One’s a historic university town, steeped in tradition and academic rigour, whilst the other is a metropolis famed for its vibrant Mediterranean culture, art, and architecture. As Michaelmas rumbles on under increasingly grey skies and the increasing threat of vitamin D deficiency, one sentiment unites these two cities: a collective hatred for tourists.
Barcelona is home to some of the most impressive modernist architecture in the world. But the reality is that most of these buildings are not inhabited by locals. Just look at Casa Batlló, Casa Vicens, and Casa Tilly-Clemmie-and-Minty-on-their-three-week-interrail-trip. The influx of tourists has driven up property prices, making it increasingly difficult for locals, especially those dependent on low-paying, tourism-related jobs, to afford to live in the city. This has resulted in the sale of only 58,199 houses in the area last year. It’s not the vertiginous towers of the Sagrada Familia that have sickened locals, but a dire case of Airbnbitis that has made their city a tourist village. Even Gaudí himself couldn’t afford to live there anymore.
Enter Oxford. More and more properties are split into accommodation for weekend getaways to the city of dreaming spires and sleepless students. The fantasy of living in a picturesque, historic city has driven up demand for accommodation, leading to rising property prices that are making it increasingly difficult for locals. University employees have a particularly hard time. Even academics are being priced out, forced to live further away, and endure long commutes, a reality that threatens the city’s academic core. According to the Office for National Statistics, housing affordability in Oxford has stagnated, with the average price for first time buyers rising from £376,000 to £414,000 in only the past year. Adiós to my dreams of that Jericho townhouse.
Of course, tourism brings both cities benefits. It generates over 9.6 billion euros annually for Barça and accounts for a colossal 14% of its GDP. Each year, approximately 32 million tourists descend upon the city to Oxford’s 7 million. This comes at a cost: local businesses that once served the community are now seedy sangria speakeasies, “I love milf” tee shirt vendors, or our particular poison – the Harry Potter merch store. There are now two of these shops on Cornmarket. Is it really so difficult to take ten steps down the road to pick up your Gryffindor scarf and sorting hat?
Unfortunately, the tourists don’t seem to use the spell accio bin. On Las Ramblas, the bins are said to have been emptied a startling 14 times in a single day, whilst Oxford has imposed fines of up to £150 for littering in the city’s popular green spaces.
Compared to Barcelona, Oxford may not be swarming with sun-seekers, but it faces its own unique set of challenges. While we as students haven’t resorted to squirting tourists with water pistols like our Catalan counterparts, it’s undeniably frustrating to have to push past swarms of people on High Street when you’re already late for your tute. A critical artery for locals and students alike, the street often feels more like a tourist trap than a functioning part of the city.
But it’s not just the buildings who attract the tourists, it’s us, the students. Picture a brown-haired, glasses-wearing fresher at Matriculation being gawped at by a group of tourists. “Look! It’s Harry Potter!” Yeah, only this Harry Potter speaks Latin, not Parseltongue and lives in a four-bed in Tunbridge Wells, not a cupboard under the stairs. Tourists line the street, mystified by the common Oxford student, eager to catch us in our gowns, or on our way in and out of the Rad Cam. This is perhaps an indication of the exoticisation of culture which comes as a result of tourism. The visitors coming for the bank holiday week-end don’t know the realities of life behind the façade. Behold, the lesser-spotted Oxford student, home from Bridge only a few hours ago, Bod card left somewhere in Spoons, wearing the same jumper for the third day in a row. All they see is the perfect scholar on their way to another intellectually stimulating discussion with a professor dressed in tweed and a monocle.
Really though, Oxford students are no better than the common Barcelona tourist. Granted, we may stay a little longer, and our days are spent in the library, not laying on a sandy beach, but we are still very much temporary residents. We spend so much time complaining about tourists that we disregard what it’s like for the locals who view us in much the same light. In fact, students and University staff make up over 22% of the population of Oxford, the highest such ratio in England and Wales. No wonder you can’t walk down Broad Street without running into that tutor you promised an essay to.
Addressing the issues of tourism will require a nuanced and balanced approach that considers both the economic benefits of tourism and the needs of local residents. Without careful management, Oxford, like Barcelona, risks becoming another example of a city victimised by its own success, where the quality of life for its residents is sacrificed in the name of economic gain. It’s a cautionary tale that resonates with historic cities across the world, many of which are grappling with the same challenges. As both Oxford and Barcelona navigate the complex dynamics of tourism, the lessons learned here could serve as a blueprint for other cities like Venice, Santorini, and Dubrovnik, all facing similar pressures.
So then, what’s the solution to dealing with tourists? Take a deep breath, and put the water pistol down.
