As Jay and Kate Boyer and their two children hiked to a waterfall on an unusually hot July day in the fjord-side village of Geiranger, Norway, they were surprised by both the 90-degree temperatures and the cruise passengers clogging the path, as Ms. Boyer put it, “like ants.”
The Los Angeles couple had chosen the Nordic region for their family vacation after dealing with heat and crowds on a previous trip through southern Europe.
“We decided on this trip based entirely on the fact that it wouldn’t be hot,” Mr. Boyer said, noting the irony of having arrived during a rare heat wave. “But obviously we’re not alone. Someone here told us there’s even a word for this kind of trip.”
The word is “coolcation,” and in an industry that has never met a trend it couldn’t slap a portmanteau onto, the term refers to the growing number of travelers who are avoiding the heat of traditional summer spots in favor of chillier climes.
In Europe, as heat waves close the Acropolis in Athens and spark wildfires in Spain and Portugal, coolcations are driving tourists to Nordic countries. But in a region that takes pride in environmental and social sustainability, the development is prompting as much concern as celebration.
Record Arrivals
Perhaps nowhere is that more true than in Norway. Although delighted with the new interest, the country is also grappling with how to avoid overtourism and how to protect the nature that is part of its national identity.
Tourism to the Nordic region has surged since the end of the pandemic. In 2023, all of the Nordic countries reported more overnight stays than any other year; in July both Oslo and Copenhagen airports received a record number of arrivals.
Several factors have contributed to the growth, including the popularity of Scandinavian design and cuisine, and sanctions on Russia that have cruise ships scrambling for alternative ports to St. Petersburg.
Climate is also playing a role. This year, the popularity of Mediterranean hot spots fell 8 percent, according to a study by the European Travel Commission, while 28 percent of European travelers now seek cooler destinations. According to the Scandinavian airline SAS, reservations from France and Italy to cities in northern Sweden have rocketed 50 to 60 percent.
Cooler Weather and Fewer Crowds
Nordic governments are eager to boost tourism. Denmark, for example, aims to increase tourism spending to 200 billion Danish kroner (roughly 31 billion dollars) by 2030. Norway also has big plans, including the creation of 43,000 tourism jobs.
Coolcations play a role in that. They encompass, said Susanne Andersson, chief executive of Visit Sweden, “what we always have been selling in Sweden: little bit cooler weather, not that many tourists and being in nature.”
The region’s tourism ambitions include sustainability programs, like Copenhagen’s Copenpay, which offers rewards like free museum entry for visitors who bike or collect trash, and a self-driving mystery odyssey in the Faroe Islands, which aims to get tourists off the beaten track.
But by simultaneously expanding airports, subsidizing airlines and otherwise emphasizing growth, there is the risk of inviting the kind of tourist overload that has prompted protests elsewhere in Europe. “All these places have a program of tourism strategies where they expect a growing share of their G.D.P. to be generated by tourism,” said Stefan Gössling, a professor of tourism research at Linnaeus University in Sweden. “The problem, of course, is that they might repeat what Barcelona deeply regrets.”
‘Our City Is Almost Too Small’
Alesund, a Norwegian city of 56,000 whose Art Nouveau architecture and proximity to fjords make it a popular cruise destination, is grappling with the sometimes contradictory desires of increasing tourism revenue and protecting residents’ needs. Prompted by road conditions and safety concerns, the city recently banned tour buses from driving to a popular viewing point atop Mount Aksla.
But some residents think the municipality hasn’t gone far enough in regulating the ships that spill thousands of passengers into town.
The tourists who pose for photos outside Elisabeth Eikrem’s pretty flower shop rarely buy anything and frequently impede her way as she makes deliveries. “Sometimes there are five cruise ships in a day,” Ms. Eikrem said. “I think our city is almost too small for so many visitors.”
Monica Molvaer, Alesund’s deputy mayor, recognizes that tourism needs to be beneficial for both locals and visitors. She pointed to a new sauna that was built to attract visitors but has been embraced by residents, and mentioned plans to install an elevator that would whisk both tourists (for a fee) and locals (free) to the top of Aksla, sparing them the 418-stair climb.
“It has to be a balance,” Ms. Molvaer said.
Still, Norway feels the impact of its visitors less in its cities than in more rural environments. Lofoten, an archipelago that was one of The New York Times Travel section’s 52 Places to Go this year, and the area outside Tromso, where the northern lights are on display in winter, have been overwhelmed with visitors.
That’s concerning for Synnove Solemdal, the director of the Sunnmore branch of the Norwegian Tourist Association, which maintains trails and mountain huts near Geiranger and Alesund. “In Norway, we feel very strongly about the responsibility we have to nature,” she said. “People grow up learning how to use it and protect it. But people from other countries may not have that knowledge, so protecting nature becomes more and more challenging.”
The government is addressing the challenge. Last year, the tourist authority canceled a campaign promoting outdoor travel over concerns about the environmental impact. Earlier this summer, it approved a 3 percent tourist tax on overnight stays and cruise passengers.
Those measures have not quelled concerns in Geiranger. The fjord, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, has been a tourist attraction since British steamships began sailing into it in the 1800s. But today, the quantities of cruise ships, tour buses and camper vans that crowd the village at the fjord’s mouth are threatening the fragile environment.
To limit the damage, Norway’s parliament began working in 2018 on legislation that would require all ships entering Geiranger Fjord to have zero emissions. But the proposal was delayed for years by protests from travel companies and other businesses that worried the legislation would stymie tourist growth. When it finally goes into effect in January 2026, the legislation will only apply to ships weighing less than 10,000 tons. Larger vessels, including cruise ships, won’t have to comply until 2032.
Kenneth Grande, 60, understands the dilemma. His family has lived alongside the fjord since at least 1650, near what is today the Grande Fjord Hotel, which he owns. He’s been vexed by the increase in cruise passengers and camper vans. Under Norway’s right to roam, the vehicles can park where they want in many locations, and they frequently cause traffic jams on the road leading in and out of Geiranger.
Still, as someone who, like most of Geiranger’s 250 permanent residents, earns his living from tourism, Mr. Grande welcomes the visitors. “People here are really happy about tourism, we need it,” he said. “But maybe we have to start thinking about how to regulate it.”
Even some tourists agree. Carlos and Eva Corredoira were among the roughly 6,000 passengers aboard the MSC Euribia when it docked in Geiranger last month. Eschewing the buses that would whisk them to mountaintop views, and the line to pose next to a troll statue, the Spanish couple opted for a walk to the waterfall.
As residents of Pontevedra in northwestern Spain (“It’s cooler there than here!” said Mr. Corredoira), climate hadn’t factored into their decision to visit Norway. They had come for the fjords, which, they said, were breathtaking.
But Geiranger village was another story. “Imagine coming down in the morning to this place that is so peaceful not even a fly is moving. And then this happens,” Ms. Corredoira said, gesturing to the surrounding hordes. “You’d have to have the patience of a saint.”
For Hedda Felin, it’s going to take more than patience to get the balance right. As chief executive of Hurtigruten, whose ships have carried freight and locals up and down Norway’s western coast for 130 years, but whose passengers are now predominantly tourists, she’s had a ringside seat to the transformation.
“Everyone wants to come now,” she said. “But we are getting to a breaking point.”
As an adviser to the Norwegian government, she argues for stricter environmental regulations. But she’d also like to see the country resist trends like coolcations in favor of a more sustainable approach.
The important thing, she said, “is to spread tourism out, so that it’s all over the country — and all over the year.”
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