Hosting has always been a choral thing. My hosting is made through my gestures and my eyes that accompany my words.
I'm certain that being present in person when my guest arrives gives a pleasant, honest and sincere sense of human warmth, not a small thing, welcoming someone into my home: a different story from an accommodation where anyone who has paid for it, steps through a door, consumes, steps out of the house, blindly seduced by an app, in his private, onanistic longing for oblivion.
I will never give up my role as a lady of the house, trading it for an app or a key-box or a lock with a code hanging from a balustrade.
Lowering a handle means nothing, it is just something that you do to move from one room to another. The door is obvious. The faucet is obvious, and the sky and rain are obvious too.
That's why I want to be the one to remove the veil of obviousness from that door, from that faucet, and also from the sky and rain that you see from the window when you apply your face to the pane.
I want to be the one to make the guest savour my home and to ensure that he has a relationship of abundance with it.
I want to be the one to see his thoughts and let him read my thoughts that make us special and different, but they need not divide us if we can show tolerance, respect and understanding for them.
I'm certain that after seeing the attention that my home receives the guest knows that he will have to see me again upon check-out after the inspection of the apartment, it's more likely that he will treat it in the same way and be careful not to damage it.
And I’m certain that moving our faces toward each other can build bridges, forge closer ties, clearer contacts, quicker referrals, mutual confidence which shortens the distances and can open up a river of beautiful and unexpected things.