Valeria Carballo

I live in Barcelona, Spain. Two years ago, my daughter suggested I rent out part of my apartment to tourists. At first, I resisted. The idea of strangers in my home unsettled me—what if they were noisy or disrespectful? But my pension was small, and I needed the extra income. Reluctantly, I turned my spare room into a guest space, listing it online with my daughter’s help.

The first guests were a young German couple, polite but distant. They left early and returned late, barely exchanging words. I sighed with relief when they left, happy that nothing had gone wrong. Over time, though, I met guests who changed my perspective.

One autumn afternoon, an Italian woman, Alessandra, arrived with her teenage son, Luca. She was warm and full of stories, always offering small gifts—an olive oil bottle, handmade soap. But it was Luca who truly moved me. At first, he was glued to his phone, but one evening, he watched me cook. “Can I help?” he asked. We chopped vegetables in silence. Over the week, he shared his struggles with his parents’ divorce. I simply listened. When they left, Alessandra hugged me and whispered, “You’ve been a grandmother to him this week.”

Then there was Theo, a retired French sailor who stayed for two weeks. He was captivated by my small balcony, where he sat with coffee each morning. He told me of storms at sea, love affairs in distant ports, and the loneliness of old age. We became unlikely companions, sharing meals and laughing about life’s absurdities. When he left, he said, “I haven’t felt this at home in years.”

A Japanese woman, Yuki, barely spoke Spanish. Communication was a dance of gestures and laughter. She taught me how to make green tea, and I showed her pa amb tomàquet. On her last day, she left a small gift—a delicate handkerchief with my initials embroidered in silk.

These encounters transformed my home, filling it with laughter and warmth. I am seventy now, and I no longer fear strangers in my space. They come and go, leaving pieces of their world behind. And in return, they take a part of mine.