The signs that your Airbnb host is going to ruin your holiday

There are few more satisfying achievements as an adult than booking a weekend away. It is a minor life event discussed often but realised rarely. So, when we finally make it happen, it feels essential to shoehorn it into conversation at any given opportunity.

Comparing weekend plans with a colleague? Do mention you’re going away. Bump into a neighbour at the shops? Remind them you won’t be around this weekend. Friends invite you over for dinner? “Apologies, can’t make it: we head off Friday!”

Welcome to your nightmare! Navigating a tricky Airbnb host is never easy.Credit: Michael Howard

Perhaps the only feeling that trumps organising a weekend away is the period right before you arrive at your accommodation: that glorious window when the entire weekend is stretched out before you, the stress of your real life evaporates, and all that remains is for you to have A Very Nice Time.

This was the scenario I found myself in last weekend while driving to a cottage (it’s always a cottage) in the Hunter Valley. According to the Airbnb listing, it was an “enchanting historic residence”, but it was not so historic that it didn’t have high-speed internet and Netflix.

The guest reviews were glowing, praising the cottage as a little slice of paradise perfect for young families desperate to escape the city. We were a young family desperate to escape the city, so nothing could temper my excitement, not even a few concerns about our Airbnb host, a man we’ll call Graham, who lived on an adjacent property.

I find Airbnb hosts fall into two distinct camps: faceless operators you never encounter or in-your-face types you encounter too much. Both have drawbacks, but the have-a-chat hosts are a special breed, unable to clock the line between giving you a welcome and overstaying theirs.

My wife, Kate, had been liaising with Graham, and based on his messages – “I don’t use the word guests, you’re just friends I haven’t met yet!” – I worried we were in for a big weekend of small talk.

“No, I don’t get that vibe,” said Kate. “In his last message, he explicitly said we’d barely notice he was there.” This is the exact thing people say when they have every intention of hovering around, so I was genuinely surprised when we arrived and Graham was nowhere to be seen.

He did, however, leave us an enormous leather-bound book of House Rules.

Basically, it was ten pages of things you couldn’t do at the cottage, followed by several handwritten reminders that “SATURDAY IS BIN NIGHT!”

I’ve always believed there is a direct link between how passive-aggressive the Airbnb welcome booklet is and how bad your holiday will be. The more exclamation marks involved, the more likely you are to be charged an extra fee or lose your bond because someone left a wine bottle on the bench or, I don’t know, forgot to turn the TV off.

Obviously, all owners have the right to establish commonsense rules – no parties, no outside guests, no loud music – but, increasingly, Airbnb hosts expect guests to sit inside quietly for the duration of their stay before paying an enormous cleaning fee and leaving.

Eventually, Graham surfaced, choosing the exact moment I’d laid out an elaborate cheese platter to make his introductions.

After a few minutes of exchanging pleasantries, the conversation came to a natural conclusion. But Graham lingered, eyes drifting towards the truffle brie: “You guys having a little cheese platter?”

Room for one more? This wasn’t the cheese platter I made for Graham, but it isn’t far off.Credit: Stock

It was less of a question and more of a barely concealed request to join, which inevitably opened up the floodgates: give them an inch, or in this case, a wedge of expensive cheese, and they take a mile. Over the next few days, Graham became a permanent character in our lives, finding increasingly creative excuses to insert himself into the holiday.

Were we right for supplies? Yes. Did we work out the Wi-Fi? Indeed. And Netflix? Also, yes. Was it ok if he popped over to borrow a book? Of course! Who doesn’t need to urgently revisit Tim Winton’s Dirt Music on a Sunday afternoon?

By the end of our relaxing weekend away, even my too-polite wife was stressed out by the third party in our relationship. “Never again,” she whispered to me while packing the car. “Next time, we’re going to a hotel.”

We said our goodbyes, safe in the knowledge that, at the very least, Graham’s hijacking of our holiday would result in mutually beneficial ratings. I went first, writing a glowing appraisal of Graham, calling him “a super host whose attention to detail made for an unforgettable stay”. Five stars!

Minutes later, my phone buzzed, and Graham’s review flashed up on my screen: “Thomas and Kate were polite, kept to themselves, but forgot to put the bins out.” Four stars.

Find more of the author’s work here. Email him at [e-mail] or follow him on Instagram at @thomasalexandermitchell and on Twitter @_thmitchell.

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