What We Lose When Vacation Rentals Go Contactless

AsAs planes depart from Mohammed V International Airport near Casablanca, common souvenirs often found in the cargo hold include vibrant Berber rugs, freshly dyed leather jackets, intricately patterned lanterns, woven baskets, and various finds from the souks. However, my return was marked by a more unusual souvenir: boiled eggs. While I did acquire a few rugs and a jacket, it’s the memory of those eggs that lingers most vividly three years later.

My fondness for them blossomed in a charming, bustling riad in Tangier, hosted by a warm septuagenarian who welcomed my partner and me after our long journey from Madrid, followed by a short ferry ride across the Strait of Gibraltar. She served us sweet mint tea and shared stories until exhaustion finally sent us to bed. In the morning, we were treated to eggs in delicate cups, accompanied by fresh flatbreads like m’semen and khobz, tiny jars of jam with lovely metal spoons, fresh cheese, olives, and more.

In the months that followed my Moroccan adventure, I found myself enjoying olives and dates, recounting tales of mechoui and b’stilla, and proudly displaying my rugs and jacket. Yet, it was those eggs that remained in my memory long after I had new stories and souvenirs. Their lasting impression stems not just from their taste, but from the kindness of the host who served them.

These cherished experiences exemplify the benefits of a good homestay, a term that encompasses any accommodation shared between a host and guest, whether it’s a cozy bed-and-breakfast, a room in someone’s home, or even a trailer situated behind a family residence. The critical aspect is the element of “sharing,” which distinguishes a homestay from a typical vacation rental or hotel.

I generally prefer homestays, but a recent summer visit to Portland, Maine, where my family stayed in a remotely managed home, reminded me of the distinct differences between sharing space and renting it outright. With sporadic messages from our host, our days turned into a series of treasure hunts: searching for the fuse box to reset a blown fuse (hidden behind a trap door in the basement), hunting for coffee in the morning (which led us to a nearby café), and trying to find an extra fan for a room without AC (we simply opened the windows). These minor inconveniences culminated in a realization: having our host around would have made everything easier.

When it launched in 2008, Airbnb aimed to transform short-term rentals by encouraging travelers to couch surf instead of booking hotels, helping guests find trustworthy hosts, and fostering a sense of community between locals and visitors. Despite facing challenges in its early years, by pre-pandemic 2019, 54 million users had booked 327 million nights across over 4 million hosts, according to an SEC filing. Following a highly successful IPO in late 2020, Airbnb recorded its strongest quarter ever in 2021 and dominated the market, eclipsing competitors like Vrbo (owned by Expedia) and Homestay.com. Even though Vrbo was established nearly 20 years before Airbnb, the latter boasts 5.6 million listings, almost three times more than Vrbo’s 2 million.

Some companies slowly build their customer base by adhering to their founding principles; this wasn’t the case for Airbnb. Continuous pivots shifted Airbnb towards the kind of impersonal travel it initially sought to address, leading the industry away from a romanticized view of immersive travel to a more segmented, technology-mediated experience. Airbnb's identity began changing almost immediately after its inception, expanding into “whole place” listings in 2009. Recently, the company introduced luxury tiers for affluent travelers who prefer private islands over futons and encouraged self check-in options for hosts, allowing them to earn 13 percent more by interacting with guests less.

According to Inside Airbnb, an open-source platform managed by community activist Murray Cox that tracks public data on Airbnb listings, entire home/apartment listings outnumber “private rooms” (i.e., homestays) in all 26 tracked American destinations. Entire homes account for the majority of listings in tourist hotspots such as Nashville (88 percent), New Orleans (84 percent), and Hawai‘i (84 percent). The trend is similarly pronounced in international cities like Athens (87 percent), Paris (87 percent), and Copenhagen (85 percent). (Airbnb declined to disclose specific data on listing types on their site.)

Over the years, Airbnb has seen an influx of professional renters; just before the company’s major IPO, Bloomberg reported that nearly 30 percent of bookings were handled by private companies rather than individuals. In many cities, Inside Airbnb notes that a majority of hosts have multiple listings; while this could involve homeowners renting out different rooms, the site observes that “Hosts with multiple listings are more likely to be running a business, are unlikely to be living in the property, and may be violating short-term rental laws designed to protect residential housing.” Inside Airbnb estimates that in some cities, up to 60 percent of listed homes have no permanent residents.

While none of Airbnb’s changes directly oppose traditional homestays, the company has remained relevant by moving away from its initial vision — with tangible consequences. Entire house rentals have become the focal point of conflicts between locals and short-term renters over “party houses,” prompting the company to enforce restrictions on homes lacking permanent residents. Critics argue that landlords are now encouraged to evict long-term tenants, and in cities like New York and Barcelona, efforts have been made to combat Airbnb by prohibiting short-term rentals. It's not surprising to find a dystopian private theme park listed on the platform.

When COVID grounded flights and disrupted the rental car sector last year, Airbnb had already positioned itself advantageously. Despite early 2020 predictions of the company’s downfall, it was actually well-suited for travel during the pandemic. With some new cleaning protocols and increased time between guests, travelers (and investors) regained confidence in the company. It wasn't the demise of Airbnb; it marked the end of the original Airbnb — or at least it could have been.

There are still places where Airbnb’s original vision thrives, such as at Cynthia Upchurch’s home. She started renting rooms in her Fall Branch, Tennessee residence in 2020 during the pandemic. “It’s important to feel at home, like you’re part of the family,” Upchurch shares. She wakes up early on weekends to prepare hearty meals for her guests, like a recent breakfast of fried catfish, cheese grits, scrambled eggs, and toast topped with strawberry jam from a local farm. While she doesn’t provide dinner as part of her offerings, if guests arrive late from traveling, she’ll save them a plate of whatever she’s cooking. “That’s why we’re always full. We have nothing but love and food for you.”

Food is a key attraction for homestays. Despite tech companies finding ways to minimize human interaction in our dining experiences — through job-replacing autonomous delivery robots, overcrowded app-based automats, and cashierless grocery stores with surveillance — most of us still seek out local interactions while traveling, as locals are the best guides to their cultures and cuisines. The same individual who uses an app to avoid engaging with a cashier at a local salad shop might go out of their way to chat with a server at a diner in Sydney, a steakhouse in Rio, or a bakery in Beijing. “Do we really want to travel in sealed-off bubbles through the rural landscapes of France, Mexico, and the Far East, only dining in Hard Rock Cafes and McDonald’s?” Anthony Bourdain questioned in his 2000 book Kitchen Confidential. Certainly not. We crave connections, to absorb the “local flavor.” We desire to immerse.

However, no one wants to immerse in a pandemic; instead, we want — or at least settle for — electronic shields. According to vacation rental industry site VRM Intel, COVID has provided a convenient rationale for establishing digital barriers between guests and hosts in the name of hygiene. For several years, the flourishing “property tech” sector has equipped rentals with an array of gadgets: keyless locks, smart thermostats, noise monitors, cameras, and other remote monitoring systems designed to make live hosts unnecessary (while also raising concerns for Airbnb regarding hosts secretly recording guests).

Despite travelers becoming more at ease in 2021, a recent Morning Consult poll indicates that interest in home sharing has consistently trailed behind boutique hotels and major hotel chains. While the poll didn’t specifically explore remotely managed short-term rentals, it’s evident that many travelers prefer the anonymity and privacy of solo accommodations over sharing spaces with strangers.

Prior to the pandemic, Maggie Odhner would show guests around her 300-year-old farmhouse in Lenhartsville, Pennsylvania. At her farmstay, a rural twist on the traditional homestay, Odhner and her husband Calvin considered themselves part of the overall experience, even playing canasta with visitors. “If I felt a connection with a guest, I would whip up breakfast for them too,” she recalls. “Now, I don’t even have eggs in the kitchen.”

During the pandemic, the couple introduced a “socially distanced special.” Like many 18th-century farms, their home had undergone several expansions over the years. The Odhners created a private entrance for themselves in one section of the house, allowing guests exclusive access to the rest of the space. This new arrangement cost three times the usual rate — and Maggie admits she missed interacting with her guests — but it attracted travelers from New York and Philadelphia looking for a getaway. While she attempted to maintain her previous routine of preparing breakfast for those who wanted her company, it became too much work to manage the fridge for the social distance specials, so the couple built a separate kitchen in an outbuilding and started dining apart.

Derek Rath sees things differently. Since he began hosting on Airbnb, the architectural photographer has personally greeted nearly every guest at a small additional unit behind his Venice, California home. “I’ve been doing this for about 10 years, back when Airbnb promoted ‘sharing your home,’ which isn’t quite the case anymore,” he notes. “I believe that if you’re inviting a stranger into your home, the more welcoming you can be, the better.” This philosophy remained during the pandemic. Although he acknowledges the awkwardness of navigating health and safety boundaries with new guests, Rath’s setup has enabled him to continue socializing with guests in the shared outdoor area, exchanging recommendations on restaurants and entertainment. “I’ve essentially continued my routine but just outdoors instead of inside,” he shares. “You can’t avoid connecting with people, so instead of shying away, I try to make it as pleasant as possible.”

Across the globe, in Springfield on New Zealand’s South Island, Isabella Irsigler has similarly dedicated herself to making guests feel welcome during the pandemic. Like Rath, Odhner, and Upchurch, Irsigler has earned the title of Airbnb superhost for her exceptional hospitality at the Raven’s Nest, a Lord of the Rings-themed tiny home shared with her husband Wayde Szumyn next to their own residence. The couple delivers “second breakfast” baskets and fresh cookies, adorn the space with flowers from their garden, provide gumboots and blankets, and light candles for guests arriving late.

Despite Irsigler's efforts to meet her guests' expectations, she finds it challenging, partially due to Airbnb's inflated standards (which is notable coming from someone who operates a whimsical Hobbit house). 'Guests anticipate a unique experience in an exceptional setting, not just affordable and easy accommodations in someone's home,' she notes. 'Most of our guests appreciate what we offer and love the place, but there are always a few with unusual requests or excessive demands. One guest critiqued how we trimmed our trees; another found the knives not sharp enough. Another complained that the shower curtain touched her. Reflecting on Airbnb's origins, I find this contrast stark.' Irsigler is also frustrated by the increasing competition fostered by the platform, viewing the superhost designation as a condescending 'pat on the head,' especially when considering how much Airbnb profits from hosts like her.

Wanting privacy during a pandemic is understandable. Like many Airbnb users, I’ve gravitated toward entire rentals rather than homestays since March 2020. Yet, I worry that this pandemic has permanently altered our expectations and reinforced unhealthy habits, capping a decade-long shift away from spontaneous interactions between travelers and hosts—those moments that remind us of the human side of travel.

Post-pandemic and after its IPO, Airbnb CEO Brian Chesky envisions a travel revolution where work, travel, and daily life intertwine in a disconcerting blend. Chesky anticipates a rise in long-term stays, enabling people to live, work, and travel for extended periods in homes worldwide (while renting out their own apartments in the meantime). This could be beneficial for digital nomads escaping office life, but it may pose challenges for homestay hosts aiming to help travelers experience life like a local. Will they fit into this new landscape?

Returning rentals to their roots in the sharing economy, with hosts back in the home, might not stop landlords from evicting tenants or prevent party houses from disturbing neighbors, nor will it keep management companies from sidelining smaller renters — but it could improve the vacation experience. However, the gap between renters and hosts isn’t something an (ostensible) tech company can resolve. It falls on guests to decide where to stay, whom to support with their money, how much time to spend connecting with a host, and how much hospitality to embrace. Ultimately, it’s our responsibility.

The pandemic might have heralded the end of homestays, solidifying remote management, self check-in, and whole-house rentals as the standard. Yet, it hasn’t done so, just as it hasn’t permanently eliminated offices, movie thMytours, or restaurants. All of these spaces will evolve post-pandemic, but their fundamental aspects will remain. For vacation rentals, that essential element is hospitality. We all just need to remember what that truly looks like.

Ana Matsusaki is an illustrator based in Brazil.