Copyright thestar
Real estate is emotional. Why? Because a home is more than walls and a roof, it’s a canvas and container for our lives, our families, our communities. As part of an ongoing series, we’ve asked local writers to share their stories on real estate and housing. Want to write for the Star’s Home Truths series? Email: hometruths@thestar.ca It’s a weird feeling being jolted awake by the sound of strangers entering your house. Then I remember: they’re my first Airbnb guests. People I don’t know will be sharing part of my home. How will that go? Will a parade of visitors disrupt my peaceful routine? Will the choice of soft, medium and extra firm pillows be enough to rest their travel-weary heads? And why didn’t I pick up the cat toys from the floor directly above the bed where they would be sleeping when Yoshi comes to life at 5 a.m.? Last spring I started renting out the lower-level apartment in my house two hours east of Toronto. The family member who’d been living there for 18 months had left for a job in another city and I was feeling pangs of loneliness. I’d also become keenly aware of my lack of a social network resulting from my semi-reclusive lifestyle in the country two years earlier. But opening the door to strangers brought unexpected results. I first moved to a rural property in Northumberland County in 2006 to escape Toronto’s chaos, crowds and congestion. Surrounded by woods, fields and farms, I found tranquility in nature and big open spaces. But years after living in an isolated spot on a hill, I began feeling vulnerable to whatever emergency might occur. One winter I was snowed in for three days, with escape only possible by snowmobile. I couldn’t even climb through the metre-high snowdrifts that blocked the driveway to the road — a pretty scary realization. That sealed the deal: Give up my bovine neighbours in exchange for civilization and a closer hospital. Anxiety and fears diminished in my new urban home. But once the downstairs apartment was vacated, the house felt empty and I missed the comforting sounds of another human being going about their daily life. Rather than commit to a long-term tenant, I opted for short-term rentals because that would allow me to choose when I would have guests. Putting out the welcome mat to short-term guests was an easy transition that didn’t require a licence in my small town. Not only was it a step forward in re-engaging with the outside world, it would generate a little extra income. But as a novice host, I never imagined what would happen next. The whole world came to visit, bearing gifts of friendliness, gratitude and respect. Take the impromptu conversations that happened at the door and in the driveway. One amiable couple from California, in town for a loved one’s celebration of life, charmed me with their memories of growing up in the neighbourhood. As they chatted about reuniting with aging family members and revisiting favourite haunts, they cast a rosy glow over the town I was still adjusting to. Another guest was grateful for being able to book at the last minute when she was unexpectedly given time off work to attend her sister’s 50th birthday celebration. I felt good being able to accommodate her and give her a nice discount — the icing on the cake. Then there was the time I shook hands with a sweet, well-mannered seven-year-old vacationing with his single dad, who took care to feed themselves healthy meals and snacks. (You can tell a lot about people from their kitchen garbage.) After I suggested outdoor attractions to visit, they spent several sunny days at a nearby beach. The small sandy footprints on the stairs were further evidence of the fun they had. It was heartwarming to witness the bond between father and son, and to know I played a small part in directing them to a great spot to spend time together. Vacuuming, making beds and plumping pillows have given me a new sense of purpose and fulfilment outside of my professional life. Providing safe, clean and comfortable lodging for folks on a variety of trips has perhaps reawakened this empty nester’s nesting instinct. The positive benefits began even before the first guests punched in the apartment’s door code five months ago. During the weeks it took to set up and promote the listing, I found myself stepping out of my comfort zone to engage with convivial conversationalists I didn’t know. In one confidence-booster at the Downtown Business Association’s office where I was picking up tourism brochures, I traded marketing ideas with a local business leader. In a thrift shop, volunteer workers matched my excitement over nabbing a $25 next-to-new Boho rug they’d just put out. And that led to a lively discussion about the joys of thrifting. Outfitting the place on a budget was a fun project that netted 47 items from multiple sources for a total of $1,905. The project also required installing a $7,000 ductless heat pump so guests would have their own HVAC system, and adding household supplies that took the total financial investment to more than $9,000 — a cost I’ve already recouped. But the emotional experiences fuelled by the influx of visitors have been priceless. My heart warms every time I iron air-dried pillowcases for them, bringing back fond memories of my late mother. She used to dry our family of five’s laundry outside and ironed everything, including my dad’s socks. She’d happily warble away, finding pleasure in making wrinkles disappear under a steam-spewing chunk of metal. And I’ve never lost the simple joy of sliding into sun-kissed sheets. Not everyone agrees with my approach to this pressing matter, however. “Are you crazy? You don’t have to do that!” friends have tut-tutted about my ironing habit. The only quibble I’ve ever received came from a guest who couldn’t find oil, salt or pepper to cook with. Not sure how he missed those items, which were on the table and in the cupboard. Almost without exception, visitors (who are pre-screened by Airbnb and typically stay for one to six nights) have been considerate, helpful and respectful. One of my proudest moments came during the conversation with a couple who called the apartment “so inviting and homey” they didn’t want to leave. They even suggested I give their own place a makeover. Many guests are frequent Airbnb users who’ve travelled the world or have roots in far-off places. A wall map in the apartment is studded with pins showing where they’ve come from: Mumbai, Mauritius, El Salvador, Italy, Spain, France, Luxembourg, Los Angeles, Portland, Ore., Quebec, Vancouver, Ottawa and all over southern Ontario. A traveller who hails from Sri Lanka observed that “it was cool seeing where those who were previously staying (here) came from.” He called it a reminder that we’re all part of the global village. For my part, one of the biggest rewards has been the boost in my faith in humanity and the goodness of people. They’ve unexpectedly enriched my life and fostered a feeling of connectedness. Everyone’s capable of loving kindness, whether it’s a compliment about “the most comfortable bed (they’ve) ever slept in” or the thoughtful gesture of leaving used linens neatly folded by the washer. At the end of the day, we’re all human beings journeying through life’s ups and downs. And I rest easy, knowing I’m not alone when someone’s slumbering peacefully, undisturbed by the quiet sounds of Yoshi playing cat-and-fake-mouse overhead. Carola Vyhnak is a freelance journalist based in Quinte West, Ont.
