At the moment there is no specific law for AIRBNB activity in your country, but you should inquire with the Department of Tourism and Quezon City Council.
Being a host is an important “job”. It takes commitment, time, but above all patience. The title of your ad and your photo must express in the most direct way the power of your house. If you’re not living there, it’s good to get some help.
This is an exercise involving three players (a host, a guest and AIRBNB), it’s a game, somewhat boring, characterized by procedures and "rituals" in order to reach a defined result: maximize your return and the company’s profits by using a sly intermediary.
There will be a lot of unlikely people you will see coming to your place: people with phosphorescent suitcases, white jackets and purple loafers and no socks, elderly Brits will ask you if they can play golf indoors in your hall, wealthy Japs, with parasols, in various stages of delirium, will ask you where are the waiters, Italian males, stressed out about their trip, will be begging for a pizza parlor, postal retirees will ask you, with lazy candor, if by chance there are gays in your house because they absolutely hate them, overweight Eastern European tourists in pink Lycra sweatpans that you really want to take them aside and tell them very gently not to wear something like that again, asking you if they can have sausages and Swiss cheese for breakfast that you will pretty much screw them all up together with those buttoned-up-school-marm-demeanor ladies who will scold you because they did not find truffle chocolates in their bedrooms on the hypoallergenic pillow as did the previous host in Florence (bloody host in Florence).
Is that enough? In those moments it’s never enough, because sometimes, I do not know why, some details will play on your sympathies, other times you feel as if you are in a recreation room of a mental health center.
I’m not telling you that it will always be that way, I’m just telling you that this can happen to you if you host travelers from all over the world.
You will bargain with complete strangers. You will experience performance anxiety. Your score will go up and down. Then maybe you’ll see what it’s like to be afraid of the stars and you wish you could lose them forever.
You’ll be trained to achieve a score pre-defined by other people and a stylish cosmetic elegance. You’ll become a battery hen, you’ll get the feeling you’re being looked at, you will be cataloged, reviewed, sometimes you are feeling depressed as you felt when you were a teenager and you’ll wonder if it is your problem or their problem.
You’ll bear a personal grudge that could also last a lifetime against AIRBNB or a burning passion will consume you and happiness will court you in her best array. AIRBNB will give you that warm, fuzzy feeling: the illusion that your existence is free of contingencies and worries with a reassuring and ingenious form of communication, but with an authoritarian attitude that you’ll find only later.
At first glance, everything would appear to be quite straighforward. Everything is at hand. The gain becomes your second nature. Economic losses are a distant memory now. AIRBNB saves you the trouble of building a dream. AIRBNB does it for you. AIRBNB really wants this to happen. And of course you want to believe it, you want to believe, with quixotic credulity, that this giant illusion is more real than the real world and that you’ll make a lot of money easily.
Gain is the precondition of the dream-slash-promise. And this attitude creates a devilishly seductive promise which, on the other hand, is almost sincere, except that there is one more piece to this that AIRBN doesn’t tell you.
AIRBNB doesn’t tell you that it’s not enough to have an empty room to rent to have good results, that the competition in big cities is fierce, that the day-to-day running of just a single apartment can be very exhausting, and that, even though you give your bones and stop the clock on your life in hosting, a foolish internal review system can ruin your plans.
At the beginning of the game, you only have to do things they want to do. They’re terrified their cash cow will slip away. Your adult ability to not agree with the choices, to have regrets or to experience dissatisfaction will be completely ignored by a consolation algorithm.
But there comes a time when you will find yourself almost glued to a single road built by an American portal that gives a crap of foreign laws (e.g. Italy, Degree Law 50/2017) and, seeking a balance, you’ll be faced with choices. Someday you’ll understand why small imperfections can have costs for you. You’ll learn that a good help is hard to find.
As you can see, in this cozy and safe pub, the hosts trade news and thoughts with each other, sometimes small controlled rebellions, but most hosts, in order to put food on the table, play this game as long as they can, others, happy, carefree like children, return to walk in the rut defined by an invasive portal in that stretch of road that fate has put in their way.