Some days, I don't earn even a cent
A war fought thousands of miles from Southeast Asia is quietly dismantling the livelihoods of millions who have never heard a shot fired. Soaring jet fuel costs and closed airspace over the Persian Gulf have made travel to the region more expensive and less certain, draining the visitor flows that sustain entire national economies. For countries like Thailand, Vietnam, and Cambodia — still healing from the wounds of a global pandemic — this second disruption arrives not as misfortune but as something closer to crisis. The human story is not written in macroeconomic projections but in the daily earnings of a tuk-tuk driver in Siem Reap, counting coins against the cost of a meal.
- Jet fuel surcharges have doubled or tripled across major carriers, with Cathay Pacific raising its medium-haul surcharge from $34 to $80 per ticket, pricing out travelers who were already hesitant.
- Airspace closures over the Persian Gulf forced airlines to reroute flights, adding hours and costs that cascaded into mass cancellations and route reductions across Asia-Pacific.
- Thailand saw visitor arrivals fall 7% in April year-on-year, with Middle Eastern tourists — once a dependable revenue source — down a staggering 57%, hollowing out entire market segments.
- In Siem Reap, Cambodia, a tuk-tuk driver's daily income collapsed from $20 to $5, with half consumed by gasoline, leaving almost nothing for food on the worst days.
- Airlines, hotels, and small businesses are attempting to absorb losses and adapt pricing tiers, but uncertainty is compounding the damage as travelers delay bookings until the last possible moment.
- Moody's Analytics projects a 0.1 to 0.4 percentage point drag on Asia-Pacific growth in 2026, with economists warning the effects will compound through trade, consumer prices, and employment simultaneously.
Summer should be peak season across Southeast Asia, but the region's tourism industry is instead bracing for one of its worst years in recent memory. The war with Iran has sent jet fuel prices to levels not seen in years, forcing airlines to reroute flights, slash schedules, and impose steep surcharges. Cathay Pacific raised its medium-haul fuel surcharge from $34 to $80 per ticket; long-haul surcharges climbed from $73 to $174. Vietnam Airlines, AirAsia, and Air India followed suit. For travelers like Sandra Awodele, a Washington-based travel writer who had long planned a trip to Thailand, a single glance at fares was enough to end the conversation.
The damage is already visible in the numbers. Thailand saw visitor arrivals fall 7 percent in April compared to the previous year, with Middle Eastern tourists — once a reliable and growing segment — down 57 percent. In Siem Reap, Cambodia, the first four months of 2026 brought 37.5 percent fewer visitors than the same period a year earlier. For Siv Pech, a 58-year-old tuk-tuk driver who once earned $20 a day ferrying tourists to Angkor Wat, that collapse means earning roughly $5 — half of which goes to gasoline. Nearby, restaurant owner Sokha Sambo is watching her cooking gas costs climb while struggling to keep 14 employees on the payroll.
The stakes are structural, not merely seasonal. Tourism accounts for nearly 13 percent of Thailand's GDP and 9 percent of Vietnam's, underpinning millions of jobs across hotels, transport, food, and retail. For import-dependent economies like the Philippines and Nepal, tourist dollars are essential for purchasing fuel and critical goods. The region never fully recovered from COVID-19, and energy consultant Jitsai Santaputra in Bangkok called the timing catastrophic: two major disruptions within five years, each arriving before the wounds of the last had healed.
Economists are modeling the fallout with growing concern. Moody's Analytics projects the conflict will shave 0.1 to 0.4 percentage points off Asia-Pacific growth in 2026, with the Asia Development Bank noting the war's effects flow through production costs, consumer prices, and weakened demand all at once. Meanwhile, the uncertainty itself is reshaping behavior — travelers are booking closer to departure dates, a sign of hesitation that makes planning nearly impossible for businesses already operating on thin margins. The question for workers like Pech is not whether tourism will eventually return, but whether they can survive long enough to see it.
Summer is coming to Southeast Asia, and the region's tourism industry is bracing for what could be its worst season in years. The war with Iran has sent jet fuel prices soaring, triggering a cascade of cancellations, route changes, and ticket price increases that are rippling through economies that depend almost entirely on visitor spending. Thailand and Vietnam, which draw millions of travelers annually, are already seeing the damage. In April alone, visitor arrivals to Thailand dropped 7 percent compared to the same month last year. Middle Eastern tourists, once a reliable source of revenue, have nearly vanished—arrivals from that region fell 57 percent.
The mechanics of the crisis are straightforward but brutal. Airspace closures over the Persian Gulf early in the conflict forced airlines to reroute flights, adding hours and fuel costs to journeys bound for Asia. Jet fuel shortages pushed prices to levels not seen in years. Major carriers responded by slashing flights and hiking fuel surcharges. Cathay Pacific's medium-haul fuel surcharge jumped from $34 to $80 per ticket. Long-haul flights saw even steeper increases, from $73 to $174. Vietnam Airlines, AirAsia, and Air India all implemented similar measures. The result: fewer flights, higher prices, and travelers like Sandra Awodele, a Washington-based travel writer, canceling long-planned trips to Thailand after checking fares. "I looked at flight options and that's where it ended," she said.
The human toll is immediate and visible on the ground. Siv Pech, a 58-year-old tuk-tuk driver in Siem Reap, Cambodia, used to earn about $20 a day ferrying tourists to the Angkor Wat temple complex. Now he makes roughly $5. Half of that goes to gasoline. The other half covers food. Some days, he said, he earns nothing at all. Sokha Sambo, who runs a popular Khmer and Thai restaurant in the same city, faces a different squeeze: the cost of liquefied petroleum gas for cooking has climbed sharply, eating into her margins and making it harder to pay her 14 employees. In Siem Reap province overall, visitor numbers in the first four months of 2026 dropped 37.5 percent compared to the same period the year before.
These are not abstract economic statistics. Tourism accounts for nearly 13 percent of Thailand's gross domestic product and nearly 9 percent of Vietnam's. Across Southeast Asia, it represents about 11 percent of all economic activity. The sector underpins millions of jobs—not just for hotel workers and guides, but for taxi drivers, restaurant owners, shop keepers, and countless others whose livelihoods depend on the steady flow of foreign visitors and the foreign currency they bring. For import-dependent economies like the Philippines and Nepal, tourism dollars are essential for purchasing fuel and other critical goods. The region never fully recovered from the COVID-19 pandemic. Now it is being hit again, this time by a war thousands of miles away.
Jitsai Santaputra, an energy industry consultant based in Bangkok, described the timing as catastrophic. "This, happening within five years of each other, first the pandemic and now the war, is horrible for the tourism industry," she said. The question now is which businesses will survive long enough to benefit when travelers eventually return. Economists are already modeling the fallout. Moody's Analytics estimates the conflict will reduce economic growth across the Asia-Pacific region by 0.1 to 0.4 percentage points in 2026. Albert Park, chief economist at the Asia Development Bank, noted that the war's impact flows through multiple channels: higher production costs, elevated consumer prices, and weaker demand from trade and tourism combined.
Le Tuyet Lan, who operates bed-and-breakfast properties in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, explained how the crisis cascades through the market. When economies weaken, travel is often the first expense households cut. Luxury travelers shift to midrange hotels. Midrange travelers move to budget options. The cheapest tier of the market becomes most vulnerable. "This will disrupt the whole industry," she said. The uncertainty itself is damaging. Cathay Pacific's chief customer and commercial officer, Lavinia Lau, noted that travelers are now booking flights much closer to their departure dates, a sign of growing hesitation and unease about committing to trips.
The war has created a test of resilience for some of the world's most tourism-dependent economies at precisely the moment they can least afford it. The summer season that should be bringing peak revenues and employment is instead shaping up as a period of contraction and hardship. For workers like Pech, the tuk-tuk driver in Siem Reap, the question is not whether tourism will recover, but whether he and thousands like him can hold on until it does.
Citas Notables
With gasoline prices rising and tourism declining, how can we make money?— Siv Pech, tuk-tuk driver in Siem Reap, Cambodia
This, happening within five years of each other, first the pandemic and now the war, is horrible for the tourism industry.— Jitsai Santaputra, energy industry consultant at The Lantau Group
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does a war in Iran hit Southeast Asia so hard? These places are thousands of miles away.
Because the world's oil moves through the Strait of Hormuz, right off Iran's coast. When the war disrupted shipping and airspace there, fuel prices spiked everywhere. But Asia felt it first because so many countries there import their oil. And when jet fuel gets expensive, airlines cut flights and raise prices. That hits tourism economies instantly.
So it's not just about fuel for cars and homes?
No, it's layered. Yes, gasoline prices rose, which hurt taxi drivers and restaurants. But the real shock was jet fuel. Airlines couldn't absorb those costs, so they passed them to passengers. A ticket to Thailand became $100 or $200 more expensive. That's enough to make someone cancel their trip.
The numbers seem almost abstract—7 percent fewer visitors, 37 percent drop in Siem Reap. What does that actually mean for someone living there?
It means a man who made $20 a day now makes $5. It means a restaurant owner can't pay her staff. It means entire neighborhoods that depend on tourism suddenly have no customers. These aren't wealthy places with savings to fall back on. Tourism is the economy.
Why is this worse than other economic shocks?
Timing. These countries were still recovering from COVID. Tourism was just starting to come back. Then this war hit. It's like being knocked down twice in five years. Some businesses won't survive the second blow.
Is there any sign this will improve soon?
Not in the near term. Airspace is still disrupted. Fuel prices remain elevated. Travelers are spooked and booking later, which means less predictability for hotels and restaurants. The summer season—usually the busiest—is shaping up to be weak. That's when these economies need the money most.