On the last leg of my trip (right after New Year’s), since it was cold outside, I tried AirBnB instead of camping. My AirBnB stays ranged from “sort of okay” (a term my dad uses) to great. The hosts all seemed decent, nice, normal. I wasn’t involved in any creepy scenarios, shady interactions, or altercations. None of the other guests seemed freaky or dangerous. Everything worked out fine.
In general, though, I felt like I was intruding, invading the host’s personal space, even when they were welcoming. I mean, you are a stranger in another family’s home, microwaving rice in their kitchen while they go about their normal lives, having conversations about people and events you’ve never heard of, their teenage kids inviting friends over and popping in a movie. Most of the time, I didn’t feel comfortable enough to lounge on their living room couches. I also had my own projects to work on, and didn’t necessarily want company during that time. I’d often end up staying in my bedroom, which felt claustrophobic and reclusive. Sometimes I hung out in the living room or at the kitchen table if I was the only one around.
Offerings extended from sleeping on a couch to renting out an entire house. Actually, some listings were for land where you could set up a tent or park or an RV. Prices differed wildly among similar offerings. In some areas, hotel rooms with a microwave, fridge, and bathroom were available for the same price or less money than an AirBnB where all you’d have to yourself was a bedroom. Either the hosts were delusional, or guests are willing to pay for the experience of meeting new people. I was mostly looking for a place to sleep, so price usually determined where I stayed. Once, I rented a three-bedroom house because it was cheaper than a low-to mid-range hotel room.
On the highly-rated end, some homes looked like highlights from interior decorating magazines, were spotlessly clean, and the hosts treated me like a guest. They chatted, asked if I needed help carrying bags inside, asked if I wanted my dirty towel added to their load of laundry, invited me to hang out with their family in the living room, and wished me safe travels on my last day. I came down with a cold during one stay, and the host asked if she could drive into town and get some medicine, asked how I was doing when she saw me in passing, and cooked soup for us from scratch.
After I had decided what area of the country to move to, I stayed in a couple AirBnBs while I looked for an apartment. The hosts at one of those AirBnBs both happened to be real estate agents. They shared valuable information with me like where the good and bad parts of town were, and which rental companies had a good reputation, in addition to directing me to area attractions. (Thank you, Nate and Joe!)
On the “sort of okay” end, accommodations felt and looked thrown together last-minute. For example, one house was basically a pole barn with plywood walls creating separate rooms. My room had what looked like a 40 watt incandescent lightbulb on the ceiling, so dim I had trouble seeing what I was doing. The building was heated by what looked like a large, industrial space heater near the front door, but heat was not dispensed into each bedroom via a central heating system, and I was freezing. A different place I rented was situated immediately off of a freeway exit, and I ended up leaving early because the sound of traffic was so distracting I couldn’t concentrate.
One AirBnB bedroom was a garden shed, the pre-made kind you can buy at big box hardware stores. It may have been insulated, but it sure didn’t feel like it. The only heat source was a small space heater. You had to go outside to another shed to use the bathroom. I wouldn’t mind either of these things in pleasant weather, but it was below freezing. During the night, I went out to my car and got my sleeping bag and blankets and used them in addition to the bedding provided by the hosts. When I woke up in the morning, the bottoms of my feet were partially white. (To be fair, my feet start to turn white pretty easily. But it usually happens when I’m walking outside in the cold, not when I’m bundled up in bed.) The “kitchen” was basically another shed with a refrigerator, a microwave, and a Keurig. No sink, though, and no counter. You had to get water from the bathroom shed (if it was open) and clean your dishes there, too. It was doable, but not ideal. Cleanliness did not seem to be a priority at this location, either. My garden shed door didn’t have a lock on it, which felt somewhat dangerous. (I later found a padlock inside one of the dresser drawers, but by then, it seemed pointless.) The saving grace for this rental was that I stayed there on the night of the super blood wolf moon (eclipse), and I had a good view of the moon and got some good pictures.
My time camping had numbed me toward disgusting living quarters, so “sort of okay” was probably a generous rating for a couple of the places I stayed. Some of the issues I mentioned you can see right in the pictures accompanying the AirBnB listings. In my experience, if a place looks shabby in the picture, it probably won’t surprise you much in real life.
It was hard to give bad reviews to hosts I had met and talked with, and who seemed like decent people. In those cases, instead of writing a public review, I would usually ignore AirBnB’s emails asking me to review the host until I got an email saying, basically, “Your host won’t see this; just let us know how your stay went,” and then you rate them on a scale of 1 to 5. When it gets to that point, there is no area to elaborate. Not that I’m in favor of people trashing each other, but I would keep this in mind when reading reviews; the ratings may tend to skew in favor of being nice toward the hosts so as not to hurt their feelings.
Some hosts kept to themselves, and others were friendlier. I mentioned that some hosts made a point of saying goodbye on the last morning of my stay. Well, others left the house without a word, even though I was right there, eating breakfast in the kitchen. Then again, it’s possible to be too friendly. One host talked incessantly from the moment I entered the house straight through the next three hours. I’ll admit that the conversation was interesting. But I didn’t even get to put my bags in my room until the other guest who was staying there came back from his foray downtown and the host wanted to hear all about his experience. I took the chance to escape and locked myself in my bedroom for the rest of the night, which isn’t exactly ideal, either.
When I first started using AirBnB, I was more guarded about my travel situation, for protection. Making small talk, hosts would ask where I worked. I hadn’t thought up an alternate lie, so I named the last job I held: working in the recruiting office of a community college. I acted as if I were on vacation. My first host also happened to work in the Student Services department of a community college. “When does your semester start?” she asked. “January 16th,” I threw out, having no idea what day of the week it was. Turned out it was a Wednesday. To my relief, she didn’t seem to doubt my answer, and didn’t ask how I was able to get a vacation during one of the busiest times of the year.
Each AirBnB has its own check in and check out times, and its own rules. At some places, you can use their washer and dryer, their kitchen, their shower, their WiFi. Other hosts don’t want you using any of these. Some hosts ask you to strip the bed sheets before you leave, or take out the trash. Others don’t require anything of you. Some hosts will cook breakfast for you in the morning (if they do, it will probably be advertised in their listing).
Whenever I had a kitchen to myself, I went a little overboard, excited to eat Real Food again (instead of On The Road food). Some AirBnBs were mother-in-law suites and didn’t have traditional stovetops and ovens, but were equipped with countertop appliances, such as a rice cooker, an electric skillet, a microwave, a George Foreman grill, a toaster oven, a slow cooker, and a hot plate. I experimented with some new gadgets and later bought a couple of them myself.
One benefit of staying in other people’s houses is just that: you find out what it’s like to live in another house. You can try out their kitchen appliances, test out their mattresses, their fancy showerheads, their shampoo, see what kind of decorating other people are doing, see what you like in a house, what you don’t like, what you use daily, and what you never use. If you’re thinking of moving, having a house built, renovating, or redecorating, it might be time and money well spent to stay in a few AirBnBs to get a flavor for whether or not you would actually like some of the features you’re considering installing but have never actually tried (for example, a wood stove, a tile floor in a bedroom, or an outrageous wall color). I stayed in a tiny house for a night, to see what it was like and if I could live like that. (I could, although I’d prefer a different layout from the one I stayed in.)
Just like staying in hotels or campgrounds, your satisfaction with AirBnB will probably depend a lot on the specific space you rent. And your attitude.
