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Ah, the Airbnbs I have known and (mostly) loved. There was the Northcote cottage with ’70s pin-up nudes pasted all over the bathroom walls, and sheets so filthy they were greasy to the touch. No matter. The sheets were promptly changed, and I soon got into the habit of cheerily waving to the oiled men and full-bushed women on the way to the shower.
There was a castle in Kilkenny, in Ireland’s wild west, containing what we were told was an ancient “murder room”, and the Paris apartment so tiny I could hear my children breathing in the next room.
Airbnb is wildly popular with tourists, but has been a disruptor for cities around the world.Credit: Getty Images
On the Amalfi Coast, we stayed in a room that was advertised as being an entire home. Initial annoyance gave way to delight when our host cooked a meal for us, his family, and their neighbours under a gazebo latticed with perfumed flowers as the warm Mediterranean breeze stroked our skin.
Airbnb and its smaller cousin, Stayz, have revolutionised travel, letting tourists play out their fantasies of living like locals do – even if it is a cosplay version of real life. (In 2015, Airbnb founder and chief executive Brian Chesky described part of his company’s “product” as “the idea of belonging in a new city”.)
We didn’t always flounce around in castles, of course. As blissfully naive first-time parents, my husband and I booked a hotel room during an overseas trip to visit family. Come 8pm, when our daughter was asleep, the folly of our decision dawned on us. No sitting up late into the night chatting over a glass of wine; no music; no visitors; no loud movie. Just headphones and a book: Shhh, you’ll wake the baby.
Particularly for families and large groups, short-stay accommodation is so popular because it’s damn convenient.
But the distortion Airbnb has wrought on cities across the globe can no longer be ignored. In Santorini, as the Financial Times reported last month, teachers are sleeping in their cars while any available accommodation is flogged to tourists paying a premium for those iconic views. Tourist beds outnumber locals in Venice, while more than 61,000 Airbnb properties are available in Paris; 86 per cent of them an entire home or apartment.
We’re not immune to the problem here in Australia. As my colleague, Benjamin Preiss, and I wrote in February, there are almost 5000 homes in the Mornington Peninsula listed on Airbnb. One little house in Mount Martha – marketed as a “renovated coastal abode” – was booked by Airbnb customers for 255 nights last year; earning its owners, who also ran another 46 properties through Airbnb, $103,500.
As housing costs rise, and the Airbnb effect squeezes out locals, governments are under increasing pressure to do something about the model’s disruptor effects.
But how do you balance a seemingly unstoppable market force with the need to protect cities from tourists intent on a bit of “local experience”?
Authorities in New York have cracked down hard on short-stay hosts.
New York has landed down hard on the side of its locals. The city’s regulations don’t explicitly ban Airbnbs and short stays, but they come very close. Rules that took effect this month include an effective ban on families in short stays, with a limit of two guests per booking (thus wiping out much of the market in one fell swoop). Hosts must also share living spaces with their guests for the duration of the booking, and bookings must be at least 30 days’ duration.
Authorities in London and San Francisco have introduced rules limiting short-stays to 90 days a year per property, while in Amsterdam, it’s only 30 days.
Anyone hoping the Victorian government would follow suit would have been disappointed by Premier Daniel Andrews’ wet-lettuce announcement of a 7.5 per cent levy on short-stay accommodation this week, with the funds to go directly to Homes Victoria to help fund social and affordable housing.
While Airbnb and some commentators were quick to complain, The Betoota Advocate neatly skewered its impact with the mock headline: “Victorian AirBnB Owner Just Shrugs And Increases Price By 7.5 per cent”.
In Victoria, 36,000 homes have been removed from the housing market by short-stay operators, and the imposition of a modest levy is unlikely to change that. There are some “mum-and-dad investors” running Airbnbs, but there are also many people operating serious businesses.
According to data collection site Inside Airbnb, hosts “Paul and Dan”, for example, have 97 entire homes available for rent across Melbourne on Airbnb, while host Andrew has 102 entire homes available on the Mornington Peninsula.
The premier, of course, is aware of all this. On Wednesday, he revealed regional tourism operators were continually bailing him up about the problems short-stays created. “They invariably talk to me about the fact that they can’t find anywhere for their staff to live … And if you can’t find a home for your staff, then you can’t open your business to its full potential.”
Will the levy fix that? It’s highly unlikely. And in a further blow to regional areas carrying the burden of accommodation shortages, Andrews’ new statewide tax will override their ability to profit from short-stay providers, replacing local government-imposed fees in Bass Coast Shire, Frankston, Mornington Peninsula and, most recently, Warrnambool Shire.
It is, however, expected to raise $70 million a year for Homes Victoria’s social housing project. If regional communities popular with tourists living their best holiday lives are going to survive, let’s hope those homes are built where they’re needed.
Bianca Hall is a senior writer at The Age.
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