Editorial: We Might Be Doing Municipal Tourism Wrong

I’ve been to a lot of places, and I’ve seen a lot of different things in my time. My boots have collected dust from backroad shoulders in British Columbia to windswept village lanes in New Brunswick. But there’s something I rarely see in action in all those travels. It’s a word that gets spoken often in municipal circles, printed in glossy strategy documents, and carved—sometimes literally—into council chamber plaques. It’s the “C word.”

No, not that one. I mean collaboration.

Every city, town, and hamlet loves to talk about collaboration like it’s a badge of honour, the golden compass that guides their governance. Yet when it comes to tourism, that spirit too often stalls somewhere between the rhetoric and the reality. Municipalities will collaborate on wastewater projects, inter-municipal transit routes, and emergency response agreements—but when it comes to attracting visitors, many still see tourism as a zero-sum game.

Here’s the truth: tourism today isn’t a one-municipality game. It hasn’t been for decades. People don’t travel to Canada to see only Banff or only Niagara Falls or only Tofino. They travel to see what’s around the bend, to string together moments from multiple communities into one trip. And yet, too many municipalities market themselves like they’re the destination and everything outside their border might as well be on another planet.

That mindset is costing us.

According to Destination Canada, tourism activities in 2024 generated $129.7 billion in revenues across communities of all sizes. That’s not just a tourism number—that’s an economic heartbeat. It surpassed pre-pandemic revenues for the first time, even when adjusted for inflation. And here’s the kicker: that was before the “Big Guy Down South” decided to pay a little extra attention to his northern neighbours. With that spotlight, 2025 might see even bigger numbers.

So why aren’t we thinking bigger too?

The shift is already underway. More Canadians are spending their vacation dollars internally rather than jetting overseas. Airfares, global instability, and sheer curiosity about our own backyard are all driving this trend. But if municipalities don’t start treating tourism as an interconnected, collaborative economy—rather than a fiercely guarded local asset—they’ll miss the real opportunity.

Earlier this year, Prime Minister Mark Carney announced the Canada Strong Pass, running from June 20 to September 2, 2025. It’s a bold idea: free or discounted admission to some of the country’s most iconic places. National parks, historic sites, marine conservation areas—free for everyone. Camping fees cut by a quarter. Free travel for children on VIA Rail when accompanied by an adult, half-price for young adults. Free or discounted entry to some provincial museums and galleries.

This wasn’t just a nice gesture; it was a spark. I used it myself, and because of that pass, I ended up standing on the ocean floor at Hopewell Rocks in New Brunswick—something I might not have done otherwise. The same pass took me to Jasper and Banff, where I not only saw the mountains but the communities around them.

Here’s what struck me: the pass didn’t just get me to a place, it got me to multiple places. And each stop was richer because it was part of a chain. Hopewell Rocks was great, but the tiny coffee shop in Alma, where I warmed up afterward—made the memory stick as much as the sticky buns I ate. Banff’s vistas were gorgeous, but so was that side trip to Canmore for a farmers’ market I hadn’t planned on.

So why not take that same thinking and scale it to the municipal level?

Imagine a Canadian Municipal Tourism Pass. An app, a perks program, something that links communities instead of isolating them. You could make it a scavenger hunt, a road-trip game, a series of challenges that reward people for stringing together destinations.

Start in Houston, British Columbia, where you can stand beside the world’s largest fly fishing rod. Head to Lacombe, Alberta, and admire the world’s largest five-star lure. Wrap it up in Kenora, Ontario, where Husky the Musky watches over the harbour. Fishing not your thing? Try golf: tee off in Trochu, Alberta, home of the world’s largest golf tee, then putt under the gaze of “Gilbert” the world’s largest golf ball in Gilbert Plains, Manitoba.

The point isn’t just the roadside oddities. It’s the way these destinations connect, creating a reason for someone to drive an extra hour or plan an extra stop. It’s the storytelling. Municipalities need to stop thinking of their tourism as a silo and start thinking of it as a strand in a national web.

This is where pride can be both a blessing and a curse. Yes, every community wants to highlight its best features. Yes, everyone wants to be “the” destination. But the reality is, few visitors travel to see only one attraction. They need the pull of the surrounding region. If your neighbour’s success draws more travellers to your area, that’s not a loss—it’s a win.

The challenge is cultural as much as logistical. Municipalities are used to competing for funding, events, and attention. Collaboration in tourism means setting aside some of that instinct and realizing that if someone visits Black Beauty in Cowley, Alberta, they might also stop at Santa Claus in Watson, Saskatchewan, or at Winnie the Pooh in White River, Ontario. And every one of those stops can be part of a journey that benefits multiple communities at once.

That’s not just theory—it’s already how visitors behave. Cross-border travel is down, but cross-country travel is thriving. People are hungry for experiences, and they’re willing to link them together if we give them a reason. The key is to make it easy and rewarding to connect the dots.

This isn’t just about quirky landmarks either. It could be thematic: a Canadian brewery tour, a historic train stations route, a series of Indigenous cultural sites, or a path of Canada’s best farmers’ markets. Each theme could be a “track” within the Municipal Tourism Pass.

Imagine earning a reward after visiting five artisanal cheese makers across three provinces, or collecting digital badges for photographing every “world’s largest” object in the country.

And here’s the kicker: municipalities wouldn’t have to bear the whole cost. Sponsorship from private businesses—hotels, restaurants, outdoor gear companies—could offset expenses, while the program itself would drive traffic directly to those sponsors.

Everybody wins.

The digital infrastructure already exists. Every Canadian carries a smartphone that could host such a pass. We already have national and provincial programs, loyalty points systems, and gamified fitness apps. Why not gamify tourism? The technology isn’t the barrier—the mindset is.

Of course, there are always the skeptics. Some will argue that local budgets are stretched thin already. Fair point. But here’s a counterpoint: doing nothing is costing us more. When visitors bypass small towns because there’s no incentive to stop, that’s lost revenue. When attractions sit half-empty in peak season, that’s wasted potential. And when we market our communities in isolation, we shrink our audience before we even start.

There’s also the argument that not every municipality has a “tourism product” worth promoting. I’ve heard councillors say, “Well, we don’t have a Banff or a Peggy’s Cove.” But tourism isn’t just about postcard views. It’s about experiences—sometimes small, sometimes odd, often deeply personal. The world’s largest lobster in Shediac, New Brunswick, may not compete visually with Lake Louise, but it has drawn millions for decades because it’s fun.

Small-scale attractions are often the glue that holds a trip together. They give people an excuse to stop, explore, and spend money. And they’re often the most talked-about stops afterward. How many people have returned from a big trip raving not just about the main destination but about “this tiny diner we found” or “that random giant mushroom statue”?

Tourism collaboration can also be a lifeline for communities facing economic transition.

Towns that once relied on mills, mines, or fisheries are increasingly turning to tourism as a diversification strategy. But a single attraction rarely sustains enough year-round interest to replace a lost industry. Linking with neighbouring communities spreads the draw and the benefit.

It’s also worth noting that Canada’s brand abroad is already collaborative. International travellers see Canada as a vast, interconnected place—a country of national parks, scenic drives, and friendly locals. They don’t care whether they’ve crossed from one municipal boundary to another; they just care that the next stop adds to their story. Our municipal tourism strategies should reflect that same seamlessness.

If we build a Canadian Municipal Tourism Pass, we should build it to reflect our identity: vast, diverse, playful, and welcoming. We could celebrate the kitsch and the sublime equally. The pass could be a tool for cultural exchange between provinces, for showcasing regional food, music, art, and history. And importantly, it could be designed to get Canadians travelling within Canada in the off-season, not just during the peak summer crush.

Winter, for instance, could be its own challenge track: visit the Ice Hotel in Quebec, skate on the Rideau Canal in Ottawa, snowshoe in Gros Morne, watch the northern lights in Yukon. Themed travel doesn’t just attract tourists—it stretches the season, supports jobs year-round, and smooths out the boom-and-bust cycle many tourism towns face.

Ultimately, collaboration in tourism is not a warm-and-fuzzy ideal. It’s a hard-nosed economic strategy. The $129.7 billion we saw in 2024 isn’t coming from single-stop travellers—it’s coming from people who string together experiences, who need hotels, meals, gas, souvenirs, and entertainment along the way. If municipalities embrace that reality, they can tap into a bigger slice of the pie.

We have the attractions. We have the transportation infrastructure. We have a population increasingly interested in domestic travel. What we don’t yet have is a united municipal approach to tourism that matches the scale of Canada’s opportunity.

The good news? That can change. All it takes is a shift in perspective—and maybe an app download.

Canada has always been defined by its ability to bridge distances, to turn isolation into connection. In the 21st century, that’s as true in tourism as it was in railways, highways, and broadcasting. If we start thinking of tourism as a team sport, we might just find that collaboration isn’t something we talk about—it’s something we do.

And if that leads more people to stand under Husky the Musky or take a selfie with Gilbert the Golf Ball, well, that’s just a bonus.