THE KIWIS
THE GUESTS: Nomad Room
Since my teenage years, I’ve been captivated by the histories and cultures of those not raised in the USA. Am I anti-American? Not at all. In fact, I consider myself quite the patriot. Yet, there's always been a persistent curiosity within me, a yearning to know more, while appreciating traditions far older than America's nearly two hundred fifty years. Most of my friends weren’t born under the red-white-and-blue. I have a knack for understanding broken English, too—an idle talent that substitutes for a serious study of languages. So, when I decided to design a house in Cleveland to attract mostly international travelers, it didn’t come as a surprise to my close mates. However, many acquaintances perched in the cheap seats of my social circle, scoffed at my "delusional" vision of a European-styled travel lodge in a city often dubbed "The Mistake on the Lake." “She’s crazy,” they said. Perhaps, I am.
Here’s the skinny on Cleveland. Nothing to something, back to nothing to almost something, repeatedly is the theme of Cleveland—even with our sports teams. A curse, I’m still not sure. Regardless, the nineteenth century was a burst to its economy and growth. Commerce flooded Lake Erie, the Erie Canal, the Cuyahoga River and fueled newly built railroads. John D Rockefeller made his fortune off Cleveland resources—near and neighboring, attracting many movers and shakers to an once village. Making “legacy” money in Cleveland was a sexy, sexy thing, back then. The elite started building grand retreats, secured behind gallant masonry, all of which are now just imprints of sandstone and brick to remind us how magnificent this town used to be—before our visionaries left us for another, more cosmopolitan venue. Some say Cleveland has never really recovered since the 1930s. God knows it’s tried, reinventing itself many, many times over the last ninety or so years. But when your river catches on fire, not once but twelve times, it is kind-of hard to shake that burning river epithet. But, because of those titans of commerce, and more recently the King of the NBA, who all left us, we do have an incredible art museum, world-renowned orchestra and a melting pot of German, Slavic, Irish cultures. We will never be NYC or LA or even Chicago. And even though we have some remnants of grandeur, I knew my future foreign guests would come to my house because of good-ole’ Rock-N-Roll.
And it is for such electrified tunes with repeated phrases—simplified, that the House of Bise Bespoke was instantly booked when I first hit “publish listing.” Cleveland is on every traveler’s road list--to visit The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, designed by the Pritzker Prize architect, I.M. Pei. (Yes, the same guy who designed The Louvre Pyramid!)
For the bargain price of $48 a night Bob and Sally booked the Nomad Room for three days. I was over-the-moon for I had never met anyone from New Zealand! It seemed so far away. (8,608 miles afar, to be more precise.) “Come on-a my house, my house,” hummed in my mind as I eagerly awaited their check-in date, while informing my other guests that a couple from New Zealand would be arriving the next day. And I called, Mr. Hart, the only friend I knew who had been to this country with a population smaller than Cleveland. “Oh, I sure would like to meet them!” So, I invited him to stop-by the evening they were expected to arrive. Prior to his arranged stop-by, he tutored me on that kiwi moniker: “No, it isn’t the fruit. New Zeeland’s national bird is the kiwi.” Woops. Good to know.
Once the Kiwis arrived, Sally looked-like Barbara Bush with her perfectly coiffed white hair while her “George” looked slightly like Jimmy Buffett; and neither looked their ages of sixty-nine and sixty-seven. As I was helping them with their luggage up the stairs, I asked why they ventured to the states. “Oh, Heather! We just love to dance, go to shows. We’re rock and roll.” Holy shit, I want to be them one day, sped through my mind. “Heather, would you like to have some gin tonics later on? In your parlor?” I swapped my usual Heck, yeah! for “That would be lovely, Sally.”
Gin tonics in hand, Mr. Hart was eager to share his experience of bicycling across New Zealand, during his youth. It was apparent, thirty years later, he adored the kiwi culture. And Bob and Sally were eager to share their love of America. “Our last trip to the States, we purchased a 1970 Camero in Chicago and drove it to the end of Route 66.” Impressed by the romantic nature of that drive, I asked, “What did you do with the Camero after your trip?” Bob pulled out his mobile phone, showing me a photo of the red muscle car replying, “We shipped it back home!” I blurted, “Wow. That sounds expensive.” “It was worth it,” Bob assured.
Our cocktail hour took to the seas when Mr. Hart mentioned his dream to live on a sailboat, travelling the Great Lakes. Sally enthusiastically responded, “We sail!” Bob added tales about their many boats throughout their lives, including their newest vessel. At this point, I was wondering why Bob and Sally chose to stay at my home—a shared house for only $48 a night. They had some rather expensive hobbies, for sure. Without a filter, I inquired, “Are you rich?” “No. We’re just comfortable now. It wasn’t always like that though.”
Sally was a retired social worker and Bob was a business owner. I was fascinated by Bob’s story of self-made. “Many years ago, I opened a car rental shop for tourists. Then, I opened two more a few years later. Eventually, I owned seventeen. But not all of them were successful. One would support the others and vice versa. It was an ongoing financial struggle. For years. Then about five years ago, a national rental car firm bought all of them. So now we are finally ‘comfortable’.”
Comfortable. Being comfortable is a goal of mine, and I wonder if I will ever reach such a station in life. I’m obsessed by business stories, which is evident by my shelves of dog-eared pages in the house. Books, biographies in particular, have been my therapy throughout my adult life. Raising two children alone, there was more ebb than flow in our lives, especially in role as a real estate agent. Living on commission is, at times, a struggle. So during those fiscal droughts, I would read. I read a lot. Biographies, mostly, about successful people--with journeys that were never instant, who kept moving forward--working. I’ve always believed if I kept working, not letting life’s mental curveballs slow me down, I too, would become “comfortable.” Heck, now as an empty-nester, I am still striving to become financially content. And I wonder if I will ever stop, working, striving to be successful, comfortable. I often joked, “I’m not there yet. I’m still at the Jeff Bezos-level of selling books out of my garage. I haven’t figured out how to get out that damn garage after twenty years!”
Therefore, Bob and Mary’s road to “comfortable” inspired me.
Early next morning, I set the table for all of the guests: Quiche, fresh fruit, roasted potatoes, a vegetable frittata, and all of the other breakfast bounties you’d expect. Before Bob and Sally, sat at the table with the other guests, they inquired, “How much is the breakfast?” I was surprised, responding, “It’s free. It’s included with your reservation.” “Okay. We just wanted to make sure.” I found this so peculiar, as all of the guests introduced themselves to one another at the table.
Side note: Most mornings, I rarely sit-down at the table with the guests. I usually, explain the items for breakfast and then head with my coffee out to my front porch. Then I go back to the dining area, fifteen minutes later to see if they need anything. It’s usually, at this fifteen-minute check-in, that my heart smiles. There’s something about food—sharing it with strangers that brings people joy. It doesn’t matter if a twenty-something student or a retiree or a doctor or professor is sitting at my table every morning. They all have a grand time getting to know each other, with the only thing in common--sharing the food on my table. There’s a lot of laughter in my house from 9am-11am. Good energy. It is my favorite thing to witness, still to this day.
During that particular morning’s “check-in,” I asked Mary why they would ever think that the breakfast wasn’t complimentary. “Our last Airbnb host presented us with a handwritten bill after we ate her breakfast.” I was aghast. I couldn’t believe people actually do this. Another guest, added, “Oh! I had a host charge me a dollar for a bottle of water!” and another, “That happened to me, too!” This was the morning I received an education about other hosts. I actually sat down at the table with the guests to hear their rants, as they ate breakfast. I will never forget this enlightening moment.
“To me, Airbnb is an acronym for ‘bed and breakfast’ so breakfast should always be included. I could never charge for it nor will I.” Sally laughed with the other guests, “You’re right! Bed and breakfast is in the name. Never thought about that.” I listed to more stories of ridiculous add-ons charged by other hosts. Such as, the extra “guest charge.” Meaning that if a host advertises a room that sleeps two people for $50, an extra charge of $25 is added to the stay if more than one person sleeps in the room, so the base price for the first guest is $50 and their partner/spouse or whomever the second person is in the room, is charged an additional $25. So now, the price for the room is $75. And it doesn’t stop there. Also, it is very common for a host to charge an additional fee for cleaning. That ranges anywhere from $35-125 per stay.
It was after this breakfast of guest intel of highlighting deceptive add-ons, that I had an epiphany for all of my listing descriptions on Airbnb. IN THE SPIRIT OF HOSPITALITY, THERE IS NO EXTRA CHARGE FOR ADDITIONAL PEOPLE OR CLEANING OR BREAKFAST. THE LISTING PRICE IS THE PRICE. And I added “No Cleaning Fee” to all of my listing headlines.
Yes, I could have made a lot more money if I had these add-on charges. However, every time I’ve stayed at a hotel, I was never charged a cleaning fee or an extra fee for the other person I shared the bed with. I also considered my experience as a traveler for my big Italian journey a few years prior. I used Airbnb because it was affordable for me. If I had to pay additional fees in Italy, I wouldn’t have been able to afford the trip. It would add up to the same price as a three-star hotel. So, I wanted my house to be a bargain, as well as providing an exceptional night’s sleep and an experience to meet others. To this day, I still do not charge anything but the advertised price. Surprisingly, because of this philosophy, I started earning tips. Guests would leave me an extra $20 or $50 on their nightstands. I never expect it which is why it humbles me when they do leave a little extra.
Bob and Sally were having such a fabulous time dancin’ around Cleveland that they extended their stay. One afternoon, Sally entered the kitchen when I was polishing the tarnish off some silver cutlery. “That’s how you do it? That’s so much work!” “Sure is, but sterling silverware is a naturally antibacterial, boosts the immune system, and with so many strangers in the house, I think it’s worth it.” Sally agreed and provided an easy way to get silver to gleam and her recipe has changed my life! And years later, I still think of her when I execute Sally’s method.
1. Use a large aluminum roasting pan. (I usually purchase a disposable one for $1)
2. Lay the silverware so it is not touching in the pan.
3. Sprinkle the silverware with baking soda in the pan
4. Boil a pot of water
5. Pour the boiling water over the silverware.
6. Let it sit for 5 minutes.
7. Voilà! Sparkling silver.
Works every single time!
Bob and Sally eventually had to depart for their next leg in their vacation, visiting Ohio Amish country, which is about ninety minutes south from my home in Cleveland. I still wonder how this Rock n’ Roll couple got along with the Amish…dancing a Buggy Shuffle or the Non-Electric Slide, perhaps.