In Exarchia, Athens, a banner hangs across a residential street. To many people, the final part wouldn’t have made much sense before Covid. ‘Get out of Exarchia and f*ck off,’ it says: ‘Tourists, Hipsters, Digital Nomads.’
Digital nomadism – working remotely while travelling abroad – has been around since the 2000s but only really caught wind post-Covid, when work-from-home initiatives allowed employees to do their jobs from anywhere in the world. In response, dozens of countries have launched digital nomad visas over the past four years, in an attempt to draw a new global market of remote workers to live, work and – crucially – spend their earnings locally.
The trend has left its unmistakable stamp on neighbourhoods: space-age work cafes, hipster hostels, the ever-growing presence of short-term holiday rentals. At its best, digital nomadism can boost local economies, create jobs and foster diversity. At its worst, it can create division, gentrification and drive inflation. And now, just as communities have started to push back against overtourism, it seems that ill feeling toward digital nomads is mounting.
The case of Exarchia
Local musician Bobby Damore, 40, plays his bouzouki (a traditional Greek guitar) in bars and clubs around central Athens. He often hangs out in Exarchia, an arty neighbourhood with a checkered past. In 1973, the Greek military junta (dictatorship) killed dozens of people at a student protest at Athens Polytechnic. More recently, the right-wing New Democracy party evicted hundreds of migrants from their squats in the neighbourhood.
Bobby, a Greek-American, says he’s met digital nomads in a local bar who are shocked by Exarchia’s culture of anarchism and protest. ‘They seemingly have no conception at all of the history of the neighbourhood or the kind of culture that’s still there. When you go into this place and you start talking about politics or whatever, they’re shocked when you express leftist beliefs, you know, they’re like, oh my god, you’re a communist. Like, do you have any idea where you are?’
Outside Exarchia, the effects of gentrification have also been extreme. In the nearby neighbourhood of Psyri, Bobby says, a historic square has been almost entirely taken over by holiday rentals. And the surge in rent prices is putting traditional Greek music venues at risk too.
‘There is one venue that I’ve been performing at for the past year and a half and the [building’s] owner is trying to kick them out so they’re gonna have to shut down. There used to be a lot of places to play music at, with local Greek families living there. And it’s just not like that anymore.’
This is not the fault of any one digital nomad, Bobby says, but rather the final nail in the coffin for a community that’s been suppressed and displaced for decades.
Rising costs
Exarchia isn’t the only place displaying a radical dislike for digital nomads. In Spain – named ‘the best’ destination in the world for digital nomads – resentments have boiled over in the form of graffiti in San Sebastian, full-scale protests in Madrid and Malaga, and Airbnb lockboxes in Seville being allegedly covered in dog faeces.
Local businesses are fed up too. Cafes in Europe are beginning to ban, or charge for, laptop use – irritated by remote workers hogging tables for hours on end – while hostels are hiking up their prices. Karla Rodgers, a 24-year-old Brit living in Australia, says she was forced to leave her Byron Bay hostel after it almost doubled its winter rates.
‘So it was $210 a week to stay there but will now go up to nearly $400,’ she says. ‘I’ve met people who have been there for like five months and are now leaving because of the rates.’
Meanwhile, governments are rowing back on policies originally designed to attract digital nomads. Portugal, a major European hub, has axed a generous flat 20 percent tax rate and, as of this year, stipulated that those seeking a Digital Nomad Visa must earn €3280 a month – around three times the average monthly wage in Portugal.
However, according to Lisbon local Hugo Pacheco, these aren’t the right measures to address the root issues. ‘I don’t think doing that is going to solve anything,’ he says. ‘That’s the way Portugal legislates, the lazy way. “Let’s just throw a number and see what happens.”’
Instead, Hugo says the government should crack down on digital nomads illegally subletting rooms to help pay for extortionately priced rental properties, driving up prices for everyone. ‘This is illegal in Portugal. It makes it literally impossible for locals to rent houses anywhere near the centre of Lisbon or even in a nearby area.’
The overall effect of digital nomadism, he thinks, is like a ‘parasite’. ‘A digital nomad,’ he explains, ‘is someone who comes into a market where the cost of living is significantly cheaper than the one where they’re employed. Effectively, that person is looking for an economic edge – access to better conditions, better housing, better lifestyle, better everything than that of a local.
These are not people that are coming to put down roots and build a life here
‘But the clue is in the name. These are not people that are coming to stay. These are not people that are coming to have roots in a particular place and build a life there. These are people that come to make the best of a place while it still makes sense for them, then move on to another place.
‘And when they leave there’s a huge trail of destruction that gets left behind. And the locals are the ones that have to deal with that. Because we are not going anywhere. We were here before, we were here during the time that everything became more expensive, and we will be here after this phenomenon dies down.’
So, amid antipathy from locals and growing financial barriers, are digital nomads getting put off?
The ‘emotional toll’ of the digital nomad lifestyle
Ex-digital nomad Dasha Smirnova, 28, travelled to 18 countries between 2020 and 2023 with her husband, staying for anywhere between three weeks and nine months. She says she quit for a different reason: the emotional toll of the lifestyle itself.
‘I would say I lacked deep connections,’ she says. ‘You can’t really build a connection with a person, because you know they’ll be going somewhere else soon. You hang out with people all the time, but they’re always coming and going.’
I would say I lacked deep connections. People are always coming and going
The Russian marketeer, who documented her travels as Dasha Wanderlust on Instagram, says she also experienced some hostility regarding her nationality, with people immediately probing her on the war in Ukraine. Russians make up only 5 percent of all digital nomads, the only developing country other than Brazil to make it into the top ten most common nationalities.
The three-year adventure wasn’t without its logistical difficulties either. ‘We had the worst situation in South Africa,’ she says. ‘We booked an Airbnb for five weeks but we didn’t know about the energy crisis. Complete blackouts. In November 2022, when we were there, it was the worst month of the whole year. In our house there was no generator at all. The Wi-Fi didn’t work, two SIM cards with two different providers didn’t work. So we were trying to work without electricity for hours a day.’
A return to the office
Others have no doubt been affected by the reversal of remote and hybrid work policies started during the pandemic. Just last month, Amazon ordered all its staff worldwide to return to the office five days a week, following similar moves from Citigroup, Apple and Disney. Statistics from the UK show that while 33 percent of people worked exclusively from home in May 2020, that figure has now dropped to 13 percent.
Despite all this, the work-from-anywhere dream remains far more attainable than it ever was before the pandemic. And digital nomadism continues to boom in many areas as a result. While some countries are literally paying people to move there, others are launching digital nomad visas for the first time – including Italy, Thailand and Türkiye.
Meanwhile, new trends are forming within digital nomadism which appear to be more sustainable. ‘Digital slomadism’, for instance – where people remain in one country for an elongated period and perhaps even seek permanent residency – ostensibly creates more opportunity for long-term integration.
Travellers are now realising that digital nomadism isn’t quite the guilt-free utopia it once appeared to be
But whichever way you look at it, digital nomadism is entering a new phase. In its infancy, the movement offered a seemingly perfect solution to workplace burnout – an endless gap year bankrolled by corporate budgets. But, whether it’s because of frustrated locals, financial barriers, geopolitical factors or straightforward loneliness, travellers are now realising that digital nomadism isn’t quite the guilt-free utopia it once appeared to be. As the cry for more regulation gets louder, digital nomads – and the governments that host them – would be best advised to listen up.
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