If you want to know what makes Copenhagen one of the most sustainable cities in the world, if not the most sustainable, you need to talk to Peter Bur Andersen.

He’s an architect with BRIQ Architects in Nordhavn, a former port area being transformed into a mixed-use residential district in the Danish capital. 

Copenhagen is trying to avoid the kind of urban sprawl that consumes valuable resources and land. Andersen’s solution is to go in the other direction: Create smaller, efficient shared spaces on repurposed land. For example, a refurbished munitions storage area that’s a café, a hotel reception and retail space. 

Do more with less, in other words.

“It’s a crazy idea,” he says. “But it works.”

Anderson is at the vanguard of new thinking when it comes to sustainability and its intersection with tourism. It includes forward-looking hotels that use innovative water recycling systems for their showers, a novel way to create sustainable food in a mushroom farm, urban gardens, and a new way to see architecture.  

Copenhagen’s Martian showers

The city’s commitment to efficiency extends directly into the hospitality sector. When you check into the Bryggen Guldsmeden hotel, you’ll find a futuristic shower in your room. It’s hardly the only sustainable thing there. The property is known for its organic food and the extremes to which it goes to eliminate waste.

One of the most radical steps toward resource efficiency is the use of the Orbital Systems showers in all 214 rooms. This system uses highly advanced recycling technology originally developed for the Mars mission by NASA. It’s a closed-loop system that draws a small amount of water (usually less than a gallon, depending on the length of the shower), cleans it, recycles it and returns it through the showerhead. The system reduces water consumption between 60 and 90 percent.

The Orbital showers look like regular showers, except that you regulate the temperature and flow with a Nest-like device at waist level. Other than that, it works exactly like a regular shower, but also monitors the amount of water you use. 

The system is thoughtfully designed so that you can push the control panel to pause the shower and lather up, then push it again to restart the water.

Guldsmeden’s properties have always been at the forefront of sustainability, but the Martian showers give this property a big sustainability edge. It’s thought to be the only hotel in the world with the technology.

Conserving water is a big theme in Copenhagen, which predicts an annual water shortage of 12 billion liters by 2040.

Nothing goes to waste at the Funga Farm

Thomas Kyle Cometta, founder of the Funga Farm, inspects an oyster mushroom. Photo by Aren Elliott.

The Funga Farm is an urban mycology lab trying to prove that food production can be thousands of times more efficient than traditional agriculture. The farm specializes in gourmet and medicinal fungi, such as oyster, lion’s mane, and native Danish coral tooth mushrooms.

But it’s the farm’s extreme sustainability metrics that are remarkable. The farm achieves annual yields of 50,000 to 75,000 kilos of mushrooms from a small urban warehouse. And it does so while using very little water. The mushrooms consume 2 liters of water per kilo of mushrooms, making it vastly superior to hydroponics and thousands of times more efficient than livestock. 

Growing mushrooms has other benefits. They’re grown on agricultural byproducts that would otherwise be waste, primarily wheat bran from local milling and sawdust from lumber cutting.

“Almost nothing goes to waste,” says Thomas Kyle Cometta, the farm’s founder.

Indeed, the spent substrate, which still contains nutrient-rich mycelium (the “original and best fertilizer,” he says), gets sent to the next-door Øens Have urban garden and used as compost.

Funga Farm’s crops, meanwhile, end up in some of Copenhagen’s best restaurants, including ARK, a famous vegan restaurant that grills and serves Cometta’s oyster mushrooms as a tasty entree.

Recycling as a cultural practice

Front of the Culture Yard building in Helsingør. (Photo by Aren Elliott.)

The philosophy of sustainable reuse and resource management extends to public institutions beyond Copenhagen’s central limits.

In Helsingør, the Culture Yard (Kulturværftet) is trying to show that industrial structures can be sustainably repurposed. The complex, located near Kronborg Castle, has been converted from a massive former shipyard that closed in 1982. 

“The project focused on reusing the existing buildings rather than tearing everything down,” says spokeswoman Anne Borg.

The center, which receives approximately 550,000 visitors annually, operates under rigorous ethical mandates:

• Green operations. The facility is replacing all conventional lighting with LEDs to reduce its energy costs and carbon footprint.
  
• Transportation. The surrounding infrastructure encourages public transport, using electric ferries that recharge with batteries on the roof. Staff are required to use trains or carpool for any professional travel under 10 hours or 1,000 kilometers.
  
• Sourcing ethics. The in-house restaurant maintains a policy against air-shipped ingredients, refusing to serve items like kiwis or bananas. It also declines to work with suppliers that can’t meet their sustainability criteria, prioritizing environmental policy over price.

The Culture Yard, like many Copenhagen sustainability leaders, avoids greenwashing and marketing hyperbole. Instead, “we want to inspire, not lecture” people toward responsible citizenship and slow living, says Borg.

Less is more in Nordhavn

Peter Bur Andersen at a construction site in Nordhavn. (Photo by Aren Elliott.)

Back in Nordhavn, Andersen is explaining the architectural philosophy driving the development of the port. His firm is trying to reverse the mid-20th-century trend of pushing residents into the suburbs, a move that was a profoundly unsustainable move.

Copenhagen is facing a severe housing shortage, lacking approximately 100,000 apartments. To address this demand sustainably, architects are fighting to drastically reduce the average home sizet from 600 square feet to about 300 square feet.

The key to selling residents on smaller living is the “third space”, public squares, cafés, and communal areas, designed to be extensions of homes.

This creates an overlap economy that maximizes resource use 24/7. Here’s how:

Architectural reuse: Instead of demolition, existing industrial buildings like old silos and ammunition storage are reused to preserve the area’s “soul and identity,” says Andersen. Materials removed during essential transformation, such as bricks, are repurposed elsewhere in the development.

Mixed functionality: Retail space, offices, and residential areas are layered. One building, for instance, houses a furniture brand showroom, and the reception for The Audo, a boutique hotel. There are meeting spaces, and occasionally the venue hosts concerts or poetry readings.

Utility as community: Repurposing extends even to typically ugly, monofunctional structures. For example, a multistory parking structure is topped with a large recreational area that includes a supermarket, a recycling station, and a CrossFit center on the roof.

The concept isn’t perfect. Andersen notes that while this level of mixed use is essential for sustainability, it is constantly challenged by outdated legislation that often forbids such mixing. And there are sometimes conflicts between tenants, but Andersen says that’s to be expected. 

“Wherever there are people, there’s conflict,” he laughs.

Copenhagen’s blueprint for sustainable tourism

Across Copenhagen, a consistent blueprint emerges: Sustainability is achieved not through technology alone, but through social engineering that makes collective action the most sensible choice. 

How does that translate to the visitor experience? If you’re a guest at The Audo or the Bryggen Guldsmeden, you’ll see it in the shower or the lobby. If you’re dining at a restaurant like ARK, you’ll taste it. But most of all you get the sense that Copenhagen wants you to feel its sustainability. It’s that Nordic sensibility that says yes, you can share a space, you can grow kale in an urban garden, you can get across town in a bus or metro. 

Whether it is minimizing housing footprints in Nordhavn to cope with a shortage, growing rare native fungi with radical water efficiency, or recycling buildings for a cultural center, the Danish model suggests that when a community chooses sustainability as a core value, it can achieve a lot. You can even become one of the most sustainable destinations in the world.

Debbie Rivet buys two made-to-order evening gowns from London designer Safiyaa, returns them both according to company policy, then watches her refund disappear into an 8-month black hole of ignored emails and disconnected phone calls. Can anyone get Safiyaa to answer?

Question

I placed two orders with Safiyaa, a high-end London designer of evening gowns, earlier this year. I ordered the same dress — the Serendipity Pale Blue Long Dress — in two sizes to see which fit better. Each dress cost $1,995, for a total of $3,990.

When the dresses arrived, I realized the fitted style just wasn’t right for the occasion. I immediately requested a return authorization by emailing the company at the address listed on the company’s website. I got no response. I tried multiple times. I also emailed another address. Nothing.

Finally, out of desperation, I reached out via Instagram. Someone from Safiyaa responded and provided a return authorization. I shipped both dresses back via FedEx and have the tracking receipts proving delivery.

Then I waited for my refund. And waited.

I sent multiple follow-up emails requesting my refund. No response. I tried calling, but the phone line goes straight to voicemail and disconnects before I can leave a message.

I filed a credit card dispute with Capital One. They initially issued a refund, but later reversed it, saying too much time had passed. I had been trying to give Safiyaa time to respond, and that patience cost me my chargeback rights.

It’s been 8 months since I returned the dresses. I see Safiyaa advertisements daily on Facebook and Instagram, and I’ve noticed other customers commenting about similar customer service problems. I have FedEx receipts, email records, Instagram screenshots — a complete paper trail. But Safiyaa won’t respond to any form of contact. Can you help me get my $3,990 refund? — Debbie Rivet, Rosedale, La.

Answer

Safiyaa should have processed your refund immediately after receiving the returned dresses.

According to the company’s own explanation, you purchased the dresses under a return policy that allowed refunds. That policy was in effect when you made your purchase. The company confirmed both garments were received at its facility. At that point, Safiyaa had a legal and ethical obligation to issue your refund.

Made-to-order luxury goods come with special risks. These aren’t items sitting on a shelf.  They’re custom-crafted for you. That’s beautiful from a craftsmanship standpoint, but it often means strict return policies or no returns at all. 

Here’s what you could have done differently. First, excellent work keeping that paper trail! You documented every email, every Instagram message, every phone call attempt. That’s exactly what smart consumers need to do.

However, there’s one critical mistake: You let the window for your Capital One dispute close. Under the Fair Credit Billing Act, you must notify your credit card issuer in writing about a dispute within 60 days. Giving Safiyaa time meant you forfeited your right to a credit card chargeback.

The lesson? When a company is ghosting you and you have a valid chargeback, don’t wait. Push it through.

You can also escalate disputes by contacting executive customer service. I publish executive contacts for thousands of companies on my consumer advocacy site at Elliott.org. Unfortunately, Safiyaa wasn’t in my database before your case — this London-based made-to-order fashion house wasn’t even on my radar.

My advocacy team contacted Safiyaa on your behalf.

“We can now confirm that both garments were received at our facility and that a full refund has been issued to Ms. Rivet’s original payment method,” a representative told us. “We sincerely regret the delay.”

A company representative explained it recently overhauled its returns process after experiencing problems with worn garments being returned. While protecting the made-to-order business model is understandable, that’s no excuse for ignoring a customer with a legitimate return for eight months.

Safiyaa also noted it now operates under a no-refunds model in the U.S., in line with industry standards for made-to-order fashion. But the company honored the policy that was in place when you made your purchase — which is exactly what it should have done.

Before ordering custom-made clothing, it’s important to understand exactly what you’re agreeing to. And if something goes wrong, document everything and don’t let your credit card protection expire while waiting for a company that’s clearly not responding.

Bottom line: Safiyaa issued your full $3,990 refund. 

Kjell-Erik Berggren rents a car from Alamo in Geneva for a Swiss vacation, but on the final morning in the Alps, the vehicle won’t start. He calls roadside assistance and thinks the matter is settled — until Alamo charges more than $1,000 to his credit card two months later without warning. Should he have to pay for a battery that failed?

Question

I rented a car from Alamo at Geneva Airport in April for a six-day trip through Switzerland. The car worked perfectly for the entire rental period until the last morning. We were staying in Champex-Lac in Valais, a mountain village at 1,500 meters elevation, and woke up to a cold, frosty morning. We needed to return the car and catch our flight from Geneva.

When we tried to start the car, nothing happened. No lights. No starter. Nothing. Four people tried to get it going, but the car was completely dead. We called Alamo’s emergency number, and they told us to leave the car where it was since we didn’t have time to wait for a technician. Three of us had flights to catch that morning, so we arranged alternate transportation to the airport at considerable expense.

Two months later, Alamo charged roughly $1,000 to my credit card without any prior agreement or warning. What’s worse, they sent me two different invoices with completely different totals: one for 395 Swiss francs and another for 489 Swiss francs. Neither amount corresponds to what they actually charged to my account.

I later learned that the garage checked the battery and had to replace it entirely. It wasn’t simply discharged from negligence — it needed full replacement because it was defective and couldn’t handle cold weather. When you rent a car, you expect it to function properly for the duration of the rental. This battery was clearly inadequate from the start.

I’ve read that rental companies don’t charge customers for mechanical or electrical breakdowns unless the breakdown is the customer’s fault. We didn’t leave lights on or doors open. The car simply wouldn’t start on a cold morning. How is that our responsibility?

When I contacted Alamo’s customer service in Switzerland, they refused to refund the charge. They said I should have purchased their Roadside Assistance Protection, which would have covered the towing costs. They also claimed that because I selected an insurance policy with a 1,500 franc deductible instead of the zero-deductible option, I was responsible for all these charges.

This feels completely wrong. We suffered a loss by not being able to use the rental car we paid for. Now they want us to pay an additional $1,000 for their faulty equipment. Can you help? This seems like Alamo is taking advantage of foreign customers who have difficulty defending themselves outside Switzerland. — Kjell-Erik Berggren, Oslo

Answer

You’re right, if the battery was defective, Alamo should never have charged you for it. Rental companies are typically responsible for mechanical breakdowns that aren’t caused by customer negligence or misuse. A battery that dies on a cold morning after functioning normally for five days suggests a pre-existing problem with the vehicle, not customer fault.

Here’s what you should have done. First, document everything immediately. Take photos of the car, the dashboard, the surroundings — everything. Get the names of everyone who tried to help start the vehicle. Create a written timeline of events while the details are fresh.

As soon as you see an unexpected credit card charge, contact the company in writing. Email is fine, but keep copies of everything.

And third, appeal to a higher authority. When a customer service representative closes your case, escalate to the executive contacts. I publish a list of Alamo’s contacts on Elliott.org for exactly this purpose. A brief, polite email to a senior executive often produces better results than multiple exchanges with frontline customer service.

After I contacted Alamo on your behalf, the company conducted a thorough review of the case. 

“After checking all previous rentals, we confirmed that no prior customer reported any issues or faults with this vehicle or its battery,” a representative told me.

The company suggested that repeated start attempts after the initial failure may have permanently damaged the battery. But what were you supposed to do? Not try to start the car? Leave for the airport on foot? The logic doesn’t work. When a rental car won’t start, most people will naturally try multiple times before calling for help. That’s not negligence. It’s common sense.

To Alamo’s credit, the company recognized this wasn’t a clear-cut case and it agreed to cover the cost of the battery as a goodwill gesture.

Your case highlights an important issue with rental car breakdowns. Companies often have policies that seem reasonable on paper but become problematic in real-world situations. The lesson? Always purchase travel insurance that covers rental car mishaps, document everything obsessively, and dispute any suspicious charges to your credit card immediately. 

Sometimes a dead battery is just a dead battery — and the car rental company should pick up the tab.

When John Moss’s stepfather was rushed to the hospital, he knew his Florida vacation was over before it started. He contacted Traveluro, the booking site where he’d reserved his nonrefundable $615 stay at the Hilton Melbourne Beach, and he sent them hospital records proving his family emergency.

The hotel understood. Traveluro? Not so much.

What followed was a months-long game of corporate hot potato that would’ve been comical if it weren’t so infuriating. 

Hilton agreed to release the funds to the online travel agency. Traveluro promised to process the refund. His credit card company, Citibank, opened a dispute. Then Traveluro made Moss an offer he probably should’ve refused: Drop the dispute, and we’ll send your money.

This case raises several important questions about booking through third-party sites:

• What happens when you book through a third-party site and need to cancel?
• Can a company ask you to withdraw a credit card dispute?
• What are your options when you’re caught between a booking site, a hotel, and your bank?

Let’s take those questions one by one.

When a beach vacation turns into a bureaucratic nightmare

Moss booked his stay at the Hilton Melbourne Beach Oceanfront through Traveluro, one of those third-party booking sites that promise deals too good to pass up. And like many budget-conscious travelers, he thought he’d found a bargain.

Then his stepfather was hospitalized.

Moss called Traveluro to see if he could cancel the nonrefundable hotel stay. A customer service representative named Elyn assured him the company would contact the hotel and sort everything out within 24 to 48 hours.

Days passed. Then weeks.

When Moss followed up almost a month later, he made a stunning discovery: A representative admitted that Traveluro had never actually contacted the hotel. 

So Moss did what Traveluro wouldn’t: He called the Hilton himself. The hotel’s front office manager, Nichole Kaminski, was willing to help. In fact, she was more than willing.

“Your company never attempted to contact us prior to Mr. Moss reaching out to you himself,” Kaminski wrote to Traveluro in an email. “He was told by an agent with your company that your company called and we did not answer the phone, we are a 24 hour hotel with an abundance of front desk staff, that would likely never happen unless we closed for a hurricane.”

The hotel agreed to cancel the reservation without penalty and send the refund to Traveluro. All Traveluro had to do was pass the money along to Moss.

But apparently, coordination wasn’t Traveluro’s thing.

A month later, Kaminski was getting impatient. So was Hilton. 

“We processed the refund to your virtual credit card a week ago, what is the delay with refunding Mr. Moss’s credit card?” a Hilton rep wrote to Traveluro. “I would think that a week is enough time to take care of our mutual guest.”

Still nothing.

Frustrated and running out of patience, Moss did what consumers often do when companies refuse to cooperate: He filed a dispute with Citibank.

That’s when things got interesting.

The bait-and-switch that left him empty-handed

Suddenly, Traveluro was paying attention. 

“Following your reservation, we would like to update you that we have managed to claim the refund for your reservation from the hotel,” Traveluro wrote. “We would be happy to expedite this process for you and issue you a full refund if you are willing to work with us and withdraw the dispute.”

In other words, drop your credit card dispute, and we’ll send your money.

Moss, who’d been fighting for his refund for a month, took the bait. He withdrew the dispute and sent Traveluro the documentation it requested.

It turns out this was one of those “Throw me the idol, and I’ll throw you the whip” situations, to quote Raiders of the Lost Ark. Traveluro walked away.

“We would like to inform you that since the payment for your reservation was disputed, the refund process will now be handled directly by your bank,” a Traveluro representative told him.

Read that again. Traveluro asked Moss to withdraw his dispute, promising a refund in return. Then, once Moss had eliminated his only real leverage, Traveluro told him to go back to his bank.

Seriously?

When Moss protested that this wasn’t what Traveluro had promised, the response was even more galling.

“Please allow some time for the bank to complete its nvestigation and process the refund accordingly. We recommend following up with your bank for any updates regarding the status of the refund,” it repeated.

But here’s the problem: Moss no longer had a dispute to investigate. He’d closed it at Traveluro’s request. And Citibank told him exactly what you’d expect a bank to tell someone who voluntarily withdrew a dispute: Sorry, we can’t help you now.

Moss was stuck in customer service purgatory — the special circle of hell reserved for people who’ve been bounced between companies so many times they’ve lost track of which one is actually responsible.

But he didn’t give up. Moss emailed Traveluro again (here are the Traveluro executive contacts), and again Traveluro referred him to his bank. And that’s when he reached out to our advocacy team.

What happens when you book through a third-party site and need to cancel?

Booking through third-party sites like Traveluro, Expedia, Priceline, or Hotels.com can save you money. But here’s what many travelers don’t realize until it’s too late: When you book through a middleman, you’ve added a layer of complexity to every transaction.

Think of it this way. When you book directly with a hotel, you have one relationship: you and the hotel. If something goes wrong, you know exactly whom to call. But when you book through a third-party site, you’ve created a triangle: you, the booking site, and the hotel. And each point of that triangle can blame the other two when problems arise.

In Moss’ case, the hotel was ready to cooperate. Hilton processed the refund to Traveluro’s virtual credit card within a week. But Traveluro controlled the final step — getting that money back to Moss — and that’s where everything broke down.

Third-party booking sites operate on thin margins. They buy hotel rooms in bulk at discounted rates, then resell them to you at a markup. When a customer cancels, especially with a full refund, it disrupts their business model. The hotel has already released the funds, but the booking site has to process the refund, and every delay is money earning interest in its account, not yours.

Online travel sites also have their refund policies, which they can impose on purchases even when a hotel or airline sends a refund. It happened for this Celebrity Cruises case.

This is why hotels often encourage you to book directly. When you cut out the middleman, you reduce the runaround. You’ll talk to someone who actually has the authority to make decisions about your reservation. 

But let’s say you’ve already booked through a third-party site and you need to cancel. Here’s what you should do:

Contact the booking site first, in writing. Email creates a paper trail. Phone calls evaporate into the ether. In your email, explain your situation clearly and attach any supporting documentation — medical records, death certificates, whatever proves your case.

Set a reasonable deadline. Give the company 48 to 72 hours to respond. If it doesn’t, or if it gives you the runaround, escalate to an executive.

Don’t play phone tag. Every time a company asks you to call it, respond in writing instead. Say something like, “I’d prefer to keep all communication in writing. Please respond to my email.” This prevents the “he said, she said” problem that companies exploit.

If the booking site won’t cooperate, contact the hotel directly. As Moss discovered, hotels often have more flexibility and better customer service than the booking sites. Explain that you booked through a third-party site but need to cancel due to an emergency. Some hotels will work with you even though they’ve already been paid by the booking site.

Document absolutely everything. Save every email, every chat transcript, every confirmation number. You’ll need this evidence when — not if — you have to escalate to your credit card company or a consumer advocate.

Can a company ask you to withdraw a credit card dispute?

Moss’ case is particularly troubling because Traveluro asked him to withdraw his credit card disputes. 

Can it do that? Yes.

Can it renege on its promise to refund Moss’ money? Not if we have anything to say about it.

Credit card disputes exist to protect consumers from exactly this kind of situation. When a merchant refuses to refund you for services you didn’t receive, your card issuer can force the merchant to prove they upheld their end of the deal. It’s your financial safety net. (Here’s my guide to credit card disputes.)

Once you’ve filed a dispute, your card issuer freezes the transaction while it investigates. The merchant can’t access those funds until the dispute is resolved. This gives you leverage — real, tangible leverage that companies respect because it hits them where it hurts: their bottom line.

When Traveluro asked Moss to withdraw his dispute, the company was asking him to give up his only real leverage. And it sweetened the pot with a promise: Withdraw your dispute, and we’ll expedite your refund.

This is where consumers need to be extremely careful. Any company that asks you to withdraw a dispute should put that promise in writing, with specific terms: the exact amount of the refund, the timeline for processing it, and the method of payment. If a company won’t put it in writing, that’s a red flag.

In Moss’s case, Traveluro did put something in writing: “We would be happy to expedite this process for you and issue you a full refund if you are willing to work with us and withdraw the dispute.”

Moss withdrew the dispute. He sent the documentation. And then Traveluro claimed the refund was now the bank’s problem.

If you ever find yourself in this situation, here’s my advice: Don’t withdraw the dispute unless you have ironclad written confirmation that includes specific timelines and consequences if the company doesn’t deliver. 

And even then, think twice. A credit card dispute gives you protection. A company’s promise gives you nothing but hope.

What are your options when you’re caught between companies?

Being caught between two companies may be even worse than having to deal with one nonresponsive company. All the finger-pointing and waiting — it’s the worst.

That was Moss’s situation. His hotel said it had refunded Traveluro. Traveluro said the bank should handle it. The bank said it couldn’t help because Moss had withdrawn the dispute. Everyone pointed at everyone else, and Moss was left holding an empty wallet.

Here’s where documentation becomes your best friend. Moss had a thread of emails proving that Hilton had released the funds, that Traveluro had promised a refund in exchange for withdrawing the dispute, and that Traveluro then reneged on that promise.

When you’re caught between companies, here’s your game plan:

Create a timeline. List every interaction chronologically, with dates, times, names, and what was promised or delivered, just like Moss. This document will be invaluable when you escalate.

Identify the weak link. In Moss’s case, it was clearly Traveluro. The hotel had done its part. The bank had done what it could within the rules. Traveluro was the one making promises it didn’t keep.

Focus your efforts on that weak link. Stop trying to get help from the companies that have already done their part or exhausted their options. Concentrate on the one that’s actually responsible.

Escalate your case strategically. Start with the company’s customer service, then work your way up to supervisors and managers. Don’t be afraid to use social media — companies hate public complaints. Contact executive offices using resources like my executive contact list at elliott.org.

Bring in reinforcements. Consumer advocates, regulatory agencies, and even your state attorney general’s office can apply pressure that you can’t. Companies take these third parties seriously because they represent escalation beyond the individual consumer.

The key is persistence. Companies count on consumers giving up. They know that many people will eventually decide that $615 isn’t worth months of hassle. But it’s not just about the money. It’s about the principle. And it’s about preventing the same thing from happening to the next person.

Advocacy can make the difference

After months of emails, promises and stonewalling, Moss contacted my advocacy team. We reviewed his documentation and reached out to Traveluro on his behalf.

Then we waited. And waited some more.

Almost a month after our initial contact, Moss checked in with us. We followed up with Traveluro again.

This time, something changed. Maybe it was the visibility that comes with media advocacy. Maybe it was the realization that Moss wasn’t going away. Or maybe someone at Traveluro finally decided to do the right thing.

Six months after his family emergency forced him to cancel his vacation, Moss finally got his money back.

“It worked!” he wrote. “Traveluro finally issued a refund. I have no doubt you and your advocacy group were a major factor in all of this.”

Moss’s persistence paid off. But it shouldn’t have taken six months, numerous emails, a credit card dispute, and intervention from a consumer advocate to get a refund that both the hotel and the booking site agreed he deserved.

Remember when you could check a bag, choose your seat and stretch your legs on a flight without paying extra? It’s not an urban legend. You used to be able to do all three at no extra charge.

I’m old enough to recall when a 34-inch seat pitch was standard in economy class. Today, airlines call that same space “premium economy” and charge you another $200 for it.

That 30-inch squeeze you’re sitting in? It’s the new standard.

You’re a victim of premium creep

Call it premium creep, the quiet industry-wide racket where yesterday’s basics become today’s luxuries. Premium creep is the shrinkflation almost nobody talks about. And you’re paying a steep price for it.

The travel industry wraps premium creep in marketing language about “choice” and “flexibility.” But make no mistake: This travel shrinkflation means the exact opposite. You’re getting less and paying more.

“This trend is not about consumer demand but the demand by companies to maximize their margins through the unbundling of services,” says Dean Rotchin, the CEO of Blackjet, a private jet company.

And yes, his customers are so disenchanted with the state of modern air travel that they’ve turned to hiring private jets. If only we could all afford to do that.

“The reason for the higher pricing is not the added value,” says Jon Morgan, a frequent air traveler who runs a venture capital firm. “It’s simply removal of the recently inflicted pain — the pain caused by the company itself.”

The travel industry creates the problem, then solves it. Brilliant.

Here’s the playbook

How did we get here? After airline deregulation and especially following the 2008 financial crisis, airlines discovered they could advertise rock-bottom fares while making up the difference — and then some — through fees. It started with discount carriers charging for anything that wasn’t nailed down in the cabin, but quickly spread to the legacy airlines.

The result? Airlines generated $148 billion in ancillary revenue worldwide in 2024, a 26 percent increase from the previous year. Fees for baggage, seat selection, early boarding and all those other extras that used to come with your ticket all added up.

How’d they do it? They made the basic product so uncomfortable that you’ll pay to escape it.

Airline seat pitch shrank from an average of roughly 34 inches in the 1970s to around 30 inches today. That’s four inches of your personal space the industry took from you while you weren’t looking.

“Premium is not the new economy,” says Michal Strahilevitz, director of the Elfenworks Center for Responsible Business at Saint Mary’s College of California. “It’s a downgrade disguised as an upgrade. Features that were once standard are now removed and sold back to consumers at a premium, creating the illusion of added value where none actually exists.”

It’s a sleight of hand, according to experts.

“Companies determine what’s premium by testing what they can remove from the base product without losing significant customers,” explains Jacob Wedderburn-Day, CEO of Stasher, a luggage storage service. “They’re not offering anything new or better. They’re taking away what used to be standard and charging you for it separately.”

It’s not just airlines

The practice spread. Hotels famously unbundled basics like the use of their gyms, daily newspapers and towels at the pool to create a mandatory “resort” fee for their guests. Cruise lines removed access to their best restaurants and offered special packages that include basic necessities like Wi-Fi and soft drinks. Tour operators got in on the action, making most meals and activities optional and charging extra for them.

And they’re just getting started.

Premium breakfast. Gabrielle Yap, a culinary entrepreneur who travels constantly, recently stayed at a hotel that advertised “premium” breakfast for an extra $25 per day. “Last year in this city, breakfast was automatically a part of the service,” she says. “Now it is paid for if included or bought as a premium item.”

Slowing down your “free” Wi-Fi. Rob DelliBovi, founder of RDB Hospitality Group, has noticed that some hotels slow down complimentary Wi-Fi to boost sales of “premium” internet. “I’ve seen properties make it nearly impossible to stream a movie or even join a video call on the standard connection,” he says.

Cruise food that costs extra. Mike Jirout, who runs a cruise booking site, analyzed 122 cruise ships and found that specialty restaurants now account for one out of every two dining venues on newer ships. “It’s undeniable that cruise lines have been packing their ships with more ‘specialty’ restaurants, each requiring an upcharge,” he says.

Even car rental companies are in on it. Want USB ports and built-in navigation? You’ll need to upgrade to a “premium” vehicle.

The psychology of the upcharge

The genius of premium creep is that it doesn’t feel like a price increase, but an upgrade.

“Basic services are being unbundled and sold back to you,” says Jason Vaught, a frequent traveler and marketing expert. “All these extras add on to the price of the ticket far beyond what you first saw.”

The industry carefully chose terms like “premium,” “basic” and “choice” after the 2008 financial crisis to reduce resistance.

But seasoned travelers are on to them. Stefany Ceccato, a travel advisor with DMC Travel Tailor, admits she now avoids basic economy altogether on long flights.

“For my clients, some feel the same,” she adds. “They will fly less if they have to, but fly business or premium economy to get the comfort on long flights.”

See what happened there? Airlines didn’t add value. They removed so much that passengers either pay more — or fly less.

Can you still find real value?

Yes, but it takes work. And that’s another hidden cost — your time.

You can find real value by flying during off-peak days, such as mid-week. Wait for an opening and then bid for an upgrade instead of forking over your hard-earned money for a better seat.

Some international carriers — Emirates, Singapore Airlines, ANA — still provide actual service in economy. Reputation, not additional charges, forms the basis of their business.

Delbert Lee, a former vice president for a travel company, says it’s essential to run the numbers. “Calculate the total cost of the travel experience,” he recommends.

He’s right. The advertised base price is meaningless. Add up everything—baggage, seat selection, early check-in, Wi-Fi, resort fees—before comparing your options.

What can you do about it?

We need to demand quality products at fair prices—not this travel shrinkflation wrapped in marketing double-speak.

So here’s my advice:

• Don’t believe the spin. Stop accepting the industry’s framing that you’re getting “choice.” You’re not. You’re getting less for more, repackaged as an upgrade.
  
• Work with a pro. A human travel agent knows which companies offer fair value. That information can make the difference between overpaying and traveling smart.
  
• Vote with your wallet. Support airlines and hotels that bundle services transparently, even if their sticker price looks higher. Push back against obvious cash grabs. File complaints when companies advertise one price and charge another.

The old standards are reasonable and worth revisiting. If you’re flying, you get 34 inches of legroom, a checked bag, an assigned seat and, on longer flights, an edible meal. If you’re staying at a hotel, basic services are always included in the up-front price. And travel companies make money the old-fashioned way: by charging people for tickets and rooms.

That wasn’t premium. That was basic travel. And until we demand it back, the creep will continue—one inch, one fee, one “premium” upcharge at a time.

Wuri Handayani had just flown from Jakarta to London when her phone buzzed. The message came through WhatsApp from someone calling herself “Christin,” an administrator at Hotel Flair in Salzburg, Austria, where Handayani had made a reservation through Booking.com. 

The system couldn’t verify her credit card, Christin wrote. Her room was at risk unless she confirmed her details “right away.”

Handayani clicked the link. By the time she understood what had happened, her card was billed 1,036 euros. The scammers had walked her through a payment that required a one-time password, so her bank treated the charge as authorized and refused to claw it back.

Why these scams know so much about you

The reason the message felt real is that it was built from real information. Security researchers at Norton call this reservation hijacking, a form of targeted phishing where criminals use genuine booking details to make their messages look legitimate. 

In a few months of tracking, Norton identified more than 350 compromised accommodations across 50 countries, spanning hotels, hostels, resorts, and guesthouses. The scams work because they lean on details only you and your hotel should know.

The data has to come from somewhere, and the travel industry keeps springing leaks. In April, Booking.com began notifying customers that unauthorized third parties had accessed reservation data.

Here’s the part that should worry you: Travelers reported getting scam WhatsApp messages with accurate booking details before Booking.com even sent its notification. The fraud moved faster than the disclosure of the breach. That’s probably because a team of lawyers vets each disclosure, which can take a while. Criminals have no such reservations.

Booking.com draws a careful line. It denies a direct breach of its own systems and says attackers got in by stealing login credentials from its hotel partners. Whatever you want to call it, the data ended up in the wrong hands.

The cruise business isn’t faring better. Carnival Corporation confirmed that 5,995,277 people were affected by an April breach, according to a notice filed with the Maine attorney general’s office. 

The exposed data includes names, addresses, dates of birth, and government-issued ID numbers such as passport and driver’s license numbers. Eurail, KLM, and Air France have all reported breaches in the past year, and like the Booking.com case, most traced back to a third party rather than the company’s own front door.

What the travel industry says

Airlines, cruise lines and hotels claim they’re doing what they can to keep your data safe. Trade groups and executives point to the millions they spend on security and argue that criminals go after the weakest link, usually an independent hotel or a contractor, not the big platform. 

The travel business sits on enormous stores of passport numbers, payment cards, and itineraries, and its sprawling supply chains and franchised operations make it a soft target. Holding a platform liable for fraud committed by outside criminals, the argument goes, would raise costs and shrink the supply of cheap bookings.

But is the travel industry doing enough?

And that brings us to today’s question.

And a few follow-up questions …

If you said yes:

• When a platform’s own customer service says a hotel agreed to a refund, should the platform have to pay if that refund never lands?
• What, if anything, should booking sites be required to do to vet the security of the small hotels they sell?

If you said no:

How do you protect yourself when the scammer already has your real confirmation number and check-in date?

Once a bank treats a one-time-password charge as authorized, what’s left for the consumer to do?

My take

A company that collects your whole itinerary takes on a duty to guard it. When that data leaks and turns into a weapon aimed at you, “we spend millions on security” is not an acceptable answer.

Handayani’s case shows where the system fails the customer. Booking.com’s own customer service emailed her to say the hotel had agreed to process a refund. That was months ago. She’s still waiting for her money. 

Booking.com can argue all day about whether its servers or partners were breached. To Handayani, with a fake message on her phone, that distinction means nothing. The platform held the data, it ran the channel the scammer used, and it made the refund promise. It owns the outcome.

The fix here isn’t complicated. Treat reservation data like the sensitive material it is. When your own staff promises a refund, honor it. (And travelers, don’t treat every message on WhatsApp as gospel truth. It could be a scammer.)

Your turn

Have you gotten an urgent message demanding card verification right after booking a trip? Tell me about it in the comments. These stories are how we push for change, and booking scams are some of the most-read, most-argued pieces we run. What’s the one question about travel privacy you wish someone would finally ask?

My U.S. passport just went through the laundry.

It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. I’m in Singapore for a week, and I need a valid passport to leave the country. According to the State Department, I probably don’t have one.

The little blue book that proves I’m an American spent half a cycle on “heavy duty” before I remembered it was in my back pocket. It’s been sitting on the windowsill in my apartment, drying out since then. 

The State Department’s guidance is clear: “significant” damage, including water exposure, voids my passport. I’m supposed to apply for a new one in person in the U.S. Embassy, fork over the $130 application fee—and pray the replacement arrives before I have to drive to Kuala Lumpur.

But my passport drama got me thinking: Why do we even need these fragile documents in the first place? 

Maybe we don’t.

Travelers lose their passports all the time

My passport panic is shared by many travelers. The State Department estimates that around 300,000 U.S. passports are lost or stolen each year. Globally, INTERPOL’s Stolen and Lost Travel Documents database, a clearinghouse used by border officers worldwide, contains tens of millions of entries. 

It turns out there’s a solution. What’s missing is the political will to admit that the paper passport is a relic that’s far outlived its usefulness.

We’ve already built a global system that scans your face, fingerprints and travel history in milliseconds but then asks you to back it all up with a 24-page paper booklet you can ruin by spilling your morning espresso on it.

Why your passport book is a museum piece

Think about what a passport actually is. It’s really just a chip covered in empty, securely water-marked pages. Those pages exist because, once upon a time, a uniformed agent slammed a rubber stamp onto them when you crossed a border. 

Today, almost nobody stamps anything. At many modern airports, you walk up to an eGate. A camera matches your face to the chip in your passport, which itself contains a digital copy of your photo and biometric data. The agent — if there is one — barely looks up. 

The chip is the document. The booklet is window dressing. 

More than 150 countries now issue electronic passports (e-passports) with embedded chips, based on standards set by the International Civil Aviation Organization (ICAO)—the U.N. body that governs travel documents. Critically, however, these e-passports remain physical objects, vulnerable to washing machines and pickpockets.

A few countries are already past paper

Finland ran the world’s first cross-border pilot of a digital travel credential with Croatia a few years ago. Passengers only needed to look at a camera and hold their passport above a reader for a moment. The early findings showed significantly faster border processing times, averaging less than 8 seconds, compared with about 25 seconds for typical automated lanes.

Singapore, where I currently live, has gone even further. Since 2024, the Immigration & Checkpoints Authority has fully rolled out passport-less clearance across all four terminals at Changi Airport. Residents clear immigration with facial and iris biometrics. Average screening times have been reduced by 60 percent, from 25 seconds to 10 seconds.

I had a chance to see Singapore’s checkpoint when I arrived last week from Sydney. I was shocked by how quickly and effortlessly it all went. It was like walking through a subway turnstile.

In the United States, the Transportation Security Administration has begun accepting electronic credentials at airport screening areas. The TSA allows travelers to use their digital IDs at more than 250 airport checkpoints, including U.S. passports stored in Google Wallet, Apple Wallet and CLEAR. But the ID on your phone isn’t recognized as a passport when you cross the border—at least not yet.

There’s a silver lining. At least the U.S. State Department now accepts online passport renewal for eligible adult applicants. The government has already issued more than 7.3 million passports through the online system to rave reviews from travelers. But an electronic passport remains elusive.

What needs to happen next

If you can apply for your passport online, you should also be able to receive a credential to your phone, secured by the same biometric technology that already runs every eGate on earth. Carry the physical booklet as a backup if you must, the way airlines still print boarding passes for people who like paper. But cross the borders with your face as an ID.

This isn’t science fiction. The standards and hardware already exist. ICAO published the technical specification years ago. What’s missing is broader commitment by governments.

The single biggest reason Americans don’t have passports — and between 45 and 50 percent of us still don’t — is the tedious application process. It is expensive and requires a trip to a post office and a specific photo.

Why not digitize the whole pipeline, the way every other modern government service has been digitized? That would remove a real barrier to international travel. More Americans abroad is, on balance, a good thing for everyone — including, I suspect, us.

What about my passport?

Here’s how my passport episode ended: I tried to make an emergency appointment with the U.S. embassy in Singapore, but it was closed Memorial Day and then for the Muslim holidays. By the time a consular official called me back on Thursday, it was too late to do anything. I had to press on.

The passport dried out nicely. In Singapore’s oppressive humidity, expected some cockling from the pages, but once they dried out and I pressed them, they looked perfect. Only one page—an expired visa to Laos—had a signature that bled into the adjoining page.

On Friday, I crossed the land border between Singapore and Malaysia. The remaining ink smudge on my visa page didn’t even register, and I sailed right through the checkpoint. But I stayed up all night worrying, and that was no fun.

Digital passports can’t come soon enough. In the meantime, my best advice is to store your passport in a safe place when you’re traveling—and never, ever your back pocket.

Kate McCulley knew it was time to leave Madagascar. Flights were getting canceled, there were protests outside her hotel in Antananarivo, and the country was on the verge of a military coup.

“My hotel was right in the middle of the fray,” says McCulley, a journalist based in Prague. “The police blanketed the neighborhood in tear gas and it wafted over everything — it was painful to breathe.”

After several days of trying to leave, she finally caught a flight to Réunion as the island plunged into chaos.

Leaving your vacation early is not always such an easy call. You’ve planned for months, paid thousands of dollars, and finally arrived at your dream destination. Then the situation shifts. Maybe it’s civil unrest brewing in the streets or a natural disaster barreling toward shore. Maybe there’s a sudden spike in crime. Or maybe the hotel bar is running out of olives.

Do you cut your losses? Or do you stay put and hope it blows over? 

There’s no algorithm for your decision. Government warnings are often vague or late. Tour operators downplay risks. And your travel insurance probably won’t cover leaving out of fear alone. But there are clear triggers that separate a manageable situation from a dangerous one — if you know what to do.

The new age of travel anxiety

Travelers are concerned about their safety now more than at any time since the pandemic. A recent Global Rescue survey found 85 percent of experienced travelers worry about civil unrest, and nearly 9 in 10 research a destination’s safety before booking.

“Safety is no longer a secondary consideration,” says Dan Richards, CEO of Global Rescue.

We’re living in what John Rose, chief risk advisor for ALTOUR, calls the era of managed risk versus imminent threat. 

“Every destination has risk,” Rose says. “What matters is whether that risk has escalated into an immediate threat to life, liberty, or medical access.”

What makes a destination risky?

Daniel Loo, a principal security risk management consultant for North Star Group, has spent his career in security. He’s clear about when conditions cross the line.

“One or two isolated incidents don’t always indicate a pattern,” he says. “But a sustained escalation in local unrest, communication breakdowns, or government curfews are indicators that conditions have crossed from ‘risky’ to ‘unsafe.'”

Loo monitors three primary triggers:

• Loss of reliable information flow. Your first warning is when local news, embassy alerts, and travel communications become inconsistent or censored, situational awareness is compromised. That’s your first warning.

• Breakdown of normal logistics. If transportation, fuel, or banking become unreliable, mobility and safety start eroding quickly.

• Shift in local sentiment toward foreigners. An uptick in harassment, protests, or checkpoints specifically targeting outsiders usually signals it’s time to leave while routes remain open.

Government advisories help, but they lag behind reality on the ground. They’re written to cover wide audiences. By the time they’re updated, you might’ve already lost your window to leave safely.

Why official warnings are not enough

The State Department uses four travel advisory levels, ranging from Level 1 (exercise normal precautions) to Level 4 (do not travel).

Security professionals treat the State Department warnings as a starting point, combining them with advisories from Canada and the U.K., as well as local news reports and on-the-ground intelligence.

A more practical tool is the Smart Traveler Enrollment Program (STEP). This free service allows U.S. citizens to enroll their trip with the Department of State, which uses the information on the enrollment form to send emergency alerts. If you get a STEP notification, consider it a strong signal to postpone your trip or, if you’re already at your destination, to leave.

A reality check you can’t ignore

Some warnings are overblown. You need to do a gut check before fleeing the country.

Sarah White, a restaurant manager from Arlington, Va., was visiting friends in Ivano-Frankivsk, Ukraine, when Russia annexed Crimea in 2014. 

“My parents were sending me American journalism which was full of incorrect information about airports being closed,” White remembers. “They were begging me to find a way to get home faster.”

So she called the U.S. Embassy for advice. A Ukrainian embassy worker answered the phone. She asked White to look out the window. 

Did she see violence? No. Did she feel unsafe? No.

The embassy worker had a valid point. White was hundreds of miles from the violence. She returned on her scheduled flight.

That’s the decision every traveler faces. Your instincts versus the sunk cost of your trip. Fear versus reality. Local knowledge versus official warnings.

“People think danger comes with clear signals,” says Lucinda Faucheux, co-founder of Travel Support Circle. “But it rarely does. It starts as a feeling. Maybe a little tension in the air, people arguing more, or perhaps a growing sense that something’s shifting.”

That unease is your gut picking up on risk before your brain.

What the professionals watch

Harding Bush, a former Navy SEAL and associate director for security operations at Global Rescue, has a rule: The best time to leave is when you still have choices. 

“Once you don’t, you’re relying on hope,” he says. “And hope is a terrible security plan.”

Bush established departure triggers for clients. They include the government shutting down the internet and enhanced military or police activity.

“Every situation has a point of no return,” Bush says. “The moment when commercial exit options vanish and you become a rescue case. Leave before you reach it.”

Rose from ALTOUR breaks it down into three factors travelers must assess:

• Access to reliable information (local sources, government updates, trusted risk partners)
• Ability to move safely (transportation routes, curfews, airport status)
• Availability of needed services (medical care, communication, lodging, food, water)

“If two or more of those begin to break down, it’s time to leave,” Rose says.

Habib Rkha, who manages risk for teams traveling to factories across Asia, uses a similar framework. He leaves when two or more red flags stack: government advisory escalates, curfews or airport closures begin, mobile data goes down, hospitals are strained, or trusted local partners say movement is unsafe.

“If lifelines fail, go in daylight with carry-on only and preplanned routes,” Rkha says.

The mental math most travelers miss

Gor Gasparyan, a UK-based web designer, was in Bangkok during the 2020 protests when demonstrations blocked main intersections near his hotel. Most people called it a short-term inconvenience. But Gasparyan saw something different.

Three nights of interrupted sleep led to failure in his work output. Client decisions that should’ve taken 20 minutes now took an hour. He started making invoice mistakes.

“Ambient stress and sleep deprivation reduced my effectiveness to about 55 percent,” he says. “Each day affected my billable hours to the tune of about $900.”

The economic loss of working at low capacity drove his decision to leave. Leisure travelers face a similar decision. Yes, they could stay safely. But what kind of vacation would that be? Is it worth staying?

Follow the locals

There’s a better way of knowing if a destination has turned dangerous.

“If residents begin withdrawing cash, stocking supplies, or leaving major cities, that’s usually a stronger indicator than any formal warning,” says Leonard Sipes, who spent six years in law enforcement before becoming a senior specialist for crime prevention for the U.S. Department of Justice’s clearinghouse.

Maria Knöbel, a physician who’s practiced throughout Europe and Africa, watches for similar patterns. “Earlier closing of shops, empty shelves in the pharmacies, or the cessation of public transport without warning are all early indications that things are collapsing day by day,” says Knöbel.

During civil unrest in South Africa, she observed those patterns until hospitals began to restrict access. That’s when she left.

Deepak Shukla, founder of Pearl Lemon Adventures, puts it more bluntly: “When the people who live there change their behavior, that’s your cue. Forget the sunk cost. You can always earn back the money. You can’t refund your safety.”

The locals are often a reliable barometer of safety, agrees Lydia Eva Mpanga, founder of Nkuringo Safaris in East Africa. She regularly takes the temperature in her region by talking to park rangers, conservation wardens, and local councils. 

“When something changes, a sudden protest, a washed-out road, or a temporary park closure, we hear it from the local people long before it reaches the news,” Mpanga says.

How does she define unsafe? When her sources go silent and she loses reliable communication.

What your travel insurance actually covers

Most policies cover trip interruptions only when a government issues an official evacuation order or a destination becomes uninhabitable due to a natural disaster.

“Fear or uncertainty alone typically isn’t covered under travel insurance, which is why we encourage travelers to purchase coverage with flexible options like ‘cancel for any reason’ and ‘interruption for any reason’ add-ons,” says Terry Boynton, co-founder and president of Yonder Travel Insurance.

But cancel for any reason travel insurance isn’t cheap. It typically adds 40 to 60 percent to your base travel insurance cost, but it only reimburses 50 to 75 percent of your prepaid, nonrefundable trip costs. Also, you generally must purchase it within 14 to 21 days of your first trip payment. And you must cancel at least 48 hours before departure.

Your travel insurance policy may include other benefits, like security alerts. Daniel Durazo, director of external communications at Allianz Partners USA, points travelers to the Allyz mobile app. It includes a U.S. Embassy finder and destination-specific safety and security alerts.

Evacuation experts: prepare and be prompt

When it comes to safety, research and timing are important. 

“In the heat of the moment, there will be a lot of conflicting information,” says Joe Cronin, president of International Citizens Insurance. “If you’ve decided ahead of time who to listen to, it’ll make your decision to go or stay easier.”

And then there’s the matter of when to follow the advice. The sooner, the better, says John Gobbels, chief operating officer of Medjet.

“It’s always wiser to exercise caution early rather than wait to see how a situation unfolds,” he says. “Time and again, there have been scenarios that could have been managed safely, but escalated simply because decisions and action were delayed.”

He notes that Medjet’s MedjetHorizon membership provides access to expert security response personnel who can coordinate a path to safety or evacuate you if necessary.

Should you stay or should you go?

It’s simple, really. If the State Department is buzzing you through STEP, if the locals are getting out of town, and if basic services like communication are starting to collapse, maybe it’s time to head for the exits.

You have to also listen to your inner voice.

Christopher Littlestone, a retired U.S. Army Special Forces lieutenant colonel, learned this lesson repeatedly during his career. His security principles apply whether you’re on the battlefield or on vacation.

“Trust your instincts,” he says. “They’re not random feelings. They’re your brain’s pattern recognition at work, detecting subtle signals of danger before your conscious mind does.”

A close friend of his was in the shower at a five-star hotel when a major earthquake struck. She grabbed her valuables and caught the next flight out. Within 90 minutes, she was airborne.

“She later called it ‘the best money I ever spent,'” says Littlestone, who teaches security courses.

Once you’re in the middle of chaos, with flights getting canceled and streets filling with protesters, it’s too late to think clearly. The travelers who get out safely are the ones who decided their red lines before they ever boarded the plane.

Paul Avron’s daughter buys Coldplay tickets nine months before their show, but when the tickets don’t appear on the day of the event, a StubHub representative advises her to spend an additional $3,000 for replacement tickets. Can she get a refund?

Question

My daughter bought three tickets to see Coldplay at Hard Rock Stadium in Miami for $1,027 nine months before the event. This was a birthday gift for her best friend and the friend’s dad. They had been looking forward to it for months.

On the day of the show, the StubHub app said the tickets were being released. But when the show started and the tickets still hadn’t appeared, we called StubHub in a panic. We asked for the tickets or replacement tickets so they could get into the concert.

The last representative we spoke to refused to provide replacement tickets. He said we had to buy new ones and that StubHub would refund the $1,027 my daughter had already paid. The rep told us he saw three tickets for just $1 more than we had originally paid. He sent us a link, which we opened and paid for using my credit card.

Here’s where it gets bad: It turns out the tickets were $1,000 per ticket, not $1 more total. StubHub charged my credit card $3,000. 

I immediately called my credit card company to dispute the charge. Separately, I called StubHub directly. Both representatives I spoke with said they would not credit my account.

Look, if StubHub had simply provided the tickets my daughter purchased or given us replacement tickets like they should have, I wouldn’t be in this situation. And for the record, we did not accept those expensive tickets or use them. We never even went to the concert.

Can you help us get a refund for the full amount charged to my credit card? – Paul Avron, Parkland, Fla.

Answer

StubHub should have delivered your daughter’s tickets. Period. When a seller doesn’t deliver, StubHub’s FanProtect Guarantee is supposed to kick in. The guarantee promises valid tickets or your money back. But it also says StubHub will find you comparable replacement tickets when possible.

The real problem here is what happened during that support call. You were scrambling to get into a concert that was already starting. The representative told you the replacement tickets cost “$1 more” than your original purchase. But you ended up buying tickets for $1,000 each a total of $3,000.

That’s not a small miscommunication. That’s a communication catastrophe.

Your case is a reminder to read the purchase screen carefully even if a representative gives you the price on the phone. Talk is cheap. It’s the price on the checkout screen that counts.

You did several things right. You kept all your documentation, including both order numbers and the details of your conversations with StubHub. You contacted your credit card company right away. You followed up with StubHub directly. Those are exactly the right moves.

You could have also escalated your case in writing to one of the StubHub executives. (I publish them on my consumer advocacy site, Elliott.org.) A brief, polite email that outlines the facts and includes your paper trail often gets results when regular customer service hasn’t helped.

Here’s something else worth mentioning: I’ve covered several StubHub cases where tickets didn’t arrive as promised. In a recent column about nonexistent seats, I noted that StubHub’s FanProtect Guarantee looks appealing on paper, but enforcement often depends on persistence and proper escalation. Your case shows the same pattern.

After you contacted me, my advocacy team reached out to StubHub. The company investigated your claim.

“We’re truly sorry this customer missed an event that was so meaningful to them,” a StubHub spokesperson told me. “When their original tickets were not delivered, we issued a full refund under our FanProtect Guarantee.”

StubHub says it refunded your second purchase even though it didn’t qualify under its standard policy to make things right. 

“We know how important live experiences are and remain committed to supporting fans when things don’t go as planned,” the StubHub representative added.

You’re getting everything back, in other words. Your daughter gets her original $1,027 back, and you get the $3,000 refunded to your credit card.

Ticket resale platforms walk a tightrope. They’re not the primary seller, so they rely on third parties to deliver. But when you make a promise to protect fans, you have to keep it. And when a customer service representative gives pricing information during a high-stress moment, that information needs to be crystal clear.

Beatrijs Albarran and her husband cancel their Aer Lingus flights after a death in the family and receive a refund in the form of vouchers. When they try to convert their vouchers to Canadian dollars for a trip from Toronto, Aer Lingus issues hers in three months but leaves her husband waiting for over a year. Can she get the airline to do the right thing?

Question

My husband and I had to cancel our Aer Lingus flights last year because of a death in the family. The airline issued us vouchers, which should have been straightforward. But it hasn’t been.

I received a voucher for $938. My husband, Jorge, got an email saying his $925 voucher had been processed. But when I called the next month to book our next trip, an Aer Lingus agent told me his voucher was never actually issued.

Here’s where it gets complicated. We live in Buffalo, New York, but wanted to fly from Toronto to Scotland because the fares are better. I asked Aer Lingus if we could have the vouchers reissued in Canadian dollars. They opened a case for both of us.

I received my voucher in U.S. dollars within a reasonable time. But Jorge’s voucher never came.

I’ve been calling Aer Lingus for months. Each time, I get the same response: “A supervisor is working on it right now.” I’ve tried their WhatsApp line during office hours, but the virtual assistant just tells me to contact them during office hours, which I’m already doing. I’ve emailed. I’ve contacted the CEO. Every few months, I get an update email saying they’re “reviewing the case.”

Six months after the cancellation, an agent told me to request a currency conversion and assured me it would be expedited. They said to wait a few days for the voucher in Canadian dollars. I waited. Nothing. The next month, another agent said we were “in the queue.”

A year later, I had enough. I sent another email saying I’d accept the voucher in U.S. dollars, I realized the currency difference was minimal anyway. I just wanted my husband’s voucher.

It’s now been over 15 months since Aer Lingus said it processed Jorge’s voucher. I received mine. Why not his? This was supposed to help us travel after dealing with a death in our family. Instead, it’s been nothing but frustration. Can you help us get Jorge’s voucher? Beatrijs Albarran, Buffalo, New York

Answer

Aer Lingus should have issued your husband’s voucher immediately after you had to cancel your flights.

According to Aer Lingus’ own policy, vouchers are issued in the same currency as the original booking. You didn’t need to exchange your vouchers for Canadian dollars to make a booking from a Canadian airport. But if you wanted a currency conversion, and Aer Lingus said you could do it, that should have been handled as a straightforward request, not a 15-month ordeal.

The airline’s behavior here is inexcusable. It issued your voucher but kept giving you the runaround on your husband’s voucher. Telling you repeatedly that “a supervisor is working on it” is a classic delay tactic. And those automated “we’re reviewing your case” emails? They’re designed to make you think something is happening when nothing is.

You kept great records of every phone call, every WhatsApp attempt, every email. That paper trail is exactly what consumer advocates need to help resolve cases like yours. You even escalated to the CEO, which shows persistence. You might have tried some of the customer service managers. I publish the names, numbers and email addresses of the Aer Lingus executives on my consumer advocacy site, Elliott.org.

The Department of Transportation has strict rules about refunds. While your case involved a voluntary cancellation and the issuance of a flight credit, the principle remains the same: airlines must process these requests promptly. 

A few years ago, I wrote about another Aer Lingus customer who had trouble with a voucher that didn’t work. The airline eventually made it right after my advocacy team intervened, but it took four years to resolve the case. That story suggests a possible pattern: Aer Lingus sometimes promises vouchers but fails to follow through.

I contacted Aer Lingus on your behalf. Within days, the airline finally took action.

A manager issued your husband’s voucher in U.S. dollars, as you requested. Initially, a customer service representative suggested you buy a new ticket and submit a claim for reimbursement, which you correctly refused. Why should you pay out of pocket when the airline already owes you the money?

“We apologize to this customer for the delay in issuing their voucher,” an Aer Lingus spokesperson told me. “Aer Lingus is liaising directly with this customer to resolve the matter and we hope to welcome them on an Aer Lingus flight soon.”

Remember, if you’re dealing with an airline voucher issue, document everything. Keep records of every conversation. Don’t accept vague promises. And if you hit a wall, escalate to the executives. Companies respond differently, sometimes more positively, when someone is watching.

After Jocelyn Peers’ teenage sons finished their language immersion program in Alicante, Spain, she thought the hard part was over. The boys had thrived in Europe, navigating a foreign country and learning the language. All that remained was a simple flight home to Seattle.

It wasn’t simple.

Less than 24 hours before their departure, KLM informed Peers that the itinerary it had booked for her sons, ages 13 and 16, violated the airline’s unaccompanied minor (UM) policy. 

“KLM admitted they could not honor the itinerary they had sold us,” Peers says.

The boys couldn’t fly home as planned. They were effectively stranded in Spain with school closed and no adult supervision available.

KLM’s solution? Her husband, Clive, would need to fly to Amsterdam immediately to escort the boys home. The business class ticket cost $19,354. A KLM agent assured Peers on a recorded line that the airline would reimburse the cost.

But a few weeks later, KLM denied the claim. The emergency flight, it said, was “optional.”

This case raises several important questions about airline responsibility and unaccompanied minor services:

• What are airlines required to provide when they sell unaccompanied minor services?
• Can an airline refuse to honor an itinerary it booked and confirmed?
• What happens when an airline makes a promise to reimburse emergency expenses, and then reneges?

The booking that should never have happened

Peers had booked her sons’ round-trip tickets directly with KLM. Her son Quinn, then 13, required unaccompanied minor  service under KLM’s mandatory policy for children ages 5 to 14. His older brother Kaeden, 16, traveled with him. 

Peers paid the required $343 UM service fee and received a confirmation.

The outbound journey went smoothly. The boys flew from Seattle to Alicante via Amsterdam without incident. Their return was scheduled for a month later, with what appeared to be a standard connection in Amsterdam before continuing to Seattle.

But the day before departure, Peers received an email with the flight details. Buried at the bottom was a small note: “Please call KLM.”

That phone call revealed a stunning oversight by both KLM and the parents. The itinerary included a 14-hour overnight layover in Amsterdam. The boys would arrive at Schiphol at 8 p.m. and wouldn’t depart for Seattle until 10:20 a.m. the next day.

Here’s the problem: KLM’s own policy explicitly states that unaccompanied minor transfers are “allowed on KLM, Air France, and Delta Air Lines flights only.” The policy makes no provision for overnight layovers. There’s no supervised lounge for minors to spend the night, no hotel arrangements, no chaperones.

This brings back memories of another unaccompanied minor disaster: mine.

I was 13 years old and traveling alone with my 11-year-old brother from Los Angeles to Vienna via JFK. After we landed in New York, our Vienna flight was canceled and we had no idea what to do. A kindly Eastern Airlines agent took us under her wing. She sent us to a hotel and made sure we had enough food until the next day.

If Eastern had called my parents and asked them to come to New York, they would have refused. They didn’t have the resources to book a flight and, as 1950s parents, they thought the boys could take care of themselves. Those were the days!

Anyway, Peers spent nearly two hours on the phone as KLM agents scrambled for solutions. Could a teacher from the language program accompany the boys? No, the school had closed. Could the boys travel to Barcelona or Madrid instead? They were 13 and 16, how exactly would two teenagers navigate Spanish trains alone and book new flights?

Could the boys just wait in Amsterdam overnight? KLM couldn’t supervise them. Where would they sleep? How would two minors check into a hotel?

Every suggestion was either implausible or bordering on absurd, or both.

The $19,354 solution

KLM’s final offer was to rebook the boys on a Transavia flight from Alicante to Amsterdam. But Transavia is only a partner airline, not KLM itself. The carrier couldn’t provide unaccompanied minor service for that leg. No one would meet the boys in Amsterdam or sign the required paperwork.

The only viable solution was an expensive one: A parent would need to fly to Amsterdam to retrieve them.

“With no time to spare,” Peers says, her husband Clive left for Seattle airport. KLM booked him on a pricey business class ticket from Seattle to Amsterdam via Vancouver. 

The KLM agent who arranged the booking assured Peers on a recorded line that KLM would reimburse the emergency ticket and related expenses. 

Clive spent 30 hours in transit, met his sons at Schiphol, and flew them home to Seattle. 

What are airlines required to provide with unaccompanied minor services?

When you purchase an airline’s unaccompanied minor service, you’re buying more than just a plane ticket. You’re purchasing a specific set of protections and supervision for your child.

KLM’s unaccompanied minor policy states that transfers for children traveling alone are allowed on KLM, Air France, and Delta Air Lines flights only, and that the service is available for all nonstop flights. 

The policy exists for good reason. Children traveling alone need continuous supervision during layovers. (Don’t I know!) They can’t simply wander airport terminals for hours, much less overnight. They can’t make independent decisions about rebooking flights or finding accommodation.

When Peers booked the tickets through a KLM agent, she provided all the necessary information: her sons’ ages, the requirement for unaccompanied minor service and their travel dates. The agent had access to KLM’s policies and systems. The agent booked the itinerary and took the UM service fee.

At that point, KLM assumed responsibility for ensuring the itinerary complied with its own policies. The airline confirmed the booking. It issued the tickets. It sent confirmation emails. For more than a month, KLM gave every indication that the boys’ return flight was properly arranged.

In the Peers case, KLM’s failure was fundamental. The airline didn’t just make a minor scheduling error. It sold a service it couldn’t legally provide under its own rules. The overnight layover wasn’t a borderline case or gray area, it was a clear policy violation.

The real question isn’t whether KLM should have booked a compliant itinerary in the first place. Of course it should have. No, the question is what obligation an airline has when it discovers it can’t fulfill the service it sold. Can it simply cancel the booking and walk away? Or does it bear responsibility for making the customer whole?

Can an airline refuse to honor an itinerary it booked and confirmed?

Airlines make mistakes. Systems glitch, agents screw up, schedules change. But there’s a difference between a mistake an airline catches and fixes promptly, and a mistake it discovers the day before departure when the customer has no alternatives.

When an airline discovers it can’t honor a confirmed itinerary, it generally has several options. It can rebook the passenger on an alternative compliant routing at no additional cost. It can provide accommodations if a delay is necessary. In cases where no solution exists, it can refund the ticket and compensate the passenger for the inconvenience.

What it can’t ethically do is say “we made a mistake, but fixing it is your problem now.”

That’s essentially what happened here. KLM acknowledged the itinerary violated its own policy. It acknowledged discovering this violation too late for the family to make alternative arrangements. But instead of taking responsibility, it offered impractical suggestions and ultimately forced the family to bear the cost of its error.

KLM’s contract of carriage, the agreement between airline and passenger, requires it to provide transportation as confirmed or offer suitable alternatives. When an airline can’t fulfill its obligation and the passenger must arrange emergency travel as a direct result of the airline’s mistake, the airline bears responsibility for those costs.

The family’s decision to send Clive to Amsterdam wasn’t optional in any meaningful sense. It was the only viable solution to a problem KLM created.

What happens when an airline promises to reimburse emergency expenses?

Here’s where the Peers’ case becomes particularly frustrating. When KLM’s agent booked Clive’s emergency ticket to Amsterdam, the agent explicitly stated that KLM would reimburse the cost.

The agent knew exactly why the emergency ticket was necessary: because KLM had booked an itinerary it couldn’t honor and discovered the problem too late for any other solution. The agent had authority to book a $19,354 business class ticket on KLM’s behalf. And the agent made a clear promise about reimbursement.

Peers relied on that promise. She authorized the charge, her husband flew to Amsterdam, and the family incurred the substantial expense based on KLM’s explicit assurance.

In retrospect, Peers should have insisted that KLM pay for the ticket. But in the heat of the moment, she wanted to get her boys home and would have probably done anything KLM asked.

Weeks later, when Peers filed her reimbursement claim, KLM called the emergency flight “optional.” This characterization is bewildering. What was the alternative? Leave two teenagers, one just 13 years old, to fend for themselves in Amsterdam overnight?

Airlines can’t have it both ways. They can’t authorize their agents to make promises to resolve crises, then repudiate those promises after customers have relied on them and incurred expenses.

The legal principle of “promissory estoppel” exists precisely for situations like this. When one party makes a clear promise, the other party reasonably relies on that promise, and if the relying party suffers harm as a result, the promising party is bound by its commitment even without a formal written contract.

Peers filed complaints with the Washington State Attorney General’s Office and with EU passenger rights authorities. She documented everything: the original booking emails, the phone calls, the emergency ticket charges, KLM’s denial letters.

Will she get her money back?

After my team contacted KLM, the airline reversed its position. KLM’s customer care team contacted Peers directly to arrange the reimbursement of $19,354 for the emergency ticket, plus the $343 UM service fee and $74 in parking costs.

The resolution came more than two months after the initial incident and only after the family had filed multiple complaints with regulatory authorities and sought media intervention. But it came.

What can travelers learn from this case? First, double-check your reservation to make sure it doesn’t contain an overnight stay. Document everything when you’re booking unaccompanied minor service. Save all confirmation emails, note the names of agents you speak with, and review your itinerary carefully well before departure, in case anything has changed. Record all calls if possible.

If you spot a problem, like an overnight layover, raise it immediately.

Second, understand that unaccompanied minor policies exist for safety reasons. These aren’t arbitrary rules airlines can waive when convenient. When an airline accepts your UM service fee, it’s accepting legal responsibility for your child’s supervision during the entire journey.

Third, if an airline makes a promise on a recorded line, document it. Note the date, time, and name of the agent. Follow up with written communication confirming what was promised. Airlines may later claim ignorance of what their agents said, but your documentation makes your case much stronger.

Fourth, don’t accept absurd “solutions” to problems the airline created. When KLM suggested the boys could travel to Barcelona or spend an unsupervised night in Amsterdam, those weren’t real options. Trust your instincts about what’s reasonable and safe for your children.

And finally, persistence matters. Peers didn’t give up when KLM denied her initial claim. She escalated through multiple channels, to the Attorney General’s office, EU authorities, and this consumer advocacy organization. Each step created additional pressure and documentation. Eventually, that persistence paid off.

A $10 voucher. 

That’s what Angela Justice got after her recent flight from Boston to Chicago was delayed and then canceled.

“Let’s be honest, that barely covers a bottle of water,” says Justice, a consultant who advises biotech executives. 

But the true cost of an airline delay, or the delay tax, isn’t always about business class travelers missing high-stakes meetings. Sometimes it’s just people like you and me trying to hold together plans, budgets, and expectations in a system built to offer vouchers instead of accountability from airlines.

A record 3.6 million passengers were predicted to travel this Memorial Day weekend. Now more than ever, the cost of a delay is a calculation more airline passengers will have to make. And unfortunately, the airline industry’s numbers are wrong.

What is the delay tax?

Here’s what I’m talking about when I say “delay tax”: Nonrefundable hotels you can’t get to. The family wedding that ends before you land. Child care bills that keep ticking. Lost wages. The second flight you had to book yourself because the airline’s rescheduling timeline was useless. 

These are the real costs of a system that’s pushing every risk onto travelers.

The official story is simple. When flights get delayed, airlines cover “duty of care”, a meal voucher, maybe a hotel, or a refund if the flight gets canceled. The Department of Transportation (DOT) nods. Everyone acts like the problem is solved.

It’s not.

“When airlines talk about reasonable compensation, they refer to immediate, measurable costs, things like meal vouchers, hotel stays, or partial refunds,” explains Suzanne Morrow, CEO of InsureMyTrip. “But those definitions exclude a wide range of real-world financial losses travelers face when delays disrupt their plans.”

When airline vouchers meet reality

Cal Singh, who runs a financial services company in Vancouver, learned about the delay tax the hard way. A canceled flight from Toronto to New York cost his marketing team nearly $3,000 in expenses they couldn’t recover. The booth they’d assembled for a payments exposition was gone. The hotel night they’d booked? Forfeited. The express shipping they’d arranged? Nonrefundable.

“Weeks of preparation can be lost by one delay,” Singh told me.

He’s rebuilt his entire travel operation around that lesson. Every business trip now includes backup flights, refundable bookings, and extra insurance. Because he learned what airlines don’t want you to know: They’re not in the business of making you whole. They’re in the business of getting you from point A to point B. Everything else is your problem.

It’s not just business travelers, of course. Donna Glass’ experience with United tells the same story. Her recent flight from San Francisco to Orlando was delayed multiple times and then switched to a completely different aircraft. She arrived in Florida early the next morning, having spent more than 12 hours in the airport.

Her airline offered her two $15 food vouchers and 7,500 frequent-flyer miles.

“We lost an entire day in Orlando,” Donna said. “The airline basically blew us off.”

Here’s the real question regulators refuse to ask: Is that fair?

The compensation illusion

When airlines talk about “reasonable compensation,” they’re working from a narrow playbook. The DOT focuses on immediate, basic costs like the price of your airfare. Europe goes further with its consumer protections, offering compensation for delays. But even the strictest rules exclude the real-world damage caused by delays.

Airlines are just following the law. But the law was written in a different era, when travel was simpler and airlines were more generous with their passengers. Now, delays are chronic and airlines are watching every penny. Regulators haven’t caught up.

Jacob Wedderburn-Day, CEO of Stasher, an airport luggage storage network, sees the ripple effects every day. He’s watched thousands of passengers absorb costs that go way beyond a meal voucher.

“The hidden costs are very high, and the passengers pay nearly all of them,” Wedderburn-Day said. “Airlines are basing fair compensation on their own operating expenses and regulatory requirements, rather than actual economic impact on travelers.”

Maybe that’s the problem. The delay tax exists because airlines calculate compensation based on what it costs them to reschedule flights, not what it costs you to miss the reason you flew in the first place.

TinLeg, a travel insurance company, has the receipts: In 2025, the average payout was $388 per claim. The single biggest culprit was airline delays. TinLeg found nearly 28 percent of all claims were tied to flight delays, up from 26 percent in 2024.

Sometimes, airlines will voluntarily cover some of your expenses, such as toiletries or a change of clothes, to a point.

Even when airlines are generous, there’s a catch

If you can get an airline to compensate you for your expenses, which can happen, there’s a problem that customers create for themselves. Raymond Yorke at Redpoint Resolutions has watched travelers leave money on the table because they didn’t document everything.

“The travelers who get reimbursed quickest are almost always those who kept receipts, took photos, saved emails, and wrote down what happened, in real time,” Yorke says.

A safer bet is to buy travel insurance, but you still have to keep your documentation for some claims. (With bigger travel insurance companies, flight delay claims are automatic and don’t require any documentation.) 

“A proper travel protection plan can fill the gap airlines won’t,” says Carlos Cividanes, vice president of business strategy and development at TravelSafe Travel Insurance.

But even travel insurance won’t end the delay tax.

What needs to change?

Justice’s point about the cascading effects of delays is central to understanding why the current system is broken. It treats delays as isolated incidents affecting one person. But when you’re running a company, leading a team, or managing a critical life moment, a delay ripples outward.

Michal Strahilevitz, a professor of marketing at Saint Mary’s College of California who studies business ethics, thinks the whole compensation framework is backwards.

“Airlines do not compensate passengers for pain, suffering, or emotional distress caused by delays,” she says. “But in an ideal world, they would at least try.”

The data backs that up. AirHelp surveyed Americans and found that 41 percent lost money on their last flight disruption. Meanwhile, 91 percent believe airlines should pay compensation for disruptions. And 84 percent of Americans would support an EU-style compensation model, one that actually accounts for losses.

“Airlines need to be financially responsible for the total economic cost of delays that they incur, and not merely direct costs,” says Wedderburn-Day of Stasher. “There is no incentive yet to change because travelers all bear downstream costs. The model changes only when airlines start to experience the financial bite of chronic unreliability.”

That’s true. Right now, airlines have no reason to operate more reliably because they don’t pay the true cost of delays. The expense is yours to bear. Until that changes, expect more delay taxes.

So here’s my advice: If you’re planning to fly, build redundancy into your bookings. Get insurance. And document everything. Because airlines aren’t going to make you whole. The system isn’t designed to.

At least, not yet.

Cindy Smith is afraid to travel. 

She and her husband have saved for the trip of a lifetime, a Danube river cruise in September, followed by a week in Croatia. Then she heard about the hantavirus outbreak on a recent cruise and the arrests of crew members for possession of child sexual abuse material. And she started having second thoughts.

“Would you cancel this trip?” she asked.

Smith isn’t alone. Less than 1 percent of respondents to a recent survey by Global Rescue (in other words, almost no one) said their concerns about personal safety abroad have abated since last year. A slim majority (56 percent) said they’re more concerned, and the rest said nothing changed. 

I get a version of Smith’s email every day, and they all share a new kind of dread. Travelers aren’t asking me how to plan a trip. They’re asking permission not to take one. 

Call it the summer of fear, the rolling, low-grade panic that sets in between booking a vacation and boarding the plane, fed by headlines, group chats and one too many late-night doomscrolls. 

They’re worried about airline bankruptcies and unsafe travel conditions. And they think everyone hates them. Let’s go through each one of these fears.

“My airline is going to go bankrupt mid-trip”

Spirit’s recent collapse spooked everybody. I wrote a commentary calling for new passenger protections because the federal safety net for stranded passengers is hopelessly broken.

But a broken safety net is not the same thing as “every airline is about to fold.” 

Delta, United, American and Southwest are not Spirit. The big carriers are still profitable. The ultra-low-cost carriers, the bare-bones airlines like Frontier and Allegiant, are the ones to watch. If you booked one of them for summer, buy a real travel insurance policy, pay with a credit card and stop worrying.

“It’s too dangerous to travel”

Geopolitical anxiety can have a ripple effect across a map. A conflict on one side of a continent does not make the other side dangerous, but travelers conflate them anyway. 

I’ve heard from readers who backed out of their vacation in Portugal because of the war in Ukraine. That’s more than 2,000 miles away. Think of it as canceling your trip to Los Angeles because of something happening in Boston.

Here’s a little perspective. The Institute for Economics and Peace publishes an annual Global Peace Index, measuring countries across several safety, conflict and militarization indicators. The United States ranked an unimpressive 128th out of 163 countries in its latest edition, behind South Africa, Kenya and Uganda. The countries along Smith’s Danube route (Austria, Hungary, Slovenia, Croatia) all ranked dozens of places ahead of us. Austria came in fourth.

So when you cancel a European vacation out of safety concerns and stay home instead, you’re moving in the wrong direction. The State Department posts country-specific advisories with the real trouble spots. Truth is, the world is bigger and safer than your news feed makes it look, and parts of it are safer than your own neighborhood.

“Everyone hates American tourists”

I’ve spent most of the past year living outside the United States, including stretches in cities that have made the protest-against-tourists headlines. Here’s what I’ve observed, in person, in cafés and on trains and at hotel front desks from Barcelona to Sydney: nothing. Not a sneer, not a cold shoulder, not even a muttered comment.

The anti-American protests are aimed at policy: short-term rentals hollowing out neighborhoods, cruise ship crowds overwhelming small ports, housing costs nobody can afford, and, of course, U.S. politics. The protests aren’t aimed at the polite American couple looking for the cathedral. 

Be a decent guest, learn “please” and “thank you” in the local language, and you’ll be fine. 

The price of being afraid

These fears may be irrational, but they have a cost.

Every traveler who cancels a paid-up trip out of vague dread loses money. Every traveler who sits at home instead of boarding the plane loses the trip itself: the meals, the conversations, the photos.

The world in 2026 is no more dangerous than it was in 2016. By most measures, it’s less so. What’s changed is the volume of the noise around you.

Which brings me back to Smith.

No, Cindy, don’t cancel. Your ship is safe, and so is your route. Go. Eat the schnitzel. See Croatia. Don’t forget to send me a postcard.

Don’t look now, but summer travel intent has hit its lowest point since the pandemic because of rising travel costs. It’s affecting some travelers more than others, and that’s a story you won’t hear anywhere else.

Deloitte’s latest summer travel survey has the numbers: Only 45 percent of travelers surveyed are planning a summer vacation with paid lodging this year, the lowest number in six years.

Travel is down across every income bracket, but the drop among households earning under $100,000 is twice as steep as the decline among middle and high-income earners, an 8-point drop versus 4 points each.

But the travelers who are still going plan to spend $4,069 on their summer vacations, up 17 percent from last year.

In other words, the rich are going on vacation and spending more; the not-so-rich, well, not so much.

Is this the beginning of the end of the American summer vacation?

When it comes to vacations, there’s always been a class divide. One half takes a road trip, the other a luxury cruise. One goes camping, the other glamping. Nothing wrong with that.

But when one half stops traveling entirely, that’s a problem. And not just for the travel industry, which is watching one of its most important markets ground itself. This also affects travelers themselves, who miss out on an essential summer ritual that lets them recharge their batteries and spend time with friends and family.

If this trend continues, with the “haves” taking ever-pricier summer vacations and the “have-nots” staying home, it would be bad for everyone. Affordable travel is one of the backbones of the American travel experience.

What’s happening is obvious. Yes, economic worries are keeping people from taking a trip, but the biggest economic deterrent is the price of a vacation. Higher energy costs and a relentless need to increase shareholder value have pushed rates and fares higher, beyond the reach of the average traveler.

What the travel industry says about rising vacation costs

Hotels and airlines argue that high-net-worth travelers want longer stays, full-service properties, and elevated amenities, and that catering to those customers funds investment in service standards and infrastructure. 

Deloitte’s broader 2026 outlook calls it a “bifurcation” of standard and luxury and frames competition for the high-spending traveler as one of the year’s defining trends. The official line is that this is modernization, not abandonment. 

But the travel industry may regret this restructuring. The value travel segment is a vital part of the travel ecosystem, and turning your back on it could be disastrous.

How to find affordable summer travel deals

The good news is that the same forces hollowing out the market are creating cracks you can travel through. 

Travelers earning between $100,000 and $199,000 are showing the biggest booking gap, with 37 percent fully booked versus 45 percent last year. That’s a lot of empty inventory in late May, and revenue managers know it.

But you won’t see those cuts on Expedia. The big booking sites are designed to protect rate parity for their hotel partners, and the airlines have learned to hide their distressed inventory. The deals are out there, they’re just moving through different doors this year.

Four things can land you a deal that’s more than affordable this summer: 

Call the hotel directly.  Skip the 800 number. Ask the manager on duty what they can do that the website can’t—maybe a 15 to 25 percent midweek discount with parking included. 

Wait longer than feels comfortable. Since the squeeze on suppliers gets worse as the season drags on, good things come to those who wait.

Find the small operator. Family-run inns, independent guides, owner-operated charters. Most will negotiate by email. 

Also, consider a road trip. Driving vacations are off to a strong start this weekend, but research suggests they’ll taper off as the summer gets underway. Planned road trips are down to 66 percent of travelers, from 71 percent last year, which means a lot of Americans have written off driving. That’s an opportunity for a more affordable summer vacation.

And now, the poll

That brings us to this week’s question.

And a few follow-up questions:

If you said yes:

• Did you book through a major site, or did you go direct to the property?
• Are you spending more, less, or about the same as last summer?

If you said no:

• Was it the airfare, the lodging, or the total trip cost that pushed you out?
• Would a 20 percent discount on lodging change your mind, or are you done with the math entirely?

My take: The industry has picked its customer, and it isn’t the family in the minivan. I’m not bothered by the luxury part. It’s the abandonment of the middle class, and the way the industry has stopped pretending to care.

Your turn

Is the middle-class family vacation finished, or have you found a way around the pricing wall this summer? Tell me in the comments.

Anders Lendager is contemplating the practicalities of a new 20-story skyscraper in Aarhus, Denmark.

And this one is all about practicality. It’s not just any skyscraper. This one, built last year in the port district of Sydhavnen, is made of wood and recycled material. In fact, it is Denmark’s tallest wooden building.

TRÆ is Lendager’s creation, inspired by the climate crisis and years of pushing the limits of what you can, and can’t, reuse in a building.

“We wanted to show what is possible,” says Lendager, who runs his eponymous Danish-Icelandic architecture firm.

Lendager’s creation, and indeed, Aarhus itself, is a powerful reminder that the world we live in is a finite resource.

Denmark’s second city has moved beyond aspirational climate goals. It has internalized the Nordic sensibility that security, safety, and high quality of life are inseparable from environmental integrity. 

How Aarhus is becoming a sustainable tourist destination

Here are some of the city’s sustainability highlights:

Climate target: The overriding objective of the climate plan is achieving carbon neutrality by 2030.

Energy transition: The city phased out coal energy a decade ago and is switching to geothermal heating.

Waste as a resource: Waste is integrated into the city’s energy supply, with the municipal incinerator facility burning around 42 percent of collected waste to produce electricity and warm water, supplying 16 percent of the heat consumed by the district heating system. Only about 2 percent of waste ends up as landfill.

Green shipping incentives: The Port of Aarhus established Denmark’s first shore power facility for cruise ships in 2023, allowing docked ships to connect to green electricity from Danish wind turbines.

But to really see how sustainable Aarhus has become, you have to visit. This region offers everything from climate-change-proof streets to back-to-nature accommodations. And its sustainability leaders have an important message for anyone who will listen.

Integrating history and climate adaptation in Randers

An artificial lake in Randers, part of the city’s ambitious rainwater management system. (Photo by Aren Elliott.)

It turns out the Aarhus region has a rich history of sustainability. In nearby Randers, a town that showcases 400-year-old half-timbered houses, cobblestone streets and factories turned into cafés, sustainability has been built directly into the streets. 

“Randers has developed sophisticated rainwater management systems,” explains Kristiina Hansen-Götze, a city guide.

Why? Randers has adapted to climate change, which projects more intense rainfall and rising sea levels. The new systems, built over the last decade, are designed to work with, not against, the rising tide. 

Hansen-Götze emphasized that they intentionally designed them so that the solutions don’t look like something made to prevent flooding. She says so far, the new drainage system, which is still being tested, has worked well by protecting the town from potentially devastating floods even during heavy rains. 

For visitors, this means they can enjoy Randers’ gift shops, restaurants and cafés without having to wade through puddles. In the long term, it will also ensure the city doesn’t wash away.

“And the system looks beautiful, like it was always meant to be here,” she adds.

That sense of form and function extends to the region’s hotels.

The premium of Nordic wellness and culture

Jesper Buus, a district director for Scandic Hotels, on the construction site of Bassin Seven, his newest hotel. (Photo by Aren Elliott.)

This focus on core values like safety, health, and the environment has become the foundation of the local tourism and hospitality sector, allowing it to command a premium internationally. Anne Hübner, a spokeswoman for Visit Aarhus, says the city’s quality of life is driven by security, safety, and trust, values that score highly on the happiest citizens index.

“It’s one of the reasons people want to visit Aarhus, to experience this for themselves,” she says.

Scandic Hotels, one of the largest hotel chains in the region, is capitalizing on this expectation. Jesper Buus, a district director of Scandic, says that the chain, including the Scandic Aarhus City, has doubled down on the service and amenities people expect from a Nordic hotel. Almost all Scandic hotels meet the Nordic Swan Ecolabel’s standards for energy efficiency, water consumption and waste management.

“Sustainability is such an integrated part of Scandic that we sometimes take what we do for granted,” he admits. Recycling, solar panels, and even on-site beehives were all incorporated into the hotel’s design.

Buus says one of the misconceptions about sustainability is that it means guests have to sacrifice service or amenities. But they don’t here, and there may be no better answer than Scandic’s latest project, a new Signature-branded hotel called Bassin Seven currently under construction near Aarhus’ port.

Buus says the new hotel structure reflects the changing demands of travelers who want a wellness experience, and will feature a large spa that, true to Scandic’s other hotels, will be true to its Nordic values.

He says the understated experience, modern architecture with light wood and a minimalist sensibility along with a line of authentic local experiences, is in high demand. It is just one part of the sustainability puzzle in Aarhus. But to get another perspective from the hospitality industry, you have to drive into one of Denmark’s famous national parks.

Authentic disconnection in Mols Bjerge

A yurt in Mols Bjerge National Park. (Photo by Aren Elliott.)

The dedication to authentic environmental practice reaches deep into the idyllic Danish countryside. In the rural setting of Mols Bjerge National Park, Bjørn Haugum operates a glamping site using yurts that capture the concept of friluftsliv, or living outdoors.

Haugum’s philosophy emphasizes simple living, returning to the “basics of life” by focusing on sleeping, physical activity, foraging for food, and keeping warm. But to ensure guests truly disconnect and reflect, Haugum has introduced deliberate friction.

Guests have to park in a public parking spot about a half mile away and walk to their yurt, packing only necessary supplies. This enforced slowdown ensures they are prepared for an outdoor adventure and pack only what they need.

The actual accommodations are simple yurts with open fireplaces that push guests to disconnect from their electronic devices and reconnect with each other, and nature itself.

“We actually don’t use terms like carbon-neutral when we describe what we do, because there’s been so much greenwashing,” Haugum adds. “We’d rather walk the walk. We want to inspire people, not lecture to them about their environmental commitments.”

The operation supports local communities by sourcing from nearby producers, such as buying fruit wines from local vendors. Haugum and his wife say they want to keep this project small and exclusive, focusing on guests who share their vision of living outdoors.

But Haugum says he wants to add one more thing to his property. The rolling hills of northern Denmark may have inspired J.R.R. Tolkien when he wrote The Hobbit, and Haugum would like to build a Hobbit house on his property. He hopes to reach the Tolkien tourists who come to this area with his message of friluftsliv.

“We probably won’t be able to call it a Hobbit house, because of copyright issues,” he says. “But it will be great.”

One thing is certain: A Hobbit house will be the ultimate green accommodation. But it won’t be the only one.

The architect who made trash a commodity

Lendager, the architect who built the wooden high-rise in Aarhus, is on a mission to change the way people build in Denmark. He says architects must learn to design within their limits, and that means viewing discarded materials as valuable assets. He hopes TRÆ can show others that this philosophy is financially robust, scalable, and, most importantly, sustainable.

Lendager recalls that the client, a large pension fund, initially sought to compensate tenants for the risk associated with innovation by reducing rent to 1.5 percent below the market rate.

The project drew so much attention that the client instead went the other way, adding 25 percent to the rent prices. 

“It’s priced like a premium product,” he says.

Demand was overwhelming.

“Everything was leased out before we started building,” he says.

What’s the appeal? Well, almost everything is sustainable. Lendager collected the aluminum panels cladding the exterior from several sources, including farms, old mailboxes and the roof of a demolished building. 

Lendager detailed the startling economic impact: The panels cost just $10,000 for the whole building, which he estimated was approximately dramatically cheaper than using traditional materials.

The hardest part of the project was the solar shades for the building, which are made from the fiberglass of discarded wind turbine blades. Upon reaching the end of their service life, these blades typically end up in landfills. By developing a process to cut these composites into building elements, Lendager’s company slashed the project’s carbon dioxide footprint when compared to using an aluminum or motorized system.

For Lendager, this innovative sourcing means that design should follow availability, not form. 

“Architecture is moving away from temples that manifest man’s dominance over nature and toward structures that are more cooperative and show gratitude to Earth,” he says.

A long-term investment in sustainability

The sustainable narrative emerging from Aarhus isn’t one of sacrifice or mandated austerity. It’s a pragmatic recognition that high quality of life, from the integrity of the architecture you inhabit to the water you drink and the nature you enjoy, is a premium product that requires long-term investment.

The goal here isn’t simply to avoid environmental disaster; it’s to build a desirable, higher-value reality. 

It is not an easy path, and it is not cheap. Denmark’s sustainability investments are supported by the country’s high taxes, and Aarhus is by no means a bargain destination. But if you want to see a region that is transforming itself into a truly sustainable destination, there may be no better place in the world to visit. For other destinations, a sustainable path may be an attractive way forward, but for Aarhus, it is the only way.

Sharon McMonagle orders $1,176 in club seats for a Lumineers concert, but StubHub sends her tickets for seats in a completely different section the day before the show. The company promises a refund, then reverses course and refuses to pay. Can she get her money back?

Question

I bought four tickets to see The Lumineers in concert for $1,176 a few months ago. I specifically ordered club section seats through StubHub. But something felt wrong immediately. The confirmation email didn’t include any seat numbers, which seemed suspicious. I disputed the charge with my credit card company, but because the concert wasn’t scheduled for a few months, my credit card denied my dispute.

Fast forward to the day before the concert. StubHub finally sent me four tickets. But they were in a completely different section, with no club access whatsoever. I called customer service right away. The agent told me there were no alternative tickets available.

Here’s where it gets complicated: StubHub asked me to accept the wrong tickets and then transfer them back. I told the agent I was in a no-win situation. If I accepted the tickets, StubHub would consider them mine and I’d be stuck with them. The agent seemed to understand my concern and told me to send a screenshot proving I hadn’t accepted the tickets, which I did.

Then I received an email from StubHub saying it would help me with a refund. I thought the problem was solved. But when I called back the following week, a StubHub representative said they had 45 days to process my refund. After waiting the full 45 days with no refund, I called again. This time, a customer service representative told me that since I hadn’t returned the tickets, I wouldn’t get a refund.

I explained that I’d followed the agent’s instructions and sent the screenshot. But StubHub suddenly claimed I should have followed different return instructions from an earlier email that told me to transfer the tickets back from my Ticketmaster account. The problem? I never accepted the tickets into my Ticketmaster account in the first place, so there was nothing to transfer back. The whole situation feels like a carefully designed trap.

StubHub advertises its FanProtect Guarantee, which promises buyers will receive the tickets they ordered or comparable replacements, or get a full refund. I got none of those things. Can you help me get my $1,176 back? — Sharon McMonagle, Louisville, Colo.

Answer

StubHub should have refunded your money immediately, as promised. 

Its FanProtect Guarantee is crystal clear. If you don’t receive the tickets you ordered, the company promises comparable replacements or will issue a full refund. You ordered club section seats. You received tickets to a completely different section. 

StubHub created the confusion here. Its customer service agents gave you conflicting instructions about how to return the tickets. One agent told you to send a screenshot proving you hadn’t accepted them. Another email said you needed to transfer tickets back through Ticketmaster — tickets you never accepted in the first place. Then a third representative promised you a refund. No wonder you were confused.

You did almost everything right. You contacted StubHub immediately when you realized something was wrong with your order. You called customer service the day before the concert when you received the wrong tickets. You followed the agent’s instructions and sent the requested screenshot. You kept excellent records of every interaction.

I say “almost” because I wouldn’t have filed a credit card dispute. There was no way to know if the transaction was fraudulent until the day of the show. (Related: StubHub FanProtect guarantee failed. Here’s how one buyer fought back.)

I would have also escalated your complaint to a StubHub executive sooner. I publish a list of StubHub executive contacts on my consumer advocacy site, Elliott.org. A brief, polite email to one of these executives with your paper trail attached often cuts through the customer service red tape.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen StubHub’s ticket return process trap consumers in an impossible situation. I recently helped another reader who received tickets for the wrong date to a Taylor Swift concert. And I’ve mediated several cases where StubHub’s FanProtect Guarantee didn’t protect fans.

StubHub’s return process needs to be simpler and more transparent. When a company sends you the wrong tickets, you shouldn’t need a consumer advocate to get your money back. The FanProtect Guarantee should protect you automatically — not after weeks of calls and emails.

Here’s my advice for anyone buying tickets through a resale marketplace: Document everything. Save every email. Take screenshots of your order confirmation and any tickets you receive. If something goes wrong, contact customer service immediately and follow up in writing. And if the company refuses to honor its guarantee, don’t wait 45 days. Escalate to an executive contact right away.

I contacted StubHub on your behalf. The company acknowledged its communication created confusion about next steps.

“We regret the challenges Ms. McMonagle experienced with her ticket order,” a StubHub spokeswoman told me. “Our FanProtect Guarantee ensures buyers receive the tickets they ordered or comparable replacements, or receive a full refund. In this case, the tickets provided did not match what was purchased, and our communication created confusion about next steps.” 

StubHub issued a full refund along with a 25 percent voucher toward a future purchase. 

A duplicate reservation on a Sky Express flight disrupts a Cleveland couple’s return from Greece. Delta cancels and rebooks their flights, leaving them scrambling for tickets, luggage, and connections—and facing an unexpected charge.

Question

My wife and I recently flew from Cleveland to Athens. Our return flights from Thessaloniki to Cleveland were booked through Delta, but the first leg of our return flight was on Sky Express, a regional airline.

When we tried to check in online for our Sky Express flight from Thessaloniki to Athens, we were blocked because of a 185 euro balance linked to a third passenger with my name — an obvious error. Sky Express refused to correct the mistake and told us Delta had to fix it.

We called Delta reservations. The agent canceled the original Sky Express flight and rebooked a new segment from Thessaloniki to Athens. But that also caused our return flight from Athens to Cleveland to be canceled. We had to pick up our luggage in Athens and rebook our flights home.

We had to pay $435 for a new reservation on Aegean Air to Athens. Delta promised a refund for the canceled flight plus 12 euros for seat assignments, but then denied our claim. We are seeking the refund originally promised by Delta. — Robert Kempke, Rocky River, Ohio

Answer

Your experience shows how quickly a minor airline error can snowball into a full-blown travel nightmare. 

It looks like there was a duplicate passenger entry which the airline’s system flagged. That prevented you from checking in online, ultimately invalidating the entire reservation and forcing you to book a new Sky Express segment. But that also broke your original itinerary, leading to the cancellation of your Delta flight home. You had to buy a new ticket from Thessaloniki to Athens and you had to pick up your luggage in Athens and recheck it for your return flight to the U.S. What a headache!

You documented everything — the receipts, seat assignment fees, call notes, and Delta’s denial of your claim. This paper trail was essential in resolving the dispute. (Related: He accepted a $15,000 offer to give up his seat. Then Delta called him a liar.)

It also helps to know your rights. Under U.S. Department of Transportation rules, passengers are entitled to automatic and prompt refunds for flights canceled by the airline, and European Union Regulation 261/2004 applies to flights within or departing the EU. Knowing these protections gives you leverage when requesting reimbursement.

How did this error happen? Somehow, Sky Express booked two tickets for you on one leg of your return journey. I would have recommended confirming your flight before you left, but you did that and Delta indicated you were all set. There was no way to know about this trouble before you arrived in Greece.

One thing is clear: If Delta promised a refund it should have made good on its offer. When an airline goes back on its word, you have options, including an appeal to a Delta executive. (I list their names, numbers and emails on my consumer advocacy site, Elliott.org)

I contacted the airline on your behalf. Delta’s Customer Care team reviewed your case and reimbursed the full amount for the canceled Sky Express segment, honoring the refund originally promised. While the transaction was handled poorly, your diligence and documentation made a successful outcome possible.

When Shiri Willcot’s travel agent tried to book a flight for her 13-year-old daughter Ryan from Los Angeles to Costa Rica with a connection in Houston, the reservation system said no.

United Airlines doesn’t allow unaccompanied minors on connecting flights. Full stop. It’s right there in the policy: children ages 5 to 14 traveling alone can only fly nonstop.

But then something unusual happened: A United supervisor intervened during the initial booking process, overrode the system, and approved the reservation. The airline even charged Willcot’s credit card the $300 unaccompanied minor fee. 

And just two days before the flight, a United representative confirmed on a recorded call that Ryan “would have no problem boarding.”

But two days later, at the ticket counter at Los Angeles International Airport, there was a problem.

United agents refused to let Ryan board. “They wouldn’t even look up the flight,” Willcot says. “They just kept saying she shouldn’t have been booked on a connecting flight.”

This case raises several important questions about airline policies and passenger rights:

• Can airlines authorize exceptions to their own policies, then deny passengers at the gate based on those same policies?
• What documentation proves a passenger has been wrongfully denied boarding when the airline claims no record exists?
• Who’s responsible when a travel agent obtains verbal authorization from an airline, but the airline later disputes it happened?

But let’s get back to the flight that wasn’t, and the poor teenager left stranded at LAX.

How did this happen?

Here’s the backstory: Willcot had been planning a family vacation to Costa Rica. The itinerary seemed straightforward: Ryan would fly from LAX to Houston, where Willcot would meet her, and they’d continue together to San Jose, Costa Rica.

But not so fast. United’s unaccompanied minor program prohibits connecting flights for children under 15 traveling alone. The system simply wouldn’t process Ryan’s booking.

“I just spoke with United and they manually configured United’s flights for us,” Ryan Gomez, one of Willcot’s travel agents at RZRV Travel, wrote in an email to Willcot immediately after completing the booking. “Usually, they don’t allow indirect flights (connections) for minors, so they had to get authorization for us.”

The booking went through. United issued a confirmation. The airline charged her credit card a $300 unaccompanied minor fee.

Everything appeared in order.

“We followed up with United on two additional occasions prior to travel to reconfirm there would be no issue, and were assured the booking was valid,” RZRV Travel later confirmed in a written statement. “Notes were also added to the reservation during those calls.”

The last call, confirming her daughter could board the flight, was recorded by her. (You know, for quality assurance purposes.)

The trip that required a supervisor override

United’s denial of boarding set off a cascade of problems. Ryan’s father, who’d taken her to the airport, couldn’t get her a replacement ticket on the same flight. Willcot ended up purchasing a one-way ticket for Ryan to fly alone from Los Angeles to Costa Rica a day later.

When Willcot tried to get answers from United, things got stranger. Customer service representatives told her their system showed only a one-way return ticket, but no record of the original outbound flight and no record of the denial at LAX.  (Related: Oh no! United Airlines changed our flight, and now we can’t make our connection.)

It was as if the whole thing had never happened.

Except Willcot had the confirmation emails. She had the $300 charge on her credit card statement. She had screenshots of her travel agent’s chats with United. And she even had a recorded call assuring her that her daughter could board the flight.

United’s written responses came next, each one contradicting the last. 

First, the airline said the travel agency had booked against policy without authorization. Then it claimed no supervisor would have approved the itinerary. Later, a United representative left Willcot a voicemail admitting one explanation was “wrong” and promising a corrected version. 

Can airlines authorize exceptions to their own policies, then reverse them?

United’s unaccompanied minor policy is unambiguous: children 5 to 14 must travel on nonstop flights only. No connections, no exceptions.

Except when there are exceptions.

Airlines do make policy overrides. They’re called supervisor approvals for a reason. Gate agents can’t authorize them, but managers and supervisors can. It happens when a passenger has a compelling reason, when circumstances are unusual, or when the airline determines the standard rule shouldn’t apply.

In Ryan’s case, the circumstances were specific: her mother would be arriving in Houston on a separate flight before Ryan’s connection to Costa Rica departed. United’s own policy states that unaccompanied minors must “be met by another parent, legal guardian, or responsible adult upon deplaning at the final destination.” 

Willcot would be there, eliminating the unaccompanied part of the connection.

The travel agents couldn’t have completed the booking without United’s intervention. When you try to book an unaccompanied minor on a connecting flight through United’s website, the system displays “N/A” for all dates.

“It is not possible to book an unaccompanied minor with a layover through United’s system,” RZRV Travel confirmed. “A United representative placed us on hold, consulted a supervisor, and then confirmed that they could override the system and book the flight over the phone for us. Without that override, the reservation could not have been issued.”

So what happened? Did United authorize the booking or not?

According to United’s contract of carriage, “no employee or agent of UA has the authority to alter, modify, or waive any fare rules or any provision of the Contract of Carriage unless authorized by a corporate officer of UA.”

That’s the airline’s position. No corporate officer authorized Ryan’s travel on a connecting flight, United claims, therefore no valid exception existed.

But if no authorization existed, how did the ticket get issued? How did the $300 unaccompanied minor fee get charged? How did three separate United representatives — including one on a recorded call two days before departure — confirm Ryan could fly?

The answer appears to be that someone at United did authorize it. The airline just doesn’t want to admit it.

What documentation proves wrongful denial when the airline has no record?

Here’s where Willcot’s case gets a little strange. For a full month after the LAX denial, United claimed to have no record of Ryan’s original flight.

When Willcot contacted customer service through the online portal, a representative reviewed the account. 

“Our records show only a one-way return ticket,” he told her. No outbound flight from LAX to Houston. No connection to Costa Rica. And no denial at the airport.

Willcot sent screenshots of the booking confirmation. She sent the credit card statement showing the $300 unaccompanied minor charge. She sent call logs from her travel agents. 

United’s response: Sorry, we don’t see it in our system.

This is where things get difficult for passengers. Airlines control the records and their own reservation systems. They control what’s documented and what isn’t. If an airline says something didn’t happen, and its system shows no record, how does a passenger prove otherwise?

Willcot had documentation, but it wasn’t enough. Email confirmations can be dismissed. Credit card charges prove payment but not authorization. Call logs show a conversation occurred, not what was said.

The recorded call was Willcot’s strongest evidence, but United never acknowledged it. The airline’s written responses repeatedly stated that no United representative “would have been authorized” to confirm Ryan could travel on connecting flights. Whether one actually did was irrelevant, according to United’s airline logic.

A few weeks later, Willcot sent a formal demand letter to United, requesting $20,000 in compensation. 

And just when you think things couldn’t get any stranger, they do. A manager sent another response after Willcot filed a complaint with the Department of Transportation, contradicting the first one. The United rep even left a voicemail saying to disregard the earlier email because it was “wrong.”

Within a month, United had decided on its final narrative: the travel agency booked against policy, no authorization was given, and the airline’s denial at LAX was appropriate.

“The customer’s travel agency booked an unaccompanied 13-year-old child on an itinerary with a connecting flight, which is not permitted under our unaccompanied minor policy,” United told my team after we asked about this case.

But there was one more twist.

Who’s responsible when verbal authorization later gets disputed?

A few weeks later, United provided additional context to my advocacy team: Willcot’s flight from Portland to Houston had been delayed. She wouldn’t have arrived before Ryan’s connecting flight, United claimed, violating the requirement that an adult meet the unaccompanied minor upon deplaning.

This was the first time anyone had mentioned a delay.

According to United, Willcot’s flight delay registration showed at 10:01 p.m. Pacific time — right around when Ryan was checking in at LAX. The initial delay projection showed Willcot arriving 15 minutes after Ryan’s scheduled arrival in Houston.

If true, this would potentially justify United’s denial. The airline’s unaccompanied minor policy requires an adult to be “at the gate 30 minutes before their arrival time.” If Willcot couldn’t be there, Ryan couldn’t fly as an unaccompanied minor.

Except the timing doesn’t add up.

Willcot’s flight wasn’t scheduled to depart Portland until 11:59 p.m. — nearly two hours after Ryan checked in at LAX. When Ryan was denied boarding around 10 p.m., Willcot’s flight hadn’t even been posted as delayed yet.

“At the time of Ryan’s denial, no delay was yet posted for our flight,” Willcot says. “The first announcement came later and was only a 15-minute delay.”

More importantly, the ticket agents at LAX never mentioned Willcot’s flight or any delay. Willcot asked them to look up her reservation to confirm she’d arrive first. They refused, stating simply that unaccompanied minors shouldn’t be booked on connecting flights.

If the real reason for the denial was the delay, why didn’t United say so at the time? Why did the airline’s subsequent explanations never mention it until three months later, after multiple other rationales had failed?

“United has shifted its story multiple times, with each new explanation contradicting the last,” Willcot notes. “If there had been a valid reason, it would have been stated consistently from the start.”

United’s contract of carriage allows the airline to refuse transportation for safety reasons. If United genuinely believed Ryan would arrive in Houston with no adult present to meet her, denying boarding would be appropriate.

But that requires United to have known about the delay, checked Willcot’s flight, and determined she couldn’t arrive on time. None of that appears to have happened at LAX. The agents simply saw a connecting flight for an unaccompanied minor and said no.

The travel agency maintains its position: United authorized the booking, reconfirmed it twice before departure, and only denied it at the gate based on policy — not operational issues.

“Ultimately, the decision to authorize, deny, or compensate lies with United Airlines,” RZRV Travel told us.

United also maintains its position: the travel agency booked against policy without proper authorization, and the denial was appropriate.

So what was the resolution?

United refunded Ryan’s unused flight segment from LAX to Houston: $375. The airline also refunded the $300 unaccompanied minor fee and offered 25,000 MileagePlus miles “as a gesture of goodwill.”

Total value: approximately $1,000, depending on how you value the miles.

Willcot spent $679 on the replacement Alaska Airlines ticket. She spent hours on phone calls, emails, and documentation trying to piece together what happened. And her 13-year-old daughter was denied boarding after her family had done everything United told them to do.

Our advocate Dwayne Coward asked the airline repeatedly to explain the supervisor override, the multiple conflicting explanations, and the disappearing reservation records. United declined to comment beyond its prepared statement blaming the travel agency.

We also contacted RZRV Travel, giving the agency an opportunity to respond. Initially reluctant to be involved, the agents eventually provided a detailed account supporting Willcot’s version of events.

“This reservation could not have been completed without United Airlines’ intervention,” an agency representative wrote. “We followed up with United on two additional occasions prior to travel to reconfirm there would be no issue, and were assured the booking was valid.”

After reviewing all the documentation — confirmation emails, call logs, credit card statements, United’s contradictory written responses, and the timeline of events — the truth became clear to us. United must have authorized an exception to its unaccompanied minor policy, allowed the booking to be ticketed, collected payment, then reversed course at the gate without a clear explanation.

Willcot may yet pursue legal action. For now, she’s left with an expensive extra airline ticket and an unresolved grievance with an airline.

“I don’t need to keep proving what I lived through,” Willcot says. “I was fully aware of the contract of carriage — and what United relied on the night of the flight was the connection rule, which they had already broken by finalizing and confirming the booking.”

Bottom line: When you get an exception to the rules, make sure you get it in writing. Documentation may not prevent airlines from changing their mind — but it makes it harder to pretend the conversation never happened.

Your flight is canceled. Your hotel loses your reservation. Your car rental company runs out of vehicles.

So what does the company do? It reaches into its favor bag and offers you a voucher or a “goodwill” credit that expires in a year.

It’s called coupon justice, and it’s a troubling trend quietly sweeping the travel industry. Coupon justice is an increasingly automated system for handling legitimate customer complaints. 

And no, it’s not justice at all. It’s corporate self-preservation and penny-pinching, dressed up in customer-friendly language.

Coupon justice is everywhere

The practice has exploded since the pandemic, when companies pivoted to vouchers to hoard cash. Now, years later, they’ve discovered another benefit: Travelers don’t always use the scrip. And the company keeps the money without having to give them anything.

“It’s elegant in a way,” says Joe Cronin, president of International Citizens Insurance. “The airline gets interest-free financing. You get trapped in their ecosystem. Nobody gets made whole.”

But these partial remedies aren’t compensation. They’re corporate loopholes dressed in business casual, and you don’t have to fall for them on your next trip.

Here’s why companies love vouchers (and you should hate them)

Here’s how it works in practice: Let’s say something goes terribly wrong with your $180 hotel room, like incessant construction noise or a broken shower. Instead of offering you a refund for the night, the hotel gives you a $50 voucher for a future stay. 

There are two problems: First, there are no $50 rooms, so you’ll have to pay more to redeem this offer. Also, the hotel knows there’s a good chance your voucher will sit in your desk until it expires. It should have paid you $180, but instead you have nothing of real value.

Let me be blunt: Vouchers solve a company’s problem, not yours.

When you get a voucher instead of a refund, the company keeps your money on its books. The value of the voucher doesn’t immediately hit the balance sheet as a loss. It becomes a liability, but one the company doesn’t have to pay until (and unless) you redeem it.

And if you don’t spend it? The company wins twice: It kept your money and avoided paying you at all.

“Coupons allow the wrongdoer to keep its ill-gotten gains,” explains Danny Karon, author of Your Lovable Lawyers Guide To Legal Wellness: Fighting back against a world that’s out to cheat you. “Everyone knows how often gift cards go unused, which is precisely the company’s goal. They drive additional business to the wrongdoer, with victims often spending more than the value of the voucher.”

Can airlines force you to accept a voucher instead of a refund?

Under U.S. Department of Transportation (DOT) rules, airlines have to provide prompt refunds to your original form of payment when they cancel flights or make significant changes. But an airline can also offer a voucher, and if you say yes, it’s a done deal. Many passengers don’t know this. So when the airline offers a flight credit, travelers assume it’s their only option.

It’s not.

“Airlines offering only vouchers without a genuine cash option violate these legal obligations,” says Eric Napoli, chief legal officer at AirHelp.

Hotels and booking sites operate in a legal gray zone. Few hard rules govern their refund practices. They’ll push credits unless you push back.

How to fight back — and win

Vouchers aren’t inevitable. You can get real refunds if you know what to do.

Start with reliable documentation. Ari Cibari, who works with tour operators untangling refund disputes, swears by one simple habit: Document everything. Note dates and times of any delay or cancellation. Take photos of receipts, vouchers, and anything else relevant. “Use clear language,” says Cibari, a travel business consultant with AtlasPerk. “Keep everything in writing versus phone calls. Take a screenshot of the terms, note date and times. Don’t aim for perfection, aim for immediacy.” Having good documentation greatly increases your chance of having an airtight case.

When a company offers you a voucher, refuse it in writing. Use the phrase “breach of contract” or “failure to deliver service as promised.” Request a full refund to your original form of payment. Keep a copy of that email.

If they insist on giving you a coupon, escalate. Contact a manager. If that doesn’t work, file a complaint with the DOT (for airlines) or the Federal Trade Commission (for booking sites). If it’s outside the U.S., go to the appropriate country’s aviation regulator or consumer protection agency.

If that doesn’t work, dispute the charge with your credit card company. When you have a clean paper trail — emails, screenshots, receipts — you’re likely to win.

What needs to change

I’ve been watching this trend since I started advocating consumer cases in the 90s. And I’m sure of this: Coupon justice won’t end without regulatory pressure. 

Here’s what might actually work:

Limit the voucher option. If governments require airlines to offer a cash refund and only give vouchers on request, that would stop some (but not all) of the shenanigans.

Disclose everything. Consumers need to know that for many travel credits, the actual redemption rate for vouchers is below 10 percent. In other words, there’s a 90 percent chance the voucher will go unused. Also, businesses should be up front about expiration dates or any other limits.

Eliminate expiration dates. Also, kill any blackout dates and minimum spending requirements. Allow the credit to be used all at once or split into several purchases.

Most importantly, we need to enforce the rules that exist. The DOT’s refund requirements are clear. So are Europe’s. But enforcement is weak, so companies sometimes ignore them. 

Coupon justice isn’t justice at all. It’s another word  for “we’re keeping your money and hoping you won’t fight back.” But you can’t win if you don’t try. And companies are betting you won’t.

If you needed a sign that the universe wants you to skip a cruise this summer, here it is.

There’s the MV Hondius, the Dutch expedition ship that limped into Tenerife last week after a hantavirus outbreak killed three people and infected at least eight more. The Andes virus strain responsible is the only hantavirus known to spread person to person.

There’s the Caribbean Princess, which arrived in Port Canaveral, Fla., carrying a different souvenir: norovirus. The CDC reports that 102 passengers and 13 crew members fell ill on the 13-day Caribbean voyage out of Fort Lauderdale. It’s the fourth gastrointestinal outbreak on a cruise ship this year.

U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) confirmed last week that federal agents had boarded eight cruise ships at the Port of San Diego and detained 28 crew members. CBP said 27 of them were involved in the receipt, possession, transportation, distribution, or viewing of child sexual abuse material.

Even if you survive the viruses and scandals, you might still run out of luck. This week, an 88-year-old passenger reportedly died after losing control of her mobility scooter on the pier at Carnival’s private island, Celebration Key in the Bahamas, and plunging into the water. (Related: The cruise ship virus is back. Why did we fire the health inspectors, again?)

Zoom out, and the picture gets even worse. 

The problems plaguing the cruise industry, from viral outbreaks and accidents to scandals, are compounded by ships sailing under flags of convenience, which ensure minimal regulation and maximum profit through a fine-tuned system designed to siphon more money from your wallet.

A regulated industry, mostly in theory

These ships do not, in any meaningful sense, sail under U.S. law. The Caribbean Princess flies the flag of Bermuda. Most of the Carnival fleet flies Panama or the Bahamas. Royal Caribbean prefers the Bahamas and Liberia. They’re called flags of convenience, and the convenience belongs to the operator, not to you. It means a company headquartered in Miami can pay crew wages set by Honduran labor norms, follow safety standards written in Nassau, and route disputes through courts outside the United States.

The one U.S. agency with real authority over sanitation on ships that call at American ports is the CDC’s Vessel Sanitation Program. One year ago, the administration laid off the program’s full-time civilian staff, including the epidemiologist who led the outbreak response on cruise ships (12 U.S. Public Health Service officers remained). The program chief announced his retirement last week, in the middle of the hantavirus outbreak.

What it looks like when something goes wrong

The headlines describe outbreaks and arrests, but most cruises fall short in smaller ways.

Shari Lunsford, a receptionist from Livingston, Tenn., paid $1,500 for a Carnival cruise last month from New Orleans to Cozumel. Nothing in her cabin worked. She says the sinks and showers would not drain. She stood in two inches of water every time she bathed. Her toilet stopped working twice, sending her in search of a public restroom several decks up. Her stateroom thermostat would not go below 73 degrees, which the ship’s cabin crew told her is within company policy. Her room steward eventually brought a fan. She slept on an ice pack.

Lunsford complained at guest services on board, which sent her a cheap bottle of champagne and a cheese plate. Off the ship, she escalated her complaint. A representative from the cruise line’s office of the president called her, listened to her story, and offered the final compensation: a future cruise credit of $99 per person, plus a $150 onboard credit, both redeemable within a year.

That’s right, the remedy for a $1,500 trip Lunsford describes as a nightmare is a small discount on a second trip with the same company. 

What are you getting when you cruise?

Suppose you decide none of that bothers you, and you just like being on a ship.

Here’s what you need to know: In addition to being loosely regulated and sometimes dangerous, a cruise ship is a carefully calibrated machine designed to extract more money from your wallet.

Cruises are filled with annoying and not always avoidable upsells and fees. There’s the upsell from the buffet to the specialty restaurant. There’s the push for the drink package at the bar. And, of course, there’s the overpriced shore excursion.

Gratuities that used to be discretionary are now line items added to your folio “for your convenience.” Passengers rarely question them because they feel guilty about the substandard wages the crew receives. 

The art auction, the photo package, the casino, the spa upsell, the Wi-Fi, it all adds to your bill.

So in addition to the danger, you also get dinged for extras. If you want to know how that feels, just grab a coffee on the last day of a cruise and sit at the reception desk, where passengers are trying to settle their bill. Yes, there’s a reason those security guys are standing there, too. Get ready for fireworks.

Don’t take a cruise this summer

There’s only one sane conclusion: This isn’t the summer for a cruise. A vacation at sea is a dangerous, deregulated disaster-in-the-making designed to drain money from your bank account. You can’t forecast the next viral outbreak, but the cruise experience itself is predictable. 

Cruise lines, for the most part, care more about monetizing passengers than serving them. They care more about upselling them than keeping them safe. 

Stay on land this summer. It’s a vacation you might actually survive.