A mature couple doing the cross-legged, seated pose while sitting with their eyes closed outside during yoga practice. Wellness tourism is booming, but why? Photo / Getty
Wellness retreats and experiences can offer immediate benefits, but lasting peace and wellbeing may require more than a getaway or yoga class.
I was an earnest wellness devotee long before becoming a travel journalist, a job that has provided a front-row seat to the explosion of wellness tourism. Over the years I’ve not just accepted but eagerly sought assignments that involve primal screaming with strangers and hypnotic sound baths, lymphatic compression machines and jungle water blessings. I’ve been to remote private islands and Balinese retreats and enjoyed more downward dogs and detox salads than I can count.
Despite these experiences – or perhaps because of them – I’ve begun to notice a flicker of cynicism when trips or events loftily vow to transform my mind, body or soul. Not because I don’t dream of boundless energy and supernatural peace, to vinyasa the fatigue and anxiety from my body and finally be “well”.
Rather, because these virtuous benefits are rarely as permanent as advertised. Hours or days later, I inevitably find myself hunched over a screen, mindlessly sipping my third coffee of the day and positively brimming with cortisol as I dream of the next escape.
I’m not the only one dreaming. Kiwis rank third highest in Google searches of “retreats” in recent years, and a quarter of Kiwis (28%) prioritise wellness activities when planning holidays, according to research from Expedia.
“Self-care has moved beyond the confines of day-to-day life and is now an integral part of holidays as well,” said the company’s group director for New Zealand, Haley Purdon.
Demand will only grow too, according to Greg Thomas, the general manager of Tourism Industry Aotearoa, which represents the country’s tourism sector. “Wellness tourism is expected to experience robust growth globally, with some international projections forecasting this to grow significantly over the next decade,” he said.
There is little question we feel drawn to wellness-focused travel, but why? What is behind our love of wellness tourism, and can it really deliver on its promises of a better, healthier life?
To answer this, we must first understand how wellness has swiftly imploded to become a cultural force and gigantic industry.
In 2023, the wellness economy was worth US$6.3 trillion ($11.18tn) and is projected to grow to almost US$9.0tn by 2028. In 2023, Europe’s largest hospitality and hotel company, Accor, published a white paper describing wellness as “an imperative for all” to “maintain the equilibrium of our lives, our society, and our planet”.
As people become more discerning about their health and habits, these preferences extend out to how one holidays, swapping boozy city lunches and all-inclusive resorts for farm-to-table meals and off-grid glamping.
In 2024, Wellness Tourism globally was worth US$651 billion ($1.16tn) annually and is expected to more than double to $2.48tn by 2027, a mere three years.
The Global Wellness Institute defines wellness tourism as “travel associated with the pursuit of maintaining or enhancing one’s personal wellbeing”. It’s travel where space, time and resources are dedicated to improving one’s mind and body and can take countless forms.
It could look like a fully inclusive retreat or a guided experience like a nature walk or yoga class. The growing biotechnology industry means one can mix alternative treatments with diagnostic tests, enjoying a vitamin IV infusion or thyroid function test before their hot stone massage or meditation class. Many businesses or tour operators capitalise on nature’s physical, mental and social benefits and are located on remote islands, by beaches or in forests.
Much like the wellness industry, it’s primarily a luxury market tailored towards affluent individuals; a trend TIA’s Thomas said they see among visitors to New Zealand.
“People visiting for wellness purposes significantly outspend the average,” he said, adding that it could be because wellness travellers are comfortable investing strongly in their wellbeing or because it’s wealthy travellers who tend to go on wellness trips.
In decades past, travel’s primary goal has been pleasure; to delight in the novelty of a foreign culture, enjoy leisure activities or make memories with loved ones. The motivations driving wellness travel, however, are a touch more pious and mimic the reasons we seek out general wellness activities: to improve our health, mental wellbeing and appearance or experience a prolonged period of rest.
While travel is traditionally destination-focused and invites people to enrich their lives by exploring and experiencing a place, wellness travel shifts the focus to the traveller. Ironically, tourism’s fastest-growing sector (wellness) isn’t entirely about the destination.
A wellness traveller could be in Costa Rica or Bali, Fiji or Ibiza and be unable to discern the location from the universal aesthetic of open-floor spaces and beige minimalist furniture, potted greenery and essential oils.
Wellness travel, instead, is about self-improvement and recovering from an exhausting life. “Feel your worldly burdens melt away”, one US-based retreat coaxes. “Unwind from the stresses of the modern world,” a Costa Rica yoga retreat advertises, while a UK spa offers “therapeutic calm amongst the roar”. As saccharine as this language seems out of context, there are reasons why we find it deeply enticing.
“When you have such little time off, you really can’t afford to come back from a vacation where you drank too much, stayed up all night, and ate really horrible food,” Beth McGroarty, the director of research at the Global Wellness Institute, told FastCompany. “You can’t afford coming back feeling worse than you did when you left.”
This was back in 2016, and the pace of life has only continued to increase. In 2024, 61% of Kiwi employees said they were burnt out, up from 53% in 2023, according to a Wellness at Work Report by Employment Hero. During an off-grid weekend at a retreat last November, I wasn’t slightly surprised when every guest said they were there to have a break from life.
When you feel under-rested, overstretched and unavoidably tied to devices, the promise of “worldly burdens melting away” begins to sound like a judicious use of money and leave.
The other motivation is an ever-increasing pressure to optimise. Today, it’s standard to feel you must always be striving for more (more wealth, career success, you name it); an expectation only heightened by social media’s limitless parade of peers achieving and excelling. One has just quit their nine-to-five job after their side hustle business took off, another just planned a wedding, one is working remotely while travelling Europe, and another bought a house. In this environment, to take time off is to fall behind, to risk being perceived as lazy, writes journalist Rina Raphael in her 2024 novel, The Wellness Gospel.
“We just can’t stop indulging our inner high-achiever. The productivity mandate stares down on you in every aspect of your life, requiring you to be more mindful with your kids, get more fit, or become more Zen,” she explains.
Active travel has long given travellers a sense of achievement while holidaying by way of challenging hikes, bike trails or other outdoor activities. However, wellness’ deep ties to luxury allow people to gain a similar sense of accomplishment and productivity in more comfortable, indulgent ways. One isn’t just staying at a nice hotel, getting massages at a spa or glamping off-grid but “doing the work” to become their best self.
A final factor is that, well, it’s supremely trendy and often rather enjoyable. Wellness, in all its various forms, is as much a status symbol of the 21st century as a sprawling suburban house or home computer in decades past. As Elizabeth Currid-Halkett writes in her 2017 book The Sum of Small Things: A Theory of the Aspirational Class: “In the twenty-first century, elites are further reaffirming their position by spending more on those goods and experiences that radically inform and shape their quality of life and future success.”
The top of the food chain has traded their Louis Vuitton for Lululemon and Michelin-star dinners for trips to Erewhon (a cult-status food store from LA). They spend on supplement powders and Oura rings, $35 pilates classes and lymphatic massage. When they holiday, they continue to prioritise experiences and destinations that prioritise health and wellbeing; arguably one’s most valuable asset.
The research bears this out. Industry insights find wellness tourists are most often wealthy, university-educated consumers who are health-conscious and open to holistic therapies. So, it’s no surprise wellness and luxury tourism have become almost synonymous. And, as always, the taste of the taste-makers eventually trickles down to the masses, until every hotel or outdoor activity frames their offering up in terms of “wellbeing” to be relevant.
“Properties both internationally and locally are identifying the need to step up their game to cater to the growing demand for wellness travel,” said Expedia’s Purdon. “They’re going to lengths to make sure wellness-focused offerings such as yoga retreats, saunas, sleep menus and day spas are offered onsite.”
It’s not a hard sell either; who doesn’t want to float home from their vacation on a cloud of serenity? Who wouldn’t want their weary body pampered, their mind quietened by nature, to transform their life at a weekend retreat, or at least attempt to?
After the detox juice has been drunk and yoga mats rolled up, the $1.16 trillion question remains: did it work? Does wellness tourism and its various activities and retreats deliver on the grand promises of restored minds and bodies, of transformation from the inside out?
These claims are complicated to test, but studies have tried. In 2017, researchers at RMIT University’s School of Health and Biomedical Sciences conducted one of the first scientific studies on wellness retreats. The study, “Do Wellness Tourists Get Well?”, assessed the physical and mental health of 37 participants before and after a seven-day programme at Queensland’s Gwinganna Lifestyle Retreat.
Known as one of the best in the world, the live-in retreat offers various therapeutic activities, educational sessions, and organic plant-based meals, with week-long stays starting at $5477. The participants – mostly university-educated women averaging 48 years old – completed several mental health questionnaires and medical tests, including urine samples and blood pressure and showed “statistically significant and clinically relevant improvements”. Many benefits persisted six weeks post-trip.
Little major research has been done into retreats since, but a multitude of smaller-scale studies prove the benefits of popular wellness interventions such as time in nature, physical movement and a focus on quality sleep and nutrition. The question of “Does wellness travel work?” also depends on what you wish to get out of an experience. If you purely seek in-the-moment pleasure and relaxation, most experiences will tick the box. However, we often enter with much grander expectations of permanent change, thanks to the way wellness travel is advertised.
Aotearoa’s own Aro Ha retreat provides “evidence-based wellness intensives that transform your state of well-being”, while US retreat, The Lodge at Woodloch, boasts “creative and stress-relieving outlets that will continue to benefit you long after you leave”. Those looking for a life overhaul can “reset your whole self for optimal health and well-being” at Costa Rica’s Blue Osa yoga retreat or “re-evaluate your condition, re-engage with your goals and re-energise your well-being,” at the Sydney wellness club Soma.
I’ve returned from many wellness experiences, serene, energetic and armed with a journal full of optimistic intentions (Drink litre of lemon water daily! Swim every morning! Walk places more!) only to end up where I started a week later: exhausted, stressed and full of coffee. Herein lies the inconvenient truth about wellness travel; it can create a space to set new intentions and plan habits, but change (if that’s what we seek) depends on whether you can sustain these in the weeks or years that follow. To risk sounding cliche, it’s not merely what we do when away, but what we can bring back.
Even the 2017 study stated the results weren’t because of some retreat “magic” but because people consistently performed healthy habits, writing: “Health improvements are also likely to result from increased physical activity and healthy eating, which often includes an emphasis on plant-based, organically produced food”. While it’s sad, no retreat or experience will be a silver bullet, it’s comforting to know that the “well” of wellness travel is within our control.
If you’re seeking pleasure and leisure, and wellness practices fit the bill, then by all means, fill your holidays with meditation, yoga, organic smoothies, and nature walks – I certainly do. But if you’re secretly hoping for deeper, lasting changes in mind or body, these often don’t come from escaping life. Instead, they emerge from experiences that offer robust education and seedling-like habits that take root and last long after a trip does.
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