Tourism: Driver, Restorer, Solution.
Tourism is not just travel. Tourism is a movement. The definition says tourism is any travel for rest, work, or leisure. Maybe it once was. Today it is a way of life, a chance for transformation, and a driver of development.
Tourism brings us back to nature, community, and story. It inspires us to look behind the gate of a rural household, to feel the scent of freshly cut grass, the warmth of homemade pie, and the gaze of a host who lives what they offer and do. There is no acting here. It is as it is, and as they know how.
More and more people across the country are investing in exactly what they already have — what until yesterday they did not know what to do with or how to start — and today they have an offer. The most valuable thing is what is authentic.
Cottages are being renovated, village houses become holiday stays, private estates turn into picnic spots and camps, barns into craft workshops. People restore old buildings and connect agriculture with tourism.
Viewpoints are arranged, trails restored, events organized, people learn how to make ajvar and jam — not because it is a trend, but because tourism drives demand, and demand for the authentic drives all of us.
Tourism brings together craftspeople, hosts, and young people returning to their roots. Old crafts return, souvenirs are made, local shops open, apartments and bungalows are rented, tradition is combined with innovation. People plant aromatic herbs, run workshops that teach mushroom foraging, organize horseback riding, hike, run, scout, paddle kayaks and canoes on rivers that until yesterday were "unknown," pick raspberries, immortelle, lavender. That is not by chance — it is a response to the needs of modern people who seek experience, peace, silence, and content that regenerates them.
Luxury is not what is expensive; luxury is what is rare, real, understated. Our regions offer exactly that kind of rest through the warmth of hosts, the story behind every product, the view from a mountain peak, the silence beside a river.
Today's guest wants to see how rakija is distilled, to help around the hearth, to taste both the honey and the meadow it came from. They want to try homemade cheese. But they do not want only to try homemade cheese. They want to see the cow. They want to see milking and cheese-making. They want to do it themselves.
After the pandemic a turnaround happened here: some people set foot on Kozara for the first time, stood before the sand pyramids in Foca, discovered the lakes of Sutjeska, visited the springs in Sipovo and Ribnik. Some were struck by the beauty of their own doorstep. Then awareness awoke that we have wealth that only needs to be offered.
And we offered it — not as an imitation of someone else's, but our own, real, local.
The rural offer is not only our tourism niche; it is an authentic expression of life. It may be dangerous to say, maybe even sad, but in the future children may see farm animals only on agritourism estates. That is why those estates matter — as guardians of identity, tradition, and knowledge.
Our products such as cheese, rakija, wine, jams, honey are not just food. They are emotions taken home. They are cultural identity in a glass, a bottle, a jar. A story in every drop, a memory in every bite. That is tourism. And when we do it authentically, it becomes more than a job. It becomes a movement that connects, develops, and leaves a mark. I often mention trends that work in our favor, and in a world that longs for the real, our stories can become its destination.
And remember.
Tourism is not something that happens to us. I really dislike that often-repeated phrase — what is happening to us?! Come on.
On the contrary, tourism is something we create together. For the person who works, tourism did not just happen — they create it, and the other side of the story is whether they have support in that. They do not.
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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.