Nepal's tourism crisis deepens as floods devastate peak season, threatening livelihoods

Pushpraj Rimal was counting on September. For the 42-year-old tour planner and taxi driver in Kathmandu, the month has always meant business—tourists flooding in as the monsoon breaks and the Himalayan skies clear. He had rented two cars for the season, lined up commissions from hotels and trekking companies in Kathmandu and Pokhara, and made promises to his two children, Hema and Rahul, about gifts for Dussain, the Hindu festival that falls in October. Then came the floods.

In late August, catastrophic flooding triggered by a glacial mountain collapse along the Nepal-Tibet border killed more than 1,450 people and destroyed key highways across the nation. Within days, the cancellations started arriving. Pushpraj has completed only a quarter of the business he normally does in a season. The commissions from hotels and trek organizers have dried up. The taxi work has stalled. Nearly a month after the disaster, he described the situation plainly: "It is still a lockdown kind of situation." The tablets he promised his children for Dussain now seem impossible. "I will have to break their hearts and my promise to them for the very first time."

Nepal's economy leans heavily on tourism. The sector accounts for nearly 8 percent of the country's gross domestic product and employs more than 1 million people. Last year, the country welcomed more than 1.15 million tourists, with nearly a third arriving during the September-November peak season—the window when weather and visibility make trekking and sightseeing possible. This year, that window has slammed shut, not just in the flooded regions but across the entire country.

Seeta Nepali, 61, and her husband Ramakant, 68, sell homemade buttermilk and cottage cheese from a roadside stand on the highway connecting Kathmandu to Pokhara and Chitwan. Their town escaped the floods, but the economic damage reached them anyway. For eleven days after the disaster, the road was blocked and they earned nothing. When it reopened, only government vehicles were permitted to pass. Now some tourists are returning, but the flow is a fraction of what it was. "We are making barely one-fourth of what we would usually do," Seeta said. The reduced income has forced them to cut back on groceries. "We are eating only flattened rice and buttermilk for lunch since the income has been drastically reduced and we are not able to buy enough vegetables."

The cancellations stem from multiple sources. Some tourists, like Alexa from Britain, had booked their first Nepal trip months in advance—flights, hotels, trekking expeditions, everything arranged for July travel. When they learned of the disaster on August 26, they cancelled entirely. A Japanese traveler with two children said the washed-out roads were secondary to his real concern: the environment created by the disaster itself. "The stranded dead bodies could be deadly for me and my family," he explained. A family from India took a middle path, cancelling Pokhara but extending their Kathmandu stay instead.

Travel advisories from foreign embassies have amplified the damage. The United Kingdom issued a warning on September 11 stating that many areas had become unstable and safe travel could not be guaranteed. The United States issued a similar advisory, designating large portions of Nepal as no-travel zones. Meanwhile, the Indian embassy's charge d'affaires told reporters that Nepal remained open and safe, with only some areas requiring avoidance. The conflicting messages have confused potential visitors. Some tourists misread the warnings as applying to the entire country rather than specific flood-affected regions, triggering cancellations from places that suffered no damage at all.

Pramila Chhetri manages a resort in Chitwan, about 150 kilometers from Kathmandu's airport. She had prepared meticulously for September—furnished every room with premium utilities, hired additional staff, purchased top supplies. All rooms were booked. Within 23 days, 80 percent of reservations had been cancelled. "We really wish people across the globe would understand that it is not all of Nepal that is facing the floods," she told reporters, "and there are many small and big businesses that depend on travellers to make ends meet, especially in the months of September and October." One group postponed rather than cancelled, moving their visit to October. She is waiting to see if they arrive.

The full economic toll is still being calculated. But for the people whose livelihoods depend on the tourism season—the guides, the vendors, the resort workers, the drivers—the damage is already visible. Pushpraj comes to work each day knowing his income will not cover his promises. Seeta stands on the highway with her bottles of buttermilk, watching for tourists who may not come. The question now is whether Nepal's reputation can recover before the season ends, or whether the perception of danger will linger long after the floodwaters have receded.