Kyoto, once revered as the tranquil heart of Japanese tradition and Zen, is facing an identity crisis amid a tidal wave of global tourism. Once known for its serene temples, quiet alleyways, and iconic geisha culture, the city now finds itself struggling under the weight of overtourism, as highlighted in a recent exposé by New York Magazine’s Intelligencer (nymag.com). As international arrivals shatter records, this former imperial capital is wrestling with preserving authenticity while accommodating millions of visitors seeking a slice of “the real Japan”—often with chaotic results.
For decades, Kyoto was an elusive dream for travelers—it was expensive, hard to reach, and mystifying for non-Japanese speakers. But since Japan’s post-pandemic reopening, the city has become a global hotspot, fueled by a weakened yen, viral social media posts, and the rise of seamless mobile translation and guide technologies. In 2011, Japan drew just 6 million international visitors. By 2024, that number had soared to almost 37 million, with Kyoto ranking above Paris and Amsterdam in visitor numbers. Including domestic travelers, the city is estimated to see around 150,000 visitors daily, a figure that dwarfs its permanent population of 1.4 million and feels all the more suffocating because Kyoto’s mountainous geography prevents the city from physically expanding (Kyoto City Tourism Association).
The signs of strain are visible everywhere. The historic Gion district, famed for its geisha, is now flooded with tourists donning rented synthetic kimonos and crowding narrow streets for the perfect Instagram photo. Reports abound of visitors mistaking private homes for attractions, sometimes barrelling into the living rooms of baffled residents. Locals describe their neighborhoods as “Disneyland,” lamenting the loss of everyday tranquility. In response to rising harassment of geisha by overeager travelers, city authorities have even deployed digital warnings to tourist smartphones, pleading for respectful conduct.
These tensions echo broader trends across the globe. As international travel recovers violently from the pandemic downturn, phenomena such as tourism congestion, culture commodification, and “selfie-driven itineraries” plague global hotspots from Venice to Bali. Many cities have pushed back—Venice banned cruise ships, Amsterdam halted construction of new hotels, while Barcelona activists resorted to water gun protests. In Japan, however, solutions are more subtle and constrained by cultural values: many locals and authorities are hesitant to impose harsh restrictions, preferring polite signage and mild appeals to visitors’ manners (Guardian).
The scale of change is profound. Once, Kyoto’s culinary heart, Nishiki Market, buzzed with local grocery shoppers. Today, the market heaves with tourists, the traditional stalls now outnumbered by matcha dessert bars and English-language “Samurai Spice” shops. Some locals have given up and moved away; others have adapted, splitting into those who “suck it up and make a ton of money” and those who quietly endure the crowds, longing for pre-pandemic calm. The figures are stark: in many traditional inns (ryokan), up to 90% of guests are now foreign, prompting dilemmas over cuisine (with untouched trays of elaborate kaiseki meals) and etiquette.
The relentless pursuit of “authentic” experiences can border on the absurd. TikTok and Instagram have replaced guidebooks, sending legions of travelers on frantic quests to capture the most viral shots—at the expense of patience and spiritual reflection. Major landmarks such as Fushimi Inari Shrine, with its iconic tunnels of vermillion torii gates, are swamped from dawn to dusk. A visitor might count scores of people passing through each minute, all jockeying for brief moments without others in the background of their photos. Local travel guides confess that their best advice is simply to get up before sunrise, as even rainy days offer little respite from the throngs.
What is lost in the process? For many Kyotoites, it’s the essence of “Zen” itself—the subtle, contemplative atmosphere that once defined the city. As Pico Iyer, long-time resident and celebrated writer, told the New York Magazine team, “To have parts of Kyoto itself turned into a theme park is quite disturbing.” This transformation is not just aesthetic or atmospheric; it is also material, as luxury foreign-branded cafés and boutiques increasingly occupy centuries-old machiya townhouses, pushing out longstanding local businesses.
At the same time, there are those who see adaptation as inevitable, even necessary. Some locals have found ways to profit or innovate within the new tourism economy. Festival organizers have launched online ticketing to open traditionally exclusive events to foreigners. Artisanal shops discover new global customers via Google and Instagram. Travel “fixers” and cultural consultants now help international celebrities navigate the maze of Kyoto’s old and new—sometimes shielding them from the most congested sites, other times guiding them to hidden alleyway izakayas beyond the reach of the latest viral reel.
Among Kyoto’s most vocal preservationists is Alex Kerr, an American writer who has chronicled Japan’s pivot from tradition to tourism. He advocates for more robust crowd control: ticketing systems, scheduled reservations, and higher entry fees at peak sites to save the city’s cultural integrity. “There’s this ingrained attitude that it would be unfair, but when we’ve reached overcapacity, which we have, then you have a new world,” Kerr commented. He points to other global sites, like Machu Picchu and various European landmarks, that have successfully adopted quota systems.
The debate is ongoing and often deeply personal. Traditionalists fret over the loss of authentic cultural experiences—like elaborate kaiseki meals left untouched. Hospitality professionals and guides navigate complex requests from ever-demanding clients, some of whom book multiple elite dinners only to cancel last minute. There is palpable nostalgia for “the B-side” of Kyoto—a term used by local fixers to describe the quietly magical corners of the city, away from the viral hotspots, where true cultural exchange still flickers beneath the surface.
Kyoto’s challenges are not unique, with striking parallels for Thai cities such as Chiang Mai, Ayutthaya, or Bangkok, which also grapple with tourism saturation, temple crowding, and the struggle to preserve a balance between welcoming visitors and maintaining local dignity. Overtourism is an issue Thailand has wrestled with for years, from the closing of Maya Bay to limit damage, to attempts to spread visitors across lesser-known provinces. Like Kyoto, Thai tourist destinations also flirt with commodification: from “floating markets” repackaged for bus tours to elephants performing for camera-wielding crowds.
What, then, does the future hold for Kyoto—and for other Asian cities caught between global wanderlust and cultural sustainability? Experts predict continued tension and experimentation. Some advocate technological solutions, such as predictive congestion maps and digital etiquette education at arrival points. Others urge travelers themselves to adopt more mindful behaviors: seeking out quieter neighborhoods, supporting locally owned businesses, and respecting both written and unwritten social codes. For governments and local authorities, questions loom over whether to impose stricter controls in the form of quotas, taxes, or even time-bound closures.
For Thai travelers and industry stakeholders, the lesson from Kyoto is cautionary. There is much allure in opening up to the world, but unchecked crowding, algorithm-driven itineraries, and the Instagram imperative risk erasing what makes a place truly special—for residents and visitors alike. City planners, tourism authorities, and local community leaders should collaborate now to develop balanced, inclusive strategies, learning from Japan’s experience to safeguard both heritage and hospitality.
For those planning to visit Kyoto, or any top-ranking heritage city, the call to action is clear: dig deeper, slow down, and approach each encounter with humility. Book experiences with locally run guides, adopt simple Japanese phrases, and remember that not every beautiful moment needs to be uploaded online. And most importantly, respect not just the temples and cuisine, but the everyday rhythms of local life—one of the city’s greatest hidden treasures.
Further reading and references used in this report include the original feature in New York Magazine’s Intelligencer (nymag.com), perspectives from the Guardian, and tourism statistics from the Kyoto City Tourism Association.