This is what the age of algorithmic tourism looks like. It wears the illusion of choice while quietly narrowing the field. In Fort Kochi, the architecture rivals that of coastal towns in the Mediterranean. Terracotta roofs, crumbling facades with colonial insignias, bougainvillea-laced balconies. It could easily be mistaken for Lisbon or Granada, if not for the dense, humid air that clings to every surface. The monsoon is around the corner, and the land feels primed for it.

Yet there is something odd about this season. Unlike the year-end period, when the town brims with visitors from across the country and abroad, the mood now is quieter. Almost localised. The tourists now come from nearby districts within Kerala. The hotels, homestays, cafés and spice stores that buzz in December resemble abandoned movie sets. Foot traffic has not vanished, but the energy has.

Conversations with some homestay owners have it they are willing to let go of their properties. When asked why, they talk of a slow bleed. Most of these places, which include many cafés and restaurants no longer have the financial cushion to make it to the next season. It is not a collapse of demand, but a redirection of it.

The explanation becomes clear after a few conversations. The local tourists who arrive are not short of disposable income. Yet they seem to converge on the same handful of places. A deeper look reveals a pattern. Before arriving, most visitors perform an online search—Google, TripAdvisor, Instagram, and other aggregator platforms filter their options. These platforms dictate what is visible, what is reviewed, what ranks on top. What gets discovered, gets chosen.

As a result, the algorithm defines the itinerary. The same restaurants, the same photo-ops, the same ‘must-visit’ sites feature on everyone’s list. Exploration has been outsourced to a machine. The spontaneous detour, the accidental find, the happy accident, are all casualties in this arrangement.

What this does to a town like Fort Kochi is not just economic. It is existential. In previous seasons, travellers often stumbled into spaces tucked away in corners, led by instinct, conversations, or sheer luck. These discoveries built emotional memory. Now, the experience is about checking off digital boxes. Posing in the right places. Eating where the crowd eats. Leaving with stories that echo everyone else’s.

Local entrepreneurs have noticed the shift. Some homestay owners speak of a two-tier tourist season. Once the ‘algorithm-approved’ accommodations fill up, the remaining influx consists of guests who, by their own admission, stumbled into less-visible options after failing to secure rooms at the top-rated locations. These guests are often not the spenders needed to sustain boutique businesses.

The Mumbai-based Shashikant Shetty, a veteran restaurateur, has observed this across the country. In his view, the issue is systemic and not limited to Fort Kochi. He recalls visiting a well-reviewed restaurant only to find the real-world experience fell far short of its online reputation. According to him, the establishments that excel at digital marketing now attract a disproportionate share of the footfall, regardless of the quality they offer.

Shetty adds that this is a global issue. From small towns in Italy to temple towns in India, local economies are being reshaped by algorithm-driven traffic. Those who have cracked the code of visibility thrive. Others fade. This shift is as much about perception as it is about quality. The algorithm rewards consistency, packaging and familiarity—often at the cost of originality and depth.

Until travellers step beyond digital comfort zones, embrace uncertainty, and wander into the unknown, tourism will increasingly become a predictable, homogenised experience. The act of discovering something unlisted, or hidden in plain sight, now requires conscious resistance to the algorithm.

Back in Fort Kochi, the early monsoon finally peeks out of the clouds. A gentle drizzle grows into a downpour and washes the streets. In this weather, few tourists venture out. The ones who do, mostly clad in ponchos and clutching umbrellas, keep to familiar paths. Their destinations are the same ones the algorithm blessed the night before.

The question that lingers is not about the fate of a café or a homestay. It is about what tourism is becoming. If exploration is guided entirely by digital consensus, does the traveller still exist? Or has that figure been replaced by a tourist whose imagination is shaped in advance?

Perhaps, the true luxury now lies in wandering without a plan. Trusting instinct. Choosing the wrong alley. Finding something that hasn’t been reviewed, rated, or hash-tagged.

And perhaps it is time to ask: is travel still about discovery, or just a performance of what others have already seen?