After years chasing ‘sustainable’ travel, here’s what I’ve learnt

OpinionTravel WriterOctober 8, 2026 — 5:00amFor years, I was an extremely earnest sustainable traveller. KeepCup and refillable water bottle packed, carbon offsets purchased, eco-certifications carefully scanned before booking. I’ve even written two books about travelling more lightly on the planet, and I meant every word of them.But after years of seriously sweating the small stuff, and one too many hotel bathrooms instructing me to reuse my towels “to save the Earth”, a more complicated truth began to surface. Many of the little things we well-intentioned travellers fixate on have far less impact than we’d like to believe, while some of the choices that matter most barely feature in the sustainability conversation.I used to sweat the small stuff, like reusing hotel towels, while missing where my accommodation money actually goes.iStockThat doesn’t mean the small habits are pointless. Cultural shifts often start there. But after more than a decade reporting from destinations where tourism is both a lifeline and a pressure point, I’ve become increasingly convinced that if we really want our trips to do less harm, and possibly even some good, we need to widen the lens.Tourism researchers have long pointed to the issue of “leakage”, the reality that in many destinations a significant slice of tourism revenue never meaningfully reaches local communities, draining wealth from the very places tourism claims to support. Hotels may be foreign-owned, tour companies headquartered far away from where they operate, and the food on the breakfast buffet flown in from halfway across the world to meet international expectations.So while we’re diligently using our bamboo toothbrushes and feeling virtuous about declining the plastic straw, the real financial benefits of our trip may be flowing somewhere else entirely. If we’re serious about travelling more thoughtfully, a question that deserves far more of our attention is: who actually owns this business?Sign up for the Traveller newsletterThe latest travel news, tips and inspiration delivered to your inbox. Sign up now.Is the tour locally owned and operated? Jarramali Rock Tours is guided by a traditional owner.Tourism Tropical North QueenslandLocally owned accommodation, tour companies, restaurants and shops are far more likely to retain profits within the destination economy, supporting community resilience and cultural richness. By contrast, large foreign-owned resorts and international chains often send a significant share of their earnings offshore, while offering a version of travel so standardised it can leave guests feeling as though they could be almost anywhere – which is, arguably, the very opposite of what many of us set out in search of.The small house I stay at in Nepal puts profits towards a local monastery, and other community projects.iStockI often think of the small house in Nepal where I stay whenever I’m in the country, first established generations ago by the owner’s family. The profits don’t disappear into a distant head office, but help fund the local monastery, support the nearby school and hospital, revive traditional weaving projects and even provide alternative livelihoods for those once involved in deforestation, who now build mountain bike trails. There, you can see exactly where tourism dollars land.Not every family guesthouse is automatically saintly, of course, nor is every large hotel problematic. As a broad rule of thumb, though, following local ownership is one of the clearest ways travellers can ensure their spending actually benefits the places they’ve come to experience.Food is another area worth paying attention to. In many high-end hotels around the world, a surprising proportion of ingredients may be imported year-round to satisfy globalised tastes. I’ve stood in more than one eco-lodge staring at breakfast buffets heavy on European cheeses and out-of-season berries. Seeking out locally owned restaurants, seasonal menus and regionally sourced produce helps strengthen local agricultural networks and keeps more tourism dollars circulating nearby. It also, not incidentally, tends to result in far more memorable meals.Many high-end hotels around the world import produce to satisfy globalised tastes.iStockLike the one I had with a family in Sumatra last year, when I learnt to make rendang and sambal terasi in their open-air home kitchen. As we chopped and stirred, I could ask about everything from how they made their turmeric and ginger grow so prolifically, to what they thought about the palm oil plantations surrounding their home. By the time we sat down to eat, the meal carried a depth no hotel buffet ever could – not just in flavour, but in connection to the people and landscape that produced it.Moments like that also tend to shift something less tangible. Sitting in a family kitchen, asking questions about soil, harvests and the changing landscape, it becomes harder to hold on to some of the assumptions many of us travel with – particularly the idea that a “good life” looks broadly the same everywhere. In many of the communities I’ve spent time in, wellbeing has far less to do with speed, convenience or accumulation than with strong social ties, meaningful work and a close relationship with place.Travel, at its best, doesn’t just move money differently. It rearranges our sense of what really matters. At its most powerful, it can also prompt harder questions about the larger systems shaping the places we claim to love.Even the most thoughtful traveller still has to contend with the realities of getting there, and flying can push even the most enthusiastic among us into a mild existential spiral.Aviation emissions are real and significant, and the sector remains structurally difficult to decarbonise in the near future. While carbon offsets are certainly better than doing nothing, they remain an imperfect tool in a system that still relies heavily on fossil fuels. No amount of personal virtue in the hotel bathroom can fully counterbalance frequent long-haul flying – which is awkward, given how much modern travel culture depends on exactly that.Carbon offsets are an imperfect tool in a system that still relies heavily on fossil fuels.Getty ImagesThis doesn’t mean we should all immediately cancel our holidays and take up competitive staycationing. It does mean, however, that frequency matters. One long-haul trip taken slowly and deeply can have a very different footprint to multiple short breaks scattered across the year. Rather than spiralling into flight shame, a more pragmatic shift is to fly less often, stay longer when you do go, and make the journey intentional.The way we structure our trips once we land also matters more than we might think. In the age of algorithm-optimised travel planning, it’s easy to fall into the hyperefficient five-cities-in-10-days mindset. But fast travel often increases both environmental impact and economic leakage: more internal flights, more rushed transfers, and more time spent in international-style infrastructure designed for turnover rather than connection. Staying longer in fewer places, on the other hand, tends to deepen local spending patterns and reduce the transport intensity of a trip. It also usually results in a far richer experience.Even eco-certifications deserve a slightly more nuanced look. Sustainability labels can be useful signals, and some represent genuinely rigorous standards. Others, though, focus more narrowly on operational tweaks like energy use, linen reuse or reduced plastic that, while positive, don’t always reflect the deeper economic footprint of a tourism business.For travellers, the goal isn’t to dismiss certifications, but to read them in context. Who owns the property, where food and supplies are sourced, and how rooted the business is in the local community often reveal far more about real-world impact than a green badge.Perhaps the biggest shift, though, is also the hardest to measure. Meaningful travel is mostly about the mindset we carry with us, and approaching the world not as consumers, but as temporary citizens of the places we visit. It’s a subtle but important shift, since it helps us choose experiences that strengthen what makes a destination distinctive in the first place, rather than slowly eroding it. The KeepCup can still come along for the ride. It’s just no longer the hero of the story.Nina Karnikowski is a travel writer focused on sustainability, and the author of two books including Go Lightly: How to Travel Without Hurting the Planet.Connect via X.From our partners