I used to think ethical travel was a checklist: avoid obvious scams, don’t ride elephants, and book with the “green” company on Instagram. Over years of wandering and getting things wrong, I’ve learned it’s messier. Ethics in travel isn’t a label you can slap onto a booking; it’s a set of judgments you make before you buy a ticket and ones you reassess while you’re there. Below are five concrete questions I now ask before I book anything — questions that help me weigh trade-offs and travel in ways that are more likely to respect people, places, and ecosystems.

Who benefits from my money?

This is the most practical question I start with. When I book a tour, stay in a guesthouse, or buy a craft, I try to trace where the money flows. Does the community I’m visiting actually see the revenue, or is it mostly siphoned off to international booking platforms and foreign-owned hotels?

Concrete ways I check:

  • Look at the operator’s ownership: Is the company locally owned? Do they name local guides? Small family-run guesthouses and cooperatives usually list host/owner names on their sites.
  • Ask about pay and conditions: If I’m booking a tour, I email and ask whether guides are salaried, paid per trip, or given tips only. I’ve asked local guides in Nepal and Lisbon and changed bookings when a company couldn’t explain how they compensated staff.
  • Use booking platforms wisely: Platforms like Booking.com and Airbnb are convenient, but I balance them with local websites or direct contact. Paying a homestay directly often means more of the fee reaches the household.

    • There’s no perfect answer. I’m okay paying a bit extra when I know a greater share helps the people I meet.

    Does this activity respect local culture and dignity?

    Respect isn’t only about overt harm; sometimes it’s about nuance and representation. I avoid experiences that turn people into props or commodify sacred practices for a photo-op.

    Questions I ask and signs I watch for:

  • Is the community involved in how they are portrayed? If a cultural experience is run by outsiders with no community voice, I pass.
  • Does the activity require people to perform or alter traditions for tourists? Some festivals and rituals become distorted when staged on demand. I prefer visits that are educational rather than performative.
  • Are there clear guidelines for respectful behavior? Hosts who educate guests about dress codes, photography, and appropriate questions usually care about dignity.

    • On a trip to Oaxaca I once declined a “traditional weaving demonstration” because the studio invited only tourists and paid the weavers a flat fee that didn’t reflect the skill involved. Instead, I found a cooperative where artisans explained their craft in their own words — it was quieter, more honest, and worth every extra dollar.

    What are the environmental costs?

    Climate and conservation concerns are unavoidable. I weigh the carbon footprint of travel, the impact of local activities (like boating or trekking), and whether businesses practice sensible stewardship.

    Practical checks I make:

  • Ask about group sizes and routes: Large groups and off-trail hiking damage fragile habitats. I choose small-group operators and insist on staying on marked paths.
  • Check waste practices: Are single-use plastics avoided? Does the lodge have waste management or composting? I’ve stopped staying in places that casually burn trash or dump waste into waterways.
  • Consider transport trade-offs: Sometimes a low-cost internal flight is the only practical option. When I can’t avoid it, I offset thoughtfully (through reputable projects) and balance by spending longer in a place rather than short, carbon-heavy hops.

    • Environmental ethics isn’t about guilt-free travel; it’s about reducing harm and choosing options that encourage long-term stewardship.

    Who sets the rules and where does decision-making sit?

    I’ve learned that a lot of ethical ambiguity reduces to power. Who decides the schedule, the price, the itinerary, and what parts of the place are “for tourists”? If outsiders—developers, tour operators, or governments—shape those decisions without local input, the results are rarely sustainable.

    How I assess decision-making:

  • Read about governance: Community-run lodges and conservancies often publish their mission and board composition. If locals are on the board, that’s a strong signal.
  • Ask about revenue-sharing and reinvestment: Some conservation programs reinvest tourism fees into community projects like schools or clinics. I prefer places that clearly spell this out.
  • Look for partnerships: Ethical projects often collaborate with NGOs, universities, or local councils. These partnerships can provide checks and balances.

    • On a safari in Namibia, I chose a lodge that operated as a trust with local community representatives; it wasn’t the cheapest option, but I felt my stay supported local priorities rather than outside development schemes.

    Am I prepared to be flexible and listen?

    The last question is about attitude. Ethical travel requires humility and the willingness to adapt. I don’t arrive with a rigid agenda; I prepare, but I also listen to hosts and guides and change plans if what I’m doing causes discomfort or harm.

    Practical habits I cultivate:

  • Do pre-trip research but leave space for local advice: I read local news and travel forums, but I expect to follow local recommendations once I arrive.
  • Bring appropriate gifts or support: Instead of buying lots of souvenirs, I’ll bring small educational supplies for a school or offer to pay for experiences that matter to hosts. I ask before giving.
  • Practice restraint with photos: I ask permission to photograph people and respect boundaries. Sometimes the best memory is a conversation, not a feedable image.

    • Once in a coastal village in Indonesia, I planned to go on a boat trip. The fishermen suggested a later time to avoid disturbing juvenile turtles. I changed my plans without complaint — it felt like the right trade-off.

    Quick decision-making table

    Question Red flag Green sign
    Who benefits? All profits go to foreign owners; staff not named Local ownership or transparent revenue-sharing
    Cultural respect Staged performances; no community consent Community-led experiences; clear visitor guidelines
    Environmental cost Unmanaged waste, off-trail access Small groups, waste policies, conservation fees
    Decision-making Top-down development; no local voices Local representation; reinvestment plans
    Flexibility Rigid itineraries; hosts ignored Hosts consulted; willingness to adapt

    These five questions aren’t a moral checklist that guarantees a sinless trip. They’re a way to make better choices in a world of compromises. I still make mistakes. What matters is that I try to learn from them: asking a question, listening to the answer, and letting my booking dollars reflect a sense of responsibility rather than a desire for spectacle. If you carry these questions with you the next time you plan, you’ll be better equipped to choose experiences that do more than entertain — they can sustain, respect, and connect.