Some days, I don't earn even a cent.
A war fought thousands of miles from Southeast Asia's temple towns and beach resorts is nonetheless rewriting the economic fate of the region's most vulnerable workers. Soaring jet fuel costs born of the Iran conflict have driven airfares beyond the reach of would-be travelers, emptied the streets of Siem Reap, and drained the income of millions who depend on tourism not as a luxury but as a lifeline. In countries where tourism constitutes up to thirteen percent of GDP, the arithmetic of a tuk-tuk driver earning five dollars a day — half of which goes to gasoline — is also the arithmetic of entire national economies. The world's conflicts, it turns out, do not stay where they begin.
- Jet fuel surcharges have doubled and tripled across major carriers, making airfares prohibitive for travelers who had saved for years to visit the region.
- Visitor arrivals to Siem Reap collapsed 37.5% in early 2026, and the ripple effect is shuttering restaurants, emptying markets, and silencing the tuk-tuks that once crowded temple roads.
- Small business owners like a Siem Reap restaurateur struggle to pay fourteen employees while cooking gas prices surge and revenue evaporates simultaneously.
- Regional governments and development economists are watching growth forecasts shrink, with Moody's projecting a loss of up to 0.4 percentage points of GDP growth across Asia-Pacific in 2026.
- Workers earning survival-level wages have no buffer — a tuk-tuk driver making five dollars a day, half consumed by fuel, represents millions facing an income cliff with no safety net beneath them.
The summer travel season was supposed to be Southeast Asia's economic lifeline — the months when foreign visitors refill the coffers of tourism-dependent nations still recovering from the pandemic. Instead, the Iran war has severed that expectation. Jet fuel prices have surged, airlines have cut routes or rerouted flights along longer, costlier paths, and ticket prices have climbed steeply enough to stop travelers mid-plan. A freelance writer in Washington who spent weeks mapping out a Thailand itinerary simply stopped when she saw the fares. She is one person, but she stands in for millions making the same quiet cancellation.
In Siem Reap, the human cost has a name and a daily number. Siv Pech drives a tuk-tuk past the temples that once drew hundreds of thousands of visitors a year. He used to earn twenty dollars a day. Now he earns five — half of which goes to gasoline, the other half to food. Some days he earns nothing. His situation is not exceptional; it is representative. International and domestic arrivals to Siem Reap fell 37.5% in the first four months of 2026 compared to the year before. That is not a dip. That is a collapse.
The scale of what is at stake becomes clear in the numbers. Cathay Pacific's medium-haul fuel surcharge jumped from $34 to $80 per ticket; long-haul surcharges nearly tripled. Vietnam Airlines, AirAsia, and Air India followed with their own increases or outright cancellations. In Thailand, tourism accounts for nearly 13% of GDP. In Vietnam, 9%. These are not discretionary industries — they are the economic architecture that holds millions of livelihoods in place.
On the ground, a restaurant owner in Siem Reap watches cooking gas prices climb while her revenue falls, uncertain whether she can keep fourteen employees on payroll. Moody's Analytics estimates the conflict will shave 0.1 to 0.4 percentage points from Asia-Pacific growth in 2026. What makes the moment especially cruel is its timing: the region had been slowly, painfully rebuilding after COVID-19. Hotels were filling again. Workers were recovering. Now, within five years of one catastrophe, another has arrived from thousands of miles away. Tourism will return eventually. The question is who will still be standing when it does.
The summer travel season is supposed to be when Southeast Asia fills with visitors and money flows back into the region's struggling economies. Instead, the war with Iran has upended that calculus entirely. Jet fuel prices have soared, airlines have cut flights or rerouted them along costlier paths, and ticket prices have climbed so steeply that people who had saved for years to visit Thailand or Vietnam are canceling their trips before they even book.
Siv Pech drives a tuk-tuk in Siem Reap, ferrying tourists around the temples and markets that draw hundreds of thousands of visitors each year. He used to make about twenty dollars a day. Now he makes five. Half of that goes to gasoline. The other half covers food. Some days, he said, he doesn't earn anything at all. Pech's arithmetic is the arithmetic of the entire region right now: tourism is collapsing, fuel costs are eating what little income remains, and there is no clear end in sight.
The numbers tell the story at scale. Cathay Pacific raised its fuel surcharge on medium-haul flights from thirty-four dollars to eighty dollars per ticket. Long-haul surcharges nearly tripled, from seventy-three dollars to one hundred seventy-four dollars. Vietnam Airlines, AirAsia, Air India, and other carriers have all implemented similar increases or simply canceled routes altogether. Airspace closures over the Persian Gulf early in the conflict forced planes to take longer, more expensive routes. Travelers, sensing the uncertainty, are booking closer to departure dates—a sign, according to Cathay Pacific's chief commercial officer, of growing hesitation about whether the trip is worth it at all.
Sandra Awodele, a freelance travel writer in Washington, had been planning a long-awaited trip to Thailand for the summer. She spent weeks in March mapping out an itinerary, imagining one or two weeks exploring the country. When she checked airfares, she stopped planning. The prices had become prohibitive. She is one person, but she represents millions making the same calculation across the world right now.
Tourism is not a luxury for these economies—it is infrastructure. In Thailand, tourism accounts for nearly thirteen percent of gross domestic product. In Vietnam, it is nine percent. In Cambodia, it underpins millions of jobs. These are import-dependent countries that rely on the foreign currency that visitors bring in. When tourism collapses, the entire economic foundation shifts. In Siem Reap, the number of international and domestic visitors dropped thirty-seven and a half percent in the first four months of 2026 compared to the same period the year before. That is not a slowdown. That is a cliff.
On the ground, the pressure is immediate and personal. Sokha Sambo runs a popular restaurant in Siem Reap. The price of liquefied petroleum gas for cooking has surged. She is worried about covering her fourteen employees' salaries. She is worried about inflation eating into her margins. She is worried about whether she can keep the doors open. Her worry is shared by thousands of small business owners across the region who are watching their revenue evaporate while their costs climb.
The broader economic picture is grim. Moody's Analytics estimates that the war will reduce economic growth across the Asia-Pacific region by between zero point one and zero point four percentage points in 2026. Albert Park, chief economist at the Asia Development Bank, said the conflict will weigh on growth through higher production costs, higher consumer prices, and weaker external demand. Tourism in Asia has not yet recovered from the COVID-19 pandemic. Now it is being hit again, this time by a war thousands of miles away that has made fuel expensive and travel uncertain.
What makes this moment particularly brutal is the timing. The region had been clawing its way back from the pandemic. Hotels were filling up again. Airlines were adding routes. Workers like Pech were rebuilding their livelihoods. Now, within five years of one catastrophe, another has arrived. The question is not whether tourism will eventually return—it will. The question is which businesses, which workers, which communities will survive long enough to see it.
Citas Notables
With gasoline prices rising and tourism declining, how can we make money?— Siv Pech, tuk-tuk driver in Siem Reap, Cambodia
This, happening within five years of each other, first the pandemic and now the war, is horrible for the tourism industry.— Jitsai Santaputra, The Lantau Group energy consulting firm
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does a war in Iran matter so much to a tuk-tuk driver in Cambodia?
Because that war disrupted oil supplies and sent fuel prices through the roof. When jet fuel gets expensive, airlines raise ticket prices or cut routes. When fewer tourists can afford to come, drivers like Pech lose their customers. It's a chain reaction that moves fast.
But couldn't tourists just take cheaper flights or wait for prices to drop?
Some might, but the uncertainty is paralyzing. Airspace closures, intermittent airport shutdowns, fuel surcharges that keep climbing—people don't know if the price they see today will be the price tomorrow. So they don't book at all. That hesitation is as damaging as the high prices themselves.
Is this just a short-term squeeze, or is something structural breaking?
It's both. In the short term, yes, prices will eventually stabilize. But the damage to these economies is real and immediate. A restaurant owner can't pay her staff for months while waiting for tourists to return. A driver earning five dollars a day can't survive on that. Some businesses won't make it to the other side.
Why is tourism so critical to these countries anyway?
Because they're import-dependent. They need foreign currency to buy things from other countries. Tourism brings that currency in. When it stops, they lose not just jobs but the ability to import fuel, food, medicine—the basics. It's not discretionary spending; it's survival.
What happens to workers like Pech if this drags on?
That's the question nobody wants to answer. If visitor numbers stay down for months, some will find other work. Some will go hungry. Some will leave their cities or countries entirely. The human cost is invisible in the economic forecasts, but it's real.
Is there anything these countries can do to protect themselves?
Not much in the short term. They can't control global fuel prices or wars in the Middle East. They can try to diversify their economies, but that takes years. For now, they're waiting and hoping the conflict ends quickly.