Welcome to the golden age of "illegal immigration tourism,” a truly perverse hospitality trend sweeping the European continent. In this upside-down world, guests don’t pay, hosts can’t say no, and room service is billed directly to someone else.

The author and academic Steven Pinker argues there has never been a better time to be alive. That is certainly true if you happen to be living on the receiving end of Western Europe’s taxpayer-funded generosity.

In Ireland, where I was born and raised, village hotels that once sustained regional tourism now operate as full-time reception facilities for Africans.

The Brussels package

There was a time when getting to Europe from North Africa was difficult, if not impossible. It required real planning and actual savings. Not anymore. Brussels bureaucrats streamlined the process entirely. Today, a person needs only a dinghy and a willingness to let the German state handle the reservation details — complete with complimentary linen changes and a buffet breakfast.

The recent real estate pivot in Hamburg-Harburg’s Inner Harbor perfectly illustrates the absurdity. Developers recently spent €60 million in combined public and private funds to transform a postindustrial harbor into a sleek waterfront destination. The crown jewel of this urban renewal project is the Niu Quay, a charming hotel aimed at middle- and upper-class visitors. It was supposed to transform the neighborhood’s dining, tourism, and nightlife. Instead, it opened with plenty of fanfare, enjoyed a remarkably brief run as a business, and then promptly shut its doors to paying guests.

Hamburg’s municipal housing agency, Fördern & Wohnen, then stepped in with taxpayer money, leasing all 340 rooms through at least the end of the year. The hotel’s primary function shifted overnight from hosting respectable tourists to serving as an all-inclusive sanctuary for incoming asylum seekers. The city’s public housing system is currently at 102.8% capacity, with hotel suites serving as an administrative workaround to avoid the optics of encampments in public parks.

Seasonal depression

There is plenty of dark humor in this arrangement. A Hamburg native, hamstrung by inflation and stagnant wages, faces an immediate dilemma. He hands over his hard-earned money that funds the municipal lease, only to be priced out of the very city his taxes are supposed to support. He buys the train ticket to the district. Upon arrival, he finds he cannot book a room at the newest hotel because the state outbid him using his own paycheck. If he wishes to enjoy a luxury staycation in his own city, he is out of luck. The state has monopolized the reservation desk and effectively nationalized the local leisure economy.

This situation is dire, and it’s not limited to the banks of the Elbe River. Across Europe, the traditional hospitality sector has morphed into a state-subsidized sanctuary network. In Britain, former Victorian seaside resorts and historic country houses have seen their traditional guest books replaced by lucrative, state-funded government contracts, effectively gutting the high streets and seasonal economies of beautiful coastal towns.

Five-star accommodations, complete with full spa access, state-of-the-art gyms, saunas, and heated indoor swimming pools, are now routinely repurposed to house one-star guests. In Ireland, where I was born and raised, village hotels that once sustained regional tourism now operate as full-time reception facilities for Africans, leaving local pub owners and shopkeepers to wonder where the actual tourists went.

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5-star fandango

The daily economics highlight the insanity. Last year, Hamburg spent an average of €82 ($95) per person per day just on hotel placements for migrants. Combined, the city-states of Hamburg and Berlin dump approximately €4 billion annually into housing and processing costs. That sum buys a staggering amount of high-end lodging.

While local residents cancel their own vacation plans to save money for winter heating bills, the government operates as Europe’s most aggressive luxury travel agent, booking out entire floors of freshly renovated properties without ever asking for a credit card pre-authorization.

City officials in Hamburg recently announced plans to dial back their reliance on expensive hotel leases. Directly after making that public pledge, they signed the lease for the Niu Quay.

Municipal negotiators insist they push for below-market rates, yet city agencies routinely sign off on premium room rates when state-run facilities close suddenly. A major processing center on Schlachthofstrasse shuts down this autumn, and the state's immediate solution is to upgrade the occupants to a trendy harbor hotel — proving that in public administration, failure simply buys you a better view of the marina.

Holding the bag

Everyday citizens are left holding the bag. The chairman of the local parliamentary group pointed out that small restaurants, family-run cafes, and retail shops built their entire financial models around a steady influx of tourists with plenty of disposable income. Now, the district's primary commercial center is occupied by a population being housed at the taxpayer’s expense. These men and women don't dine out on corporate expense accounts. They don’t order local services or buy goods from nearby stores. Why would they, when everything is taken care of?

This asinine arrangement shapes a migrant’s first impression of their host nation. Arriving directly into this level of comfort fosters an immediate sense of entitlement. It instills the expectation that the government will never stop providing luxury accommodations and daily provisions and that the rewards will come without any personal effort, financial contribution, or integration into local society.

European governments have created a system where the easiest way to secure a mid-tier luxury room in a major city is to abandon your documentation at the border. The working class finances the hospitality. The business class loses its customers, and the state acts as the master concierge, ensuring every stylish guesthouse stays filled at public expense.