How Airbnb Is Silently Changing Himalayan Villages

How Airbnb Is Silently(ˈsīləntlē) Changing Himalayan(ˌhiməˈlāən) Villages(ˈvilij)

By Shanu Athiparambath

Above my mountain-top cottage(ˈkädij) in a beautiful Himalayan village, the road ends and the forest(ˈfär-,ˈfôrəst) begins. After sunset, flying squirrels(ˈskwər(ə)l) come out. Leopards(ˈlepərd) occasionally(əˈkāZHənl-ē) growl(groul) outside the cottage. There is no habitation(ˌhabəˈtāSH(ə)n) nearby, except a small village of a hundred people where houses stand so close to each other that people can watch over each other for good. In their houses, people, cattle(ˈkadl) and mountain dogs coexist(ˌkōəɡˈzist). There is no shop or restaurant nearby. There is nothing for many miles(mīl) down, except pine(pīn) forests and a narrow(ˈnarō), unpaved(ˌənˌpāvd) road. Even the narrow, unpaved road didn’t exist a few years ago. Then there is a river. Everybody knows everybody else. It is hard to make an advance at a river girl without all mountain girls hearing about it. Crime(krīm) is almost unheard(ˌənˈhərd) of. I live at the end of the habitable(ˈhabədəb(ə)l) world.

A year ago, when I began to travel into the eastern(ˈēstərn) Himalayas(həˈmäl(ə)yəz,ˌhiməˈlāəz), I put my cottage on Airbnb. It didn’t take long for it to become one of the most successful Airbnbs in my state, raising(rāz) my landlord’s(ˈlan(d)ˌlôrd) income beyond his wildest hopes. A decade ago, this would have been hard to imagine. My town is not very different from the United States at the end of the 18th Century. The family is still the fundamental business unit(ˈyo͞onət). People work alone in their family farms or one-man shops, some with a nephew(ˈnefyo͞o) or two as help. The rule of the clan(klan) is in its full glory(ˈglôrē). Everybody is on Facebook and Instagram, and nowadays(ˈnouəˌdāz), on Airbnb. But in many ways, time has remained still. It’s an unlikely location for a successful vacation(vāˈkāSHən,və-) rental(ˈrentl), but Airbnb made this possible.

When they drive up the hill, even our happiest guests fear there can’t be anything good at the end of this. It’s the rare(re(ə)r) sort of person who doesn’t get cold feet when he drives up the narrow, winding road. This doesn’t bother me, because they’ve already made the payment. They’ll almost certainly write glowing(ˈglōiNG) reviews, because good memories are about good endings. A mountaintop cottage out of nowhere wouldn’t have had much success not long ago. It’s not for everybody. Quirky(ˈkwərkē) spaces have always had a market, but it was hard to bring them to people. People didn’t pay attention if your property wasn’t centrally(ˈsentrəlē) located. Travel agents have a limited shelf space. Anything offbeat(ˈäf-,ˈôfˌbēt) can be a bit hit-and-miss. But it isn’t hard for an offbeat product to outcompete(ˌoutkəmˈpēt) mainstream(ˈmānˌstrēm) products on Airbnb. If guests love the experience, you’ll(yo͞ol) get plenty of long, heart-felt, perfect reviews. It won’t take long for your property to appear on the top, when potential(pəˈtenCHəl) guests look up your neighborhood(ˈnābərˌho͝od).

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