For much of the past decade, Colombia built a reputation as one of travel’s great value destinations: culturally rich, visually stunning, and refreshingly affordable. A strong U.S. dollar, competitive hotel rates, and inexpensive food and transport helped turn cities like Medellín and Cartagena into global favorites, while smaller destinations thrived on a steady flow of backpackers and eco-tourists.

This equation is now changing. And faster than the industry expected.

The Colombian peso has strengthened sharply, trading this week near 3,630 to the U.S. dollar, its highest level since mid-2021. For foreign visitors, the effect is immediate and tangible: fewer pesos per dollar at the ATM, and higher costs across nearly every aspect of a trip – from meals and hotel stays to transportation and tours.

The shift is perhaps most visible at the table. Consider a classic Caribbean staple: deep-fried mojarra, served whole with coconut rice and patacones. At La Estrella, a popular local eatery in Cartagena, the dish costs about COP$40,000 per person. Order the same fish at a beachside stall and the price climbs to COP$60,000. In a high-end Old City restaurant, plated with foraged greens and linen service, it can reach COP$120,000 per person.

At today’s exchange rate, that translates to roughly $11, $16, and $33 — still accessible by international standards, but a noticeable jump from the Colombia many travelers remember.

Currency is only part of the story

While peso strength explains much of the increase, Colombia’s tourism sector is also grappling with sharply higher operating costs following a 23% increase in the national minimum wage, enacted by presidential decree under President Gustavo Petro.

From the government’s perspective, the measure was framed as a necessary response to inflation and cost-of-living pressures. For hotels, tour operators, and travel agencies, however, the speed and scale of the increase have posed significant challenges.

The Colombian Hotel and Tourism Association (Cotelco) has warned that the decision places particular strain on an industry where labor accounts for a large share of costs. According to Cotelco, roughly 70% of hotel workers are part of operational teams — including housekeeping, front desk staff, maintenance, kitchens, and security — leaving businesses highly exposed to wage adjustments.

Cotelco has also pointed to recent changes in labor rules, such as higher pay for Sunday and holiday shifts and the earlier start of night-shift premiums, which further increase payroll expenses. Looking ahead, the sector faces additional pressure in July 2026, when Colombia’s legally mandated reduction of the workweek to 42 hours takes effect, a complex adjustment for hotels that operate around the clock.

Rising costs beyond wages

Labor is not the only expense rising. Hotels and tourism businesses are also absorbing higher energy and gas tariffs, including a 20% energy surcharge introduced in 2025, which disproportionately affects establishments that operate continuously and rely heavily on air conditioning, refrigeration, and water systems.

Transportation costs are climbing as well. Higher toll fees and fuel prices have pushed up the cost of airport transfers, private drivers, and overland travel between destinations, quietly adding to tourists’ final bills. These increases are particularly noticeable for travelers moving between regions — for example, from Cartagena to Santa Marta, or through the Coffee Axis by road.

Price increases are not felt evenly across the country.

In large cities such as Bogotá and Medellín, intense competition has helped cushion the blow. These markets offer a wide range of accommodation, from budget hostels and short-term rentals to international five-star hotels, giving travelers flexibility and keeping price growth relatively contained.

In contrast, smaller resort and nature destinations face sharper pressure. In places like Palomino, wedged between the Caribbean Sea and the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, or Salento in the Coffee Axis, accommodation options are limited. Boutique eco-lodges and family-run hotels dominate, and supply cannot easily expand.

In these destinations, rising labor and operating costs are passed on more quickly to guests, making price hikes more visible — and sometimes harder to justify.

According to Anato, Colombia’s association of travel agencies, the wage increase has also disrupted long-term planning. Many tourism businesses had projected annual cost increases of 8% to 12%, not nearly double that figure.

For inbound tourism, which operates on long booking cycles, the timing is especially problematic. Rates, packages, and contracts with international wholesalers for 2026 were often negotiated under different macroeconomic assumptions, limiting companies’ ability to adjust prices after the fact.

Anato has also warned of a double squeeze: rising costs at home combined with a stronger peso, which reduces the real value of revenues earned in foreign currency.

Pay more – Higher expectations

Most travelers are not inherently opposed to paying more for Colombia. What they increasingly expect, however, is visible improvement in exchange.

Higher prices bring sharper scrutiny of cleanliness, waste management, and environmental standards, particularly in coastal areas where beach pollution and informal tourism practices remain persistent concerns. As Colombia positions itself as a higher-value destination, arbitrary pricing, lack of regulation could erode sustainable tourism.

Internal security is another critical factor. As costs rise, long-standing security concerns, especially in rural areas and off-the-beaten path travel corridors, weigh heavily in  destination choice. Travelers paying mid-range or premium prices expect predictability and safety to match the cost.

Looking ahead, a further strengthening of the peso toward 3,500 per dollar would intensify pressure on Colombia’s tourism sector as competition and air connectivity across the region grows fiercer.

Colombia now finds itself competing directly with the all-inclusive efficiency of Mexico’s Riviera Maya and the Dominican Republic, the well-established eco-tourism model of Costa Rica, and the increasingly curated cultural and nature offerings of Guatemala. These destinations have spent years refining price with product, investing in infrastructure, security, and environmental enforcement.

Colombia’s transition from affordable standout to mid-range contender is still underway. Currency strength and wage growth can signal economic maturity, but without tangible improvements in security, the country risks losing travelers to emerging destinations across the Middle East and South East Asia. The message is clear: Colombia remains compelling – but no longer discounted. Whether higher prices translate into a better consumer experience will determine how well the country holds its place in an increasingly crowded travel market.

For a literary festival, silence can be more revealing than speech. The decision by three writers to withdraw from the 2026 Hay Festival in Cartagena over the presence of María Corina Machado, this year’s Nobel Peace Prize laureate and the most prominent figure in Venezuela’s democratic opposition, has exposed a paradox at the heart of contemporary literary culture: a professed devotion to free expression that falters when confronted with an inconvenient voice.

Hay Festival Cartagena, now in its 21st edition, is scheduled to take place from 29 January to 1 February 2026, with parallel events in Barranquilla, Medellín and a special edition in Jericó, Antioquia. Founded three decades ago in Wales and once described by Bill Clinton as “the Woodstock of the mind,” Hay has built its global reputation on the premise that literature flourishes in the presence of disagreement. Its stages have hosted figures as diverse – and divisive – as Salman Rushdie, Jonathan Safran Foer and David Goodhart, writers whose ideas have unsettled orthodoxies across continents.

Yet in Cartagena, dialogue has been recast as contamination.

The Colombian novelist Laura Restrepo, the Barranquilla-born writer Giuseppe Caputo and the Dominican activist Mikaelah Drullard announced they would not attend in protest at Machado’s invitation. Restrepo, winner of the 2004 Alfaguara Prize, had been scheduled to participate in several events, including a conversation with Indian novelist Pankaj Mishra and a session devoted to her most recent book, I Am the Dagger and I Am the Wound. In a public letter addressed to festival director Cristina de la Fuente, Restrepo described Machado’s presence as “a line” crossed.

“I must cancel my attendance at Hay Festival Cartagena 2026,” Restrepo wrote. “The reason is the participation of María Corina Machado, an active supporter of United States military intervention in Latin America.” Granting her a platform, Restrepo argued, amounted to facilitating positions hostile to regional autonomy.

Caputo echoed his reasoning on social media, announcing that “in the current context of escalating imperial violence, it is better to withdraw from a festival taking place opposite the bombarded waters of the Caribbean Sea.” Drullard, five days earlier, said she could not attend an event that “supports pro-genocide and interventionist positions through the mobilisation of those who promote them,” citing Machado’s proximity to the administration of US President Donald Trump.

What remains striking, however, is not merely the severity of these accusations but their selectivity. None of the boycott statements devotes comparable moral energy to denouncing the documented human rights abuses of Nicolás Maduro’s regime: arbitrary detentions, enforced disappearances, torture of political prisoners, or the systematic dismantling of democratic institutions. One is left to ask whether the authors’ moral outrage extends to the lived realities of Venezuelans themselves, or whether it finds expression only when filtered through the optics of geopolitics.

The irony is sharpened by the fact that the same US administration helped secure Machado’s escape from Venezuela on December 8, enabling her to arrive in Oslo hours after her daughter Ana Corina Sosa received the Nobel Peace Prize on her behalf. “When the history of our time is written, it won’t be the names of the authoritarian rulers that stand out – but the names of those who dared resist,” noted the Nobel Foundation. 

The arguments from Machado’s detractors  warrant scrutiny – and above all, debate. What they do not justify is refusal from Latin America’s self-entitled literati. A boycott replaces argument with absence, moral reasoning with pantomime. It is a gesture that confers ethical purity upon the boycotter while foreclosing the very exchange that literature has traditionally claimed to defend. This is the “line” that cannot be crossed.

The Hay Festival’s response has been characteristically diplomatic In a statement following the cancellations, organisers reaffirmed their commitment to pluralism: “We reaffirm our conviction that open, plural and constructive dialogue remains an essential tool for addressing complex realities and for defending the free exchange of ideas and freedom of expression.” They stressed that Hay “does not align itself with or endorse the opinions, positions or statements of those who participate in its activities,” while respecting the decisions of those who chose not to attend.

That insistence on neutrality, however, also reveals a deeper unease. If a literary festival must repeatedly assert its impartiality, it may be because neutrality itself has become suspect. Increasingly, festivals are asked to function as courts of moral arbitration, conferring legitimacy on some voices while quietly disqualifying others. The result is not a more just cultural sphere, but a narrower one—policed less by argument than by consensus.

The controversy has unfolded at a particularly volatile moment for Venezuela’s eight-million diaspora. Machado’s invitation coincides with a renewed escalation in US pressure in the Caribbean Sea. On Tuesday, President Trump ordered a “total and complete blockade” of all sanctioned oil tankers entering or leaving the country, targeting Caracas’s principal source of revenue. His administration also designated Maduro’s government a Foreign Terrorist Organization, accusing it of using “stolen US assets” to finance terrorism, drug trafficking and organised crime.

“Venezuela is completely surrounded by the largest armada ever assembled in the history of South America,” Trump wrote on Truth Social. “It will only get bigger, and the shock to them will be like nothing they have ever seen before – until such time as they return to the United States all of the oil, land and other assets they previously stole from us.”

Against this backdrop, Machado’s high-profile presence at Hay has acquired a symbolic weight that far exceeds literary stages. Yet it is precisely at such moments that intellectual forums are tested. Fiction, after all, teaches empathy, complexity and the capacity to hold contradiction without retreat. To boycott rather than engage is to abandon that lesson – and, with it, democratical ideals.

The reputational cost to Hay Festival Cartagena may prove lasting – not because Machado was invited, but because the limits of reason and tolerance have been publicly exposed. A gathering that once prided itself on hosting difficult conversations now finds itself unsettled by the very principle on which it was founded.

And there is a final inflection. If Hay’s commitment to dialogue is grounded in a leftist agenda – if certain voices render discussion impossible – then Machado herself should reasonably question the value of her remote participation at the festival on January 30, for a scheduled conversation with Venezuelan journalist and former minister Moisés Naím.

In Cartagena, it is not Machado’s words that should concern audiences, but the intellectual impoverishment by those who chose not to speak to her at all.