The Tourist Tax in Asturias. So… What’s It All About?
If you’ve opened this article, there are probably two possible reasons: either you live here and have no idea what all the stuff in the press is about, or you’re a tourist who’s heard rumours that you’re going to be charged an extra euro per night and you’ve come here to find out whether it’s true. Relax, it’s not that bad. Sit down, grab a little coffee, and let me tell you, from my personal perspective, about this summer soap opera known as the tourist tax in Asturias. Because yes, the Natural Paradise is considering charging people for paradise. And, mind you, there’s rather more to the idea than it might seem.
It turns out that in 2024, Asturias smashed its visitor record: 6.7 million overnight stays, more than 2.8 million travellers, and supposedly more than €2.8 billion generated by tourism. That could be the subject of another debate: whether it is possible to maintain constant tourist growth while reconciling it with the idea of sustainable tourism. But that’s for another article.
In other words, this is no longer just the land of fabada and cachopo; this is now a top destination.
But, as in every good story, behind the record figures there are plenty of uncomfortable questions. Who pays for the damage? Who cleans up the mountains? And what about the cows—who’s thinking about the cows? Well, that’s what this debate is all about.
The Effects of Tourism: Like Your Partner… Some Good Things and Some Not So Good
Let’s start with the obvious: tourism is great. But, like that incredibly fun friend who stays on your sofa for three weeks, it has its little quirks.
Positive Effects (The Part Where We All Raise a Glass)
- The money comes in: Hotels and restaurants, shops, mountain guides, active-tourism companies such as Asturian Ways… everyone makes money. Tourism is already a structural part of Asturias, and denying it would be like saying the best cider isn’t Asturian. Pure fantasy.
- It puts us on the map: Thanks to tourism, our museums, landscapes and village festivals don’t die out. We’re no longer simply the place where people say, “At least the weather is bad everywhere else.”
- Infrastructure we all enjoy: That road they repair or that new viewpoint they build isn’t paid for solely by local residents; tourist pressure helps justify the investment.
- Keeping people in the countryside (in an ideal world): In theory, rural tourism creates jobs in villages where even the local bar has closed. In theory.
Negative Effects (Your Cousin Who Comes to Stay for Three Weeks)
- “Tourism-phobia” reaches the countryside: It’s not that we hate outsiders, but if you go to Gulpiyuri in August and find the beach looking like a Taylor Swift concert, you lose some of the magic. The overcrowding at iconic sites is understandably causing resentment.
- Goodbye, cows; hello, tourist apartments: Here comes the big drama. Tourism is transforming the economic fabric of the region. People are abandoning livestock farming and the countryside—that human ecosystem that has been looking after the mountains for centuries—to start an active-tourism business or rent Grandma’s house to foreign tourists. And yes, entrepreneurship is a great thing, but if everyone does it, who will maintain the landscape that UNESCO says is a Biosphere Reserve? A landscape without the people who inhabit it is just a stage set, and stage sets lose the essence from which they originated.
- The Cares Route looks like the metro at rush hour: Eroded trails, others completely abandoned, rubbish in protected areas… Yes, we are a Natural Paradise, but with seven Biosphere Reserves, one National Park and countless natural parks, the wear and tear is brutal. And looking after all this costs money.
- The village pays for the party: A small municipality with 300 registered residents can find itself with 3,000 people in August. Who pays for the extra rubbish collection, the water supply or cleaning up the mountains? The taxes paid by 300 residents won’t even cover the first rubbish truck.
How Is Tourism Doing in Asturias? Tell Me Where You Sleep and I’ll Tell You Who Pays
Let’s get to the cachopo.
The Friendly Side
- The multiplier effect: Yes, the tourist pays the hotel, but that hotel buys cheese from a local producer, who in turn pays the transport company, and so on. The wheel keeps turning, jobs are created, and new opportunities to earn a living emerge…
- The “Natural Paradise” brand: It’s our slogan, our pride and our golden goose. It attracts investment and prestige.
The Dark Side (and the Reason for the Tourist Tax)
- The territorial imbalance: This is the crux of the matter. Asturias isn’t Benidorm. There isn’t a single tourism hub. You can sleep in a luxury hotel in Gijón, but at 9 in the morning you get in your car, head to the Covadonga Lakes, have lunch in Arenas de Cabrales and spend the afternoon wandering along the Bear Trail. The municipality where you sleep gets the benefits of your overnight stay; the municipalities with mountains bear the costs of your hiking. And there’s no way to make the books balance like that.
- We privatise the benefits and socialise the damage: It’s harsh, but that’s how it is. The profits belong to private companies; the environmental and maintenance costs are borne by the public administration. And I say this as someone who makes a living from tourism. Of course we all pay taxes according to our income (let me assume that’s how it works). But tourism generates additional costs. You might say, “So does the steel industry.” Well, yes, it does too…
Do We Need the “Little Tax”, or Are We Getting Carried Away?
Yes, we need it. But not as a punishment for visitors; rather, as a tool for territorial fairness. It’s very simple: if you enjoy paradise, you help maintain it. Period. It’s like staying at a friend’s house: of course you don’t pay rent, but you bring the snacks and the beers.
What It’s Really For
- To create ring-fenced funding: A dedicated pot of money exclusively for the mountains, trails and cows. And also for municipalities that have to provide public services disproportionate to their size. Not to plug holes in other budgets. Transparency here is non-negotiable.
- To redistribute the pie: It is the only way for a small mountain municipality, with more protected land than inhabitants, to receive fair compensation for looking after the landscape that everyone comes to see.
- To raise awareness: Travelling without thinking about the consequences is not the same as paying two euros and being told that the money is going towards restoring the trail you are walking on.
What It Is NOT For (Don’t Let Anyone Sell You a Load of Nonsense)
- To keep foreign tourists away: Forget it. People aren’t going to stop coming to Asturias because of an extra one or two euros per night. Economic studies make it clear: in an established destination like ours, a moderate tax does not destroy demand. So nobody is going to stop visiting the blowholes of Pría because of the dreaded extra euro. Especially when, during the high season, they pay twice as much as in the low season and the place is still packed.
- To be the only solution: This isn’t magic. If it isn’t accompanied by a serious management plan—controlling tourist apartments, setting visitor limits in protected areas, etc.—the tax alone won’t solve overcrowding, housing problems or the loss of identity… It isn’t some magic cure-all.
The Great Soap Opera: Mandatory or Voluntary Tourist Tax?
This is where the political debate really heats up. The current proposal advocates a voluntary model: each municipality decides whether to introduce the tax. It sounds very nice and respectful of municipal autonomy. But from a technical point of view, it’s a bear trap.
- The problem with the voluntary model: Imagine Llanes introduces the tax. The tourist, who isn’t exactly stupid, decides to sleep in Ribadesella, where there is no tax. But the guy will still go to Llanes to visit the Bufones, enjoy the festivals, generate rubbish and not leave a single extra cent beyond whatever he spends while he’s there. Result: Llanes bears the costs, Ribadesella gets the benefits. This isn’t solidarity; it’s an absurd competition and a textbook case of territorial injustice.
- The only logical route: a mandatory tax with regional redistribution: Asturias functions as a single tourist destination. The brand is “Asturias Natural Paradise”, not “Hotel in Gijón with a day trip to the mountains”. Therefore, the model should be regional, mandatory and based on a distribution system that compensates those who actually bear the environmental burden.
So far, the Galician model has been discussed, in which implementation is voluntary for municipalities, as though it were the only option to follow. However, nobody talks, for example, about the Basque model, which comes into force on 1 January 2027 and is mandatory. There are other possible worlds…
And Where Does My Euro Go? The Destination of the Funds (and the Star Proposal)
This is everyone’s favourite part: what do we do with the money? In my view, this should be the main discussion, rather than whether the tourist tax should exist in the first place.
Management: Who’s in Charge?
In my opinion, neither the municipalities on their own nor the Principality of Asturias on its own. Genuine co-governance. Municipalities should have a say, but with a community-wide perspective. “Municipal selfishness” cannot be allowed to prevail here.
Distribution: The Magic Formula Against Injustice
A clever—and, if I may say so, brilliant—option would be a weighted mixed model for distributing the funds. Not according to population, nor according to the number of hotels. It should be based on territorial responsibility. For example…
- 40% according to the municipality’s total area: Because having a large territory to manage already represents a basic cost.
- 40% according to protected area (Natural Parks, Natura 2000 Network): The key point! If your municipality is a showcase of the paradise that everyone comes to enjoy, you should receive fair compensation for the restrictions and constraints that this entails.
- 20% according to overnight stays: To compensate municipalities that provide accommodation services directly and bear the costs associated with rubbish and water.
With this system, a municipality without a single hotel but with a Natural Park crossed by thousands of visitors receives its fair share. No more “whoever has the beds wins”.
Purpose: Less Concrete and More Cows
What should we spend the money on? The current proposal is very vague, but it focuses mainly on basic service costs. But if we’re putting forward ideas:
- Ecosystem conservation and trail maintenance: Repair the Cares Route, clean forests, manage waste in natural areas. Look after the stage.
- Structural support for the primary sector! This is the distinguishing feature. Programmes for farmers, livestock breeders and beekeepers. Incentives for young people who want to remain in the countryside. Because a landscape without the people who work it is a Disney garden: very pretty, but fake. We want to preserve nature, yes, but above all we want to preserve the human ecosystem that has shaped it over the centuries.
- Housing policies for local residents: To combat the displacement effect caused by tourist rentals.
- Smart promotion: Attract tourists outside August and away from the same four places everyone always visits.
In Summary
It is not true that the tourist tax is some huge new tax imposed on visitors. Nor is it true that it will discourage people from coming. It is a tool to ensure that when that tourist comes back in 20 years, they will still find a living, green Asturias, full of people making cheese, herding goats and, along the way, looking after the mountains.
So, yes, next time you pay for accommodation in Asturias, you may pay one euro more. But that euro isn’t disappearing into some black hole: it goes straight to the cow grazing in the meadow in the photo you’ve just uploaded to Instagram.
Tell me that isn’t poetic.
