is a reflection of the whole society. Change requires concrete steps, from stopping the habit of seeing public goods as somehow "someone else's", and realizing that riverbanks, forests, and streets are our own backyard, through competent services that must provide adequate infrastructure, because it is essential, and often it is precisely infrastructure that amplifies individual irresponsibility, to zero tolerance toward those who destroy, whether through civic initiatives that raise warnings or through stricter enforcement of legal penalties. A destination is a mirror of our culture of living. As much as we care about the place where we live, that is how much it will matter tomorrow to our guest. Cleanliness, order, and care for the environment must be the minimum of our personal and collective self-respect.