I’ll admit it: I’m an anxious host. The kind of host who, when a new booking comes in, doesn’t think, “Yay! Great!” No. My first thought is: “Okay… what could possibly go wrong?” Because, when you’re a host, this is basically Murphy’s Law: “If something can go wrong, you’ll imagine it going wrong before it even has a chance to.”
So, when I first started hosting, I used to send guests a ridiculously long welcome message. Except it wasn’t really a message. It was a novel.
I'd start with directions. “When you’re about 300 metres from the apartment, you’ll see a bakery. If you see a clothing shop, you’ve gone too far. Turn around. The house is the red one with the green shutters.”
Then came the recycling instructions. And this is where things got seriously out of hand. Because recycling in Vernazza is not exactly straightforward. There are collection days. Collection times. Different bins. Different bags. Bags you’re allowed to use. Bags you’re absolutely not allowed to use.
So I’d write: “Please pay particular attention to the recycling procedure. Glass must be disposed of according to the schedule provided in the House Rules. Plastic goes in the semi-transparent bag. Food waste goes in the designated container. General waste goes in the appropriate bin.”
And then, because apparently I was running the local waste management department: “Please do not use black rubbish bags.”
The moment I realised this had officially become ridiculous came one evening. I was reading through the welcome message I sent before every guest arrived. It was long. Too long. There were instructions for the Wi-Fi, heating, air conditioning, recycling and then I had a little section called “In Case of Emergency.”
“If anything happens, please message me.” Anything. An earthquake. A global conflict. An alien invasion. Message me.
I read the whole thing again and tried to imagine being on the receiving end. A tourist who had just booked a few days in Vernazza.
Maybe they were on the train. Maybe they were looking out of the window at the sea. Maybe they were already thinking about where they were going to have dinner that night.
And I had just sent them a masterclass in Ligurian waste disposal. I thought: This poor person didn’t come to Vernazza to sort rubbish. They came to see Vernazza.
So I did something that, for an anxious host like me, felt almost revolutionary. I deleted it. Not all of it. Okay… 99% of it. I deleted the explanations inside the explanations. I deleted the “just to be safe” instructions.
I deleted all the things I’d written not because guests actually needed to know them, but because I was afraid they might need to know them.
In the end, the message looked almost irresponsibly short: “Hi, welcome! Here’s everything you need to know to get to the apartment. For recycling, please follow the schedule and use the designated bins. If you need anything, just message me.”
Then I hit Send. And…
Nothing happened. Nobody messaged me. Nobody asked where to throw the yoghurt pot. Nobody called the town hall. Nobody was expelled from the Cinque Terre for putting something in the wrong bin.
And that’s when I realised something that probably applies to hosting in general: “Does this information actually help my guest or does it just make me feel safer?”
Dangerous question.
Because if you’re an anxious host like me, very often the answer is the second one.
