Well, not quite. Because every time tourism comes up, someone chimes in with: “We should charge a visitor fee at the border”.
The logic is: make them pay to step foot on our pristine shores, then funnel the money into keeping our pristine shores pristine.
But here’s my issue. No one likes fees. Fees are joyless.
They’re the surcharge on your Uber Eats order; the $4.50 credit card charge at the dairy.
Nobody hops off a long-haul flight buzzing at the prospect of a new fee.
So let’s flip it. Reverse it. Forget the border tax. What we need are border gift bags.
Think about it.
You didn’t go to that fertiliser conference for the keynote speaker.
You went for the free stuff – the branded beanie, the stress ball, the slightly dodgy USB stick that’ll one day corrupt your laptop.
So why not do the same for our tourists?
Step off a 12-hour flight from Dallas, Shanghai, or Düsseldorf, and boom – someone’s there with a tote bag.
Now that’s a welcome.
More heartfelt than Dave Dobbyn himself singing Welcome Home at Gate 14.
The question, of course, is what goes in the bag.
It has to be the good stuff. The things that say “New Zealand” in a way no glossy pamphlet ever could.
First up, Vogel’s bread. Kiwi as. The chewy, seedy, dental-work-challenging loaf that foreigners will assume is some sort of artisanal building material.
But here’s the genius: once they have Vogel’s, they’ll need butter.
Suddenly, they’re shopping.
We could include a small jar of Marmite. Not enough to terrify them, but just enough to confuse them.
A rite of passage. They’ll go home saying, “We ate this salty tar stuff the locals seem very proud of”.
Then, a pair of jandals. Not flash Havaianas.
The $3.99 ones that slice between your toes like a cheese-cutter wire. The true Kiwi experience.
And when one inevitably snaps mid-stride on a black sand beach, that’s another purchase right there.
Tourism dollars flowing straight into the Jandal Replacement Economy (JRE).
Of course, a sachet of Wattie’s Tomato Sauce would be compulsory.
Not the squeezy bottle, just the foil pack – ideally one that’s impossible to tear open without scissors, teeth, or divine intervention.
And when you finally do prise it open, the sauce doesn’t dribble politely. Oh no. It erupts like Ruapehu, blasting straight down the front of your shirt.
Instant souvenir. Instant excuse to go shopping for a new outfit. Once again – economic growth.
And let’s sweeten things up with a Whittaker’s Peanut Slab.
We need them addicted to something that isn’t just sheep photos and Instagram shots of Lake Tekapo.
We could even tailor the bags by region.
Land in Christchurch? Here’s a “Build Your Own Cathedral” Lego set, complete with two half-built spires, so you can really capture the authentic skyline.
Arrive in Wellington? Have a reusable KeepCup and a cardigan that won’t actually protect you from the southerly.
Auckland? We’ll just give you a traffic cone. Tourists will feel immediately immersed in the local culture.
Gift bags don’t just say “welcome.” They also unlock consumer behaviour.
Give them Vogel’s, they’ll buy spreads.
Give them a KeepCup, they’ll buy flat whites.
Give them jandals, they’ll be shopping for plasters in no time.
It’s classic marketing psychology.
Make people feel looked after, and they’ll open their wallets.
It’s why your dentist gives you a free toothbrush before billing you $780.
Plus, gift bags beat visitor levies hands down in the PR stakes.
Imagine the headlines: “NZ charges tourists $50 on arrival”. Versus: “NZ greets visitors with free chocolate and tomato sauce”.
Which one’s going to get more clicks?
Because at the end of the day, tourism isn’t about numbers. It’s about stories.
Tourists don’t go home raving about the efficiency of the border levy system.
They go home telling people about the bag they were handed as they shuffled through arrivals, stuffed with bread, chocolate, and a sachet of Wattie’s that’s suspiciously sticky, just like you at the fertiliser conference.
