VENICE GAVE A GLIMPSE OF HAWAI`IʻS FUTURE & ITʻS HARD TO IGNORE
BeatOfHawaii.com - August 16, 2025
We traveled halfway around the world from Hawaii and hadn’t even crossed the iconic Rialto Bridge before the feeling hit. Thousands of miles away, yet something felt disturbingly familiar.
It wasn’t just the crowds. It was the stress in the air and the weariness on the faces of shopkeepers and restaurateurs. The way the city had been dressed up for visitors, but at the same time hollowed out underneath. It felt less like arriving somewhere new and more like looking into a mirror that reflected Hawaii’s pressures and unraveling back at us.
One city tourism official we interviewed told us flat out, under condition of anonymity: “Venice is dying a fast death.” The tone was calm, even resigned. “In fifty years, it could be all over.”
What we saw confirmed it. The narrow alleys were jammed to capacity with influencer-led walking tours, rolling bags, selfie sticks, cruise ship badges, and trite tourist souvenir shops that have replaced authentic Venetian crafts. The city’s texture, its soul, felt thin out as we moved through what resembled a cheap commercial tourist track more than a neighborhood.
Piazza San Marco was more an intensely crowded backdrop than a landmark, and the Rialto Bridge had become a stage for social media filming rather than a place to take in the view.
Venice now has just 49,000 residents, but unbelievably hosts over 20 million visitors per year. On peak days, tourists far outnumber Venetians, and the imbalance is worsening.
Venice’s day-visitor tourism charge: Real solution or mere performance?
That early trial is now over. From April 18 through July 27, 2025, Venice imposed a day-tripper access fee on 54 high-traffic days, expanding from the 29-day test first run in 2024. Tourists who register and pay at least four days ahead pay €5; last-minute visitors pay €10. The fee applies between 8:30 a.m. and 4:00 p.m. and is accompanied by fines ranging from €50 to €300 for non-compliance. Residents, overnight guests, students, and workers were exempt.
City officials called it a step toward managing overtourism and protecting daily life. But many Venetians felt it was too limited to make a real difference.
Hawaii’s short-term rental issues echo Venetian fatigue.
That debate follows a devastating fire, a housing emergency, and a long-running surge in visitor numbers. Like Venice, the question on Maui is becoming unavoidable: who is this place for? Is it for those trying to live and survive there, or for those just passing through?
You can read the latest on the Maui rental policy shift in our article, Maui Vacation Rental Ban Moves Forward Amid Growing Outrage..
As we moved through Venice’s packed corridors, it was hard not to think of Hawaii, especially Maui, but also the other islands. The comparison is not exact. Venice draws millions of day-trippers and cruise ship passengers, and its modern Marco Polo Airport connects to more than 90 destinations worldwide. Hawaii’s airports, including Honolulu, serve far fewer nonstop points by comparison. Yet the overtourism pressure points of housing loss, cultural erosion, and visitor fatigue are disturbingly similar.
Maui now faces what could become the most aggressive short-term rental crackdown in its history. That debate follows a devastating fire, a housing emergency, and a long-running surge in visitor numbers.
This is what displacement looks like on both sides of the world.
In Venice, a longtime resident told us he now avoids the city center altogether and lives outside the historic core. “It doesn’t feel like my city anymore,” he said.
Cafes that once served neighbors now chase quick turnover and struggle to charge enough to cover skyrocketing rents. Multi-generational apartments are listed for weekend getaways. Stores have been replaced by mini-markets and fast-service stands built for visitors, not residents.
We’ve heard almost the exact words here at home in Hawaii. One reader from Lahaina wrote us: “I don’t blame the visitors, but I don’t feel like I belong anymore either. It’s not the Hawaii I grew up in.”
The problem isn’t just numbers. Its identity. When people are pushed out of their communities, something deeper begins to unravel. No green fee or north shore shuttle fixes that.
Sea level rise makes tourism limits urgent.
Venice has built literal walls to hold it back. The MOSE project, a system of 78 mobile floodgates, was completed after decades of scandal and delay. It has prevented several major high-tide events, but climate models indicate it’s already operating beyond its original design. And confidence in the project is low.
Hawaii isn’t building similar barriers, but it’s already seeing the sea arrive too close for comfort both in Honolulu and Kaanapali. Even before the fires, Maui faced historic tidal flooding. And Waikiki’s shoreline erosion is a real and growing crisis.
We recently broke that down in Waikiki Sand Loss Fight Continues And Here’s What It Means. Significant sand replenishment efforts can barely keep pace, and many say the efforts aren’t even correctly placed. Future modeling suggests major loss of beach access across Oahu and beyond.
Bezos brings luxury attention and severe backlash.
Earlier this summer, Jeff Bezos held a multi-day wedding celebration in Venice at the recently restored 15th-century Palazzo Duodo, just steps from the Grand Canal.
The event sparked backlash from Venetians frustrated by yet another closure of public areas to accommodate a private elite gathering. Sounds all too familiar here in Hawaii. Access to key areas around the palazzo was reportedly restricted for security and press management.
To many, the timing felt off. The symbolism was unmistakable. This was another billionaire’s display unfolding in a city already struggling under the weight of massive overtourism.
In Maui, Bezos owns a sprawling $78 million estate. Following the wildfire disaster, his foundation pledged $100 million toward recovery efforts. While some praised the gesture, others saw a contradiction in it. Extreme wealth was reshaping the island in private, even as it tried to rebuild it in public.
In both Venice and Hawaii, the presence of Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, Larry Ellison, and others in the same economic stratosphere has come to symbolize something bigger than any one property. It’s a reminder that even in places already overwhelmed by crisis, the space can still be cleared, but only for some.
That’s when people who live in iconic tourist destinations start to feel like guests in their own home. Everything looks the same, but it no longer feels like it’s theirs.
Tourism’s economic cycle is becoming a trap.
Venice relies on tourism for more than half of its economy. So does Hawaii, and arguably to an even greater extent. That kind of tourism dependency creates a dangerous feedback loop. More visitors bring more revenue, which fuels more marketing, more hotels, more flights—and more pressure on housing, labor, culture, and the environment.
Venice is already proof of where that cycle leads when it runs unchecked. Hawaii is behind Venice while showing signs that it could follow the same path.
Green fees and policy reforms: Strong talk, uneven follow-through.
Venice’s arguably too‑low entry fee trial has been widely criticized as cosmetic and ineffective. Some locals argue that surveillance and fees reduce the city to a cheap amusement park.
In Hawaii, a new green fee has now been enacted after years of debate—but that’s just the beginning. As we reported in Hawaii Trips Got Pricier And Green Fee Is Just The Start, the fee joins a growing list of added costs that haven’t necessarily translated into better environmental protection or enforcement.
Programs like Haena and Waipio Valley access limits have shown promise, but the system remains patchy at best. Political will remains the missing piece.
When a place becomes a set, it suddenly stops being a home.
In Venice, gondoliers offer QR codes. Laminated menus, when they exist, are printed in seven languages. Romance feels curated. Tourism is entirely transactional, and any authenticity is staged.
Hawaii doesn’t seem far behind in these areas either. When beaches are monopolized by hotel chairs, when sacred places are treated as Instagram selfie props, when trails and shorelines are quietly walled all but off entirely for resorts, the soul of a place begins to thin out, and fast.
Hawaii still has one thing Venice doesn’t, and that’s the chance to choose differently.
Unlike Venice, Hawaii still has some breathing room. The islands are spread out and far from any continent. The pressures hit differently on Maui, Kauai, the Big Island, and Oahu. Some protections, like limited access or fees, have shown it’s possible to draw a line.
But intention isn’t enough, and whether these are working remains to be seen. And not everyone agrees on the path forward. Policies need support and must be enforced, not just announced. Visitor numbers may need to be capped in fragile areas, given the overwhelming demand. Housing for residents has to get figured out.
If Venice shows anything, it’s that you can’t manage your way through overtourism forever. The icon shows what happens when you try. It fails.
What Hawaii-bound travelers should actually know.
We’re not saying don’t visit Venice or Hawaii. Not at all. But if you’re coming to either, know what you’re walking into. These places are under real strain. Legal rentals matter. So does where visitor money ends up. The signs asking for respect aren’t entirely window dressing; they’re also coming from people who live here and who feel worn down. If it feels a little tense in either place, that’s because it is.
Travelers don’t set the rules. But they add to the pressure. Every choice, from where you stay, what you support, and how you show up, either helps keep Hawaii livable or not.
We saw the warning. Will Hawaii catch it in time?
We left Venice rattled. Not because it wasn’t stunning, it absolutely was. But we hadn’t been there in years, and the dramatic changes were hard to miss. It felt far more staged. More stressed. Less like an authentic city, far more like a set.
It also felt familiar. Burnout. Housing strain. Instagram selfie crowds. Quiet exits. Plastic gondolas. Disneyland, but sinking. Hawaii isn’t there yet. But the signs are flashing. And the choice to steer away from that future won’t make itself.
