Unlimited budget, deliberately seeking out the worst possible travel experiences. Daniel's asking us to construct a round-the-world itinerary of disappointment — not just places that are a bit underwhelming, but destinations that fail across multiple axes simultaneously. Overpriced, hostile, hollowed out by overtourism, and inauthentic. The kind of trip where you'd be wishing you were home before the first leg was over. And he wants it sequenced geographically so someone could actually follow it — a logical route of globe-hopping doom.
I love this. It's like reverse-engineering misery. And the thing is, you can't just pick places that are bad — there are plenty of dull suburbs and industrial estates nobody expects anything from. The real art is finding destinations that were once worth visiting, and have been destroyed by their own success. That's where the disappointment cuts deepest.
The Paris Syndrome problem. You arrive expecting transcendence and get a queue.
And we've got the data to build this properly now. Multiple studies in the last eighteen months have analyzed nearly a hundred thousand traveler reviews across a hundred cities, ranking them on crowding, cost-to-value ratio, authenticity erosion, and active hostility. We can construct an itinerary where every stop fails on at least three of those axes.
So we built the trip. But first, we needed to define what we were looking for.
Five axes. First, crowding — tourists per local. Dubrovnik leads the world at sixteen thousand two hundred fifty tourists per hundred locals. That's a hundred and sixty-two tourists per resident. Venice, which everyone talks about, is at forty-two. Second, the fame-to-reality gap — how heavily the destination was hyped versus what it actually delivers. Third, cost without value — premium prices for mediocre experiences. Fourth, authenticity erosion — local life hollowed out until the place becomes a theme park of itself. Venice's population collapsed from a hundred seventy-five thousand in the nineteen fifties to about fifty thousand today.
That number still gets me. A hundred and twenty-five thousand people didn't just move — they were moved out by the economics of tourism.
Fifth axis is active hostility or rudeness. Paris tops that list pretty consistently, but Barcelona residents were spraying tourists with water and chanting "go home" in July twenty twenty-four. And here's the paradox that runs through all of this — every destination on our list was once worth visiting. WorldRankd put it perfectly about Porto: "It is not overrated because it is not beautiful. It is overrated because the thing people came for is being crowded out by the people coming for it."
The tragedy is baked into the premise. Alright, with our criteria established, let's start the itinerary — and we begin in a place that might surprise you.
Orlando, Florida. Ten point six percent negative reviews in Radical Storage's analysis of nearly a hundred thousand reviews. It's the entry point to American disappointment. Theme park fatigue, punishing wait times, relentless heat, and a city built entirely around extracting money from families. You land, you're jet-lagged, and you're immediately in a machine designed to separate you from your savings while you stand in line for ninety minutes in ninety-five-degree heat.
And the humidity. Don't forget the humidity.
Then up to New York. Times Square — a hundred thirty-one million annual visitors, three hundred sixty thousand people daily on narrow sidewalks. Nomad eSIM's twenty twenty-six ranking puts it as the third worst tourist trap globally with over a thousand "tourist trap" mentions. It's overpriced, chaotic, and actual New Yorkers avoid it like it's radioactive. New York also ranks as the rudest city in the US.
A hundred thirty-one million people. That's roughly the population of Japan, compressed into a few city blocks.
Then west to San Francisco, specifically Fisherman's Wharf. The number one tourist trap in the world for the second consecutive year. Eleven hundred and nine negative reviews. Overpriced seafood, aggressive souvenir hawkers, zero authentic San Francisco character. It's a waterfront mall that happens to be near a bay.
So that's leg one. North America — you've been fleeced, jostled, and disappointed before you've even left the continent.
Leg two, Latin America. Cancún — the single most disappointing city on Earth per Radical Storage's analysis. Fourteen point two percent negative reviews, the highest of any city analyzed, and the highest frequency of "rip off" mentions. It was built from scratch as a purpose-built resort zone in the nineteen seventies, and it shows. Travelbinger described it as feeling "less like Mexico and more like a corporate playground."
That's the authenticity erosion in its purest form. It wasn't even a real place that got ruined — it was a fake place from the start.
Then Punta Cana, Dominican Republic. Eleven point nine percent negative reviews, third most disappointing globally. The core problem: anything outside the resort gates isn't worth visiting, and vendors are relentless. Travelbinger again: "a beautiful painting in a frame you can never leave." The moment you step outside, the illusion cracks.
So you've paid to be trapped in a gilded cage, and the alternative is worse. That's a special kind of disappointment.
Leg three, Europe. And we need a transition from the Americas, so we start in Antalya, Turkey. Twelve point two percent negative reviews, second most disappointing city globally. A five-day family trip now costs four to five thousand euros. European tourists face a nearly fifty percent price increase in euros since the pandemic. You're paying premium prices for a package-holiday experience that used to be the budget option.
Then Greece. Mykonos and Santorini back to back.
Mykonos first. Cocktails over twenty euros, basic accommodations wildly marked up. And the notorious DK Oyster restaurant — over two thousand bad reviews for surly service, intimidation tactics, and bills hitting a thousand pounds. The Independent sent someone to investigate. They documented staff physically blocking exits until tourists paid.
That's not rudeness. That's extortion with a view.
Santorini. Overrun by influencers and honeymooners. Sunsets in Oia are a chaotic photo frenzy where people literally shove each other for the perfect shot. A simple meal with a caldera view costs over fifty euros. The island now caps cruise crowds at eight thousand per day for twenty twenty-six, which tells you how bad it got.
Eight thousand people, all trying to photograph the same sunset. At some point you're not experiencing a sunset — you're attending a sunset-themed riot.
Then Dubrovnik, Croatia. This is the one that should get more attention than Venice. Sixteen thousand two hundred fifty tourists per hundred locals — a hundred and sixty-two tourists per resident. That's roughly four times Venice's ratio. The walled old town has largely emptied of permanent residents. Cruise ships disgorge thousands at a time onto streets built for hundreds. WorldRankd's description: "Dubrovnik is breathtaking, and that is precisely the tragedy: its beauty is real, but on a summer day you experience it as a queue."
A queue. A medieval walled city reduced to a line you stand in.
And then Venice itself. Ten point six million visitors a year for fifty thousand residents. Population collapsed from a hundred seventy-five thousand to fifty thousand. Italy charges day-trippers an entry fee and has banned large cruise ships. Gondola rides cost eighty to a hundred euros. And here's the thing — Venice rarely disappoints with its beauty. It disappoints with its crowds. You can see the thing; you just can't experience it.
The beauty is still there. It's just behind twelve thousand other people.
Barcelona. Twenty-six million visitors for one point six million residents — a sixteen-to-one ratio. In July twenty twenty-four, three thousand residents protested, spraying water and screaming "go home" at tourists. Las Ramblas is the third worst tourist trap globally with nine hundred sixty-nine negative reviews. The city announced a short-term rental ban effective twenty twenty-eight.
The residents are actively hostile, and they're not wrong. That's the uncomfortable part.
Paris. The world's least welcoming city per Rough Guides. The Eiffel Tower rocketed from ninth to fourth worst tourist trap globally, with complaints nearly tripling from three hundred three to nine hundred twenty-four. The Louvre welcomed nine million visitors in twenty twenty-four, then staff staged a spontaneous strike in June twenty twenty-five protesting overtourism. The Mona Lisa alone draws twenty thousand visitors daily — each of whom gets roughly fifteen seconds in front of a painting behind bulletproof glass.
Fifteen seconds. You've flown across the world, navigated Parisian hostility, paid your admission, and you get fifteen seconds in front of a postage-stamp-sized painting behind glass.
London rounds out Europe. Londoners ranked among the rudest in the world. The London Eye is the UK's number one tourist trap, more than doubling negative reviews from three hundred thirty-eight to eight hundred forty-nine. Pickpocketing and phone snatching common around Oxford Street and Leicester Square. You end Europe having been overcharged, jostled, and possibly robbed.
That takes us through Europe's greatest hits of disappointment. But the trip isn't over — we still have Africa, Asia, and a final stop that one German tourist described as literally built on hell.
Leg four, Africa and the Middle East. Marrakech, Morocco. Jardin Majorelle jumped from twenty-second to tenth worst tourist trap globally, with complaints surging from ninety-one to four hundred seventy — a fivefold increase driven by viral social media. The medina described as "the Disneylnd of Morocco." Ranked fourth least welcoming city. One traveler quoted in Glam Globe Magazine: "I expected authentic and a bit terrible, and I was still excited. I got authentic and very terrible."
That might be the most honest review ever written.
Then Giza and Cairo. The Pyramids are a perennial disappointment — aggressive vendors, relentless scamming from airport to monument, and the "Pharaoh's Revenge" food poisoning. Egypt consistently appears on most-regretted destination lists. Interestingly, the Pyramids actually dropped on Nomad's tourist trap ranking from fifteenth to thirty-fourth, which could mean conditions are improving or that visitors have simply stopped complaining because they've given up.
Or the people who'd complain have been warned off entirely, and only the stoic remain.
Leg five, Asia. We open with Pattaya, Thailand. Soaring prices, unpleasant odors, a nightlife scene described as oversaturated and mechanical. The Pattaya Mail has been running articles asking what went wrong. The city has lost whatever magic it once had, and what's left is expensive and smells bad.
"Expensive and smells bad" is not what you want on a tourism brochure.
Bangkok. The most overrated capital in Asia for the second consecutive year. Eighteen point four percent negative reviews in twenty twenty-four, up from sixteen point six the year before. Legendary traffic jams, poluted river, overwhelming humidity. Khaosan Road is Bangkok's most disappointing spot — a backpacker street that's become a caricature of itself.
Phuket next.
A hundred and eighteen tourists per local. WorldRankd ranks it sixth most overrated globally. Beaches eroding, water and waste systems strained. The strips now read more like an open-air resort mall than anywhere Thai.
And then Bali, which might be the most damning entry on this entire list.
Six point three three million foreign tourists in twenty twenty-four on a small island. Here's the statistic that should stop everyone: a single tourist uses seventeen hundred eighty-five liters of water per day. A local uses fourteen. Hotel guests use four thousand. That's a hundred and twenty-seven times more water than a resident. Plastic polution, traffic gridlock in Canggu, cultural erosion. Travelbinger: "The Island of Gods sold its soul."
Seventeen hundred eighty-five liters versus fourteen. You can't visit Bali and call yourself a responsible tourist. The math doesn't work. Your mere presence consumes over a hundred times more water than the people who actually live there.
Kyoto. Ten point eighty-eight million foreign visitors in twenty twenty-four for one point five million residents. Ninety percent of residents complain about overtourism in surveys. Tourists banned from private alleys in the Gion geisha district with fines of ten thousand yen. A lodging tax of up to ten thousand yen per night for premium accommodations took effect March twenty twenty-six. The city is actively making itself less accessible.
Ninety percent. That's not a vocal minority — that's essentially everyone.
Beijing rounds out Asia. Eleven point two percent negative reviews, fourth most disappointing city globally. Reviews frequently cite language barriers and air quality. Ranked among the rudest cities.
Leg six, Oceania. Two stops to finish the job.
Bondi Beach, Sydney. Ranked among the world's most overrated in twenty twenty-six. Overcrowded, over-commercialized, a far cry from the pristine surf paradise marketed. Then Rotorua, New Zealand — our final stop. A German tourist's viral one-star review described it as "literally built on HELL" — "stench, overwhelm and mental exhaustion." The sulfur smell is genuine — it's a geothermal area — but combined with the tourist-trap atmosphere, it becomes a uniquely disappointing finale. You end your round-the-world trip of misery in a city that smells like rotten eggs and feels like a gift shop.
Twenty-three stops across six continents. Crowded, overpriced, hostile, inauthentic, and in many cases actively falling apart. And here's the thing — every single one of these places was once worth visiting. That's what makes it tragic rather than just funny.
The destinations are fighting back, too. Venice's entry fee, Barcelona's rental ban, Kyoto's alley fines, Santorini's cruise caps, Amsterdam's "stay away" campaigns. Cities are deliberately making themselves less accessible to save themselves — which, ironically, makes them even more disappointing for the tourist who does show up. You finally get to Venice and discover you need a reservation and a fee just to walk around.
The paradox of success. The thing people came for is being crowded out by the people coming for it.
Hilbert: I worked on cruise ships for three years. Early two-thousands, Mediterranean routes — Dubrovnik, Venice, Mykonos, the whole circuit. Entertainment director.
In two thousand two, Dubrovnik in October was quiet. You could walk the walls with maybe twenty other people. The old town still had residents who'd wave from their windows. Bakeries, not souvenir shops. By two thousand five, we were disgorging three thousand passengers at a time, and the bakeries were gone. Replaced by Game of Thrones merchandise and gelato stands.
The residents didn't leave because they wanted to. They left because their apartments became worth more as Airbnbs than as homes. I watched a city sell its soul in real time, and I was part of the machine selling it.
Three thousand passengers at once. That's... the old town in Dubrovnik has what, maybe four or five main streets? You're adding the population of a small town into a medieval walled city in the space of an hour.
Hilbert: Forty-five minutes was our standard disembarkation window. Get them off, get them spending, get them back by five.
I recommended DK Oyster on Mykonos to passengers. Told them it was the authentic local experience. This was before the bad reviews, before the thousand-pound bills. I probably sent two hundred people there. I think about that sometimes.
Two hundred people you personally directed into what became one of the most notorious tourist traps in Europe.
Hilbert: I didn't know. None of us did. The place was charming in two thousand three — family-run, good seafood, reasonable prices. Then the cruise ships kept coming and something changed. The owners realized the customers were never coming back anyway. Why not charge eight hundred euros for lunch? There's no repeat business in cruise tourism.
The thing you're missing in all your analysis is how fast it happened. You're quoting studies from twenty twenty-five and twenty twenty-six, but the transformation was basically complete by twenty ten. What you're studying now is the aftermath. The patient's been dead for fifteen years; you're just doing the autopsy.
That timeline actually explains something I've wondered about. Why some of these destinations feel not just crowded but... resigned. Like they've stopped trying.
Hilbert: They have. Venice stopped trying around two thousand eight. The residents who were going to leave had left. What remained was a city run by and for the tourism industry. Everyone you interact with — the gondolier, the café owner, the hotel clerk — they're all working for the same machine. And they know you're leaving tomorrow.
So where does that leave us? A world full of places that were once worth visiting, now hollowed out by the very people who wanted to see them. And we're all complicit — anyone who's ever booked a flight to any of these destinations is part of the demand that created the machine.
The open question is whether there's any ethical way to visit these places now. The destinations fighting back suggest some hope — Venice's entry fee, Barcelona's rental ban, Kyoto's fines. But the tourist who shows up today is still part of the problem, not the solution. The most disappointing thing about this itinerary isn't the crowds or the prices or the rudeness. It's that every single stop was once worth visiting. The tragedy is that we know what we missed.
If you enjoyed this episode, please leave a review. Or better yet, don't visit any of these places. Leave them for the people who live there.
Thanks to our producer Hilbert Flumingtop.
This has been My Weird Prompts. Email us at show at my weird prompts dot com.
We'll be back soon.
