The Art of Being a Good Guest

Some things are best carried quietly.

Good guests travel with more than luggage. They arrive with a certain softness — a way of moving through other people’s spaces with care, of reading a room before filling it, of leaving behind something lighter than what they found.

Hotels remember. Not just names on a reservation system, but energies, small gestures, the way someone spoke to the night guard at 2am or the housekeeper at 9.30 in the morning. For those of us who live between airports, hotel lobbies, and highways, being a good guest becomes part of our personal ritual. A kind of travelling signature.

It isn’t just etiquette. It isn’t performance.
It’s an art. Practised in small, almost invisible ways.

Arriving as Energy, Not Just a Booking

Every arrival begins long before check-in.

It starts with the tone of your first email. The clarity of your WhatsApp message from the airport. The way you speak to the driver who’s been waiting an extra thirty minutes because Jomo Kenyatta slowed down in ways no one could predict.

A good guest understands that a hotel is a living organism. The reception, the kitchen, housekeeping, the bar, the garden — they are all in quiet synchrony, trying to make the moment you walk in feel effortless.

You help that orchestration when you share your arrival time honestly, not optimistically, let the hotel know if you’re running late or coming early. Remember that the person at the front desk is not the cause of your travel day — they are your first ally.

The art is simple: arrive with the energy you’d like to be met with. Nairobi returns it. 

Reading the Room Before You Fill It

Every space has its own volume.

The rooftop at sunset, with a DJ and the city stretching low on the horizon, demands one kind of presence. The breakfast terrace at 7am, where someone is quietly preparing for a board meeting or coming down from a night flight, asks for another.

Being a good guest is less about rules and more about sensitivity. You feel into the room before deciding how loudly to live in it.

You notice:

Who is already there, and what they seem to need.

Whether the space is designed for conversation or for quiet.

If this is the right room for a speakerphone call or if the garden path is better.

Volume isn’t only sound. It’s energy. Some days Nairobi wants your full laughter. Other days, it asks you to sit back, sip your coffee, and let the giraffes and birds do the talking.

The Invisible Work You Never See

Hotels are built on choreography you rarely witness.

Bedside water replenished. Towels folded the same way each time. A coffee machine that never runs out of beans. A gardener who trimmed that one branch so your morning view is just a little clearer.

To be a good guest is to be aware, even faintly, that an invisible network of people is holding your stay from the background. You may never learn their names, but you feel their presence in every detail.

Gratitude here isn’t grand. It’s:

A simple “thank you” in the corridor, even if you’re late.

A tray left somewhat neat rather than abandoned in chaos.

An extra second to truly see the person making your omelette, not just the omelette.

You don’t need to tip with extravagance to tip with intention. Sometimes the greatest currency is respect that lands as clearly as cash.

Sharing Space Like It Belongs to All of Us

A hotel is a shared poem written by strangers.

Being a good guest means remembering that the hallway is not your private dressing room, the pool is not a stage, and the lounge is not a personal office at full volume.

You move as though someone might be resting behind every door — because often, someone is. You close doors gently. You pass through corridors like a soft line break, not a thunderclap.

You understand that:

Your phone call doesn’t need the entire floor as an audience.

Your playlist is perfect for your room — not necessarily the breakfast terrace.

Your laughter can still be full without drowning out someone’s quiet.

The art is not in denying yourself joy. It’s in moderating it just enough that everyone else can keep theirs.

The Ritual of “Please” and “Thank You”

Language is one of the simplest amenities we all carry.

“Please” and “thank you” cost nothing, but they change the temperature of a moment instantly. In Nairobi, where warmth is a natural resource, courtesy amplifies what already lives in the culture.

You don’t need long speeches. You need small words said sincerely:

“Could we please have…” instead of “Bring…”

“Thank you for checking that” rather than silence.

“Good morning” to the gardener on your way out, not just to the manager at the desk.

The most memorable guests are not always the ones who stayed the longest or spent the most. They are the ones who made the people around them feel seen.

Caring for the Room Like a Temporary Home

Rooms hold stories long after check-out.

A good guest treats the room not as a disposable backdrop, but as a temporary home someone else will step into shortly after they leave.

This doesn’t mean living stiffly. It means a few deliberate rituals:

Using coasters and surfaces as if they matter — because they do.

Keeping food where it belongs, not everywhere.

Being mindful with makeup, hair dye, oils, and anything that stains more than memories.

Water and power are not infinite, even when they seem to be. Nairobi lives close to its seasons. So a good guest showers with awareness, turns off lights when leaving, and lets the environment breathe too.

When You Need More Than What Was Promised

There will always be moments when you need something extra.

An early check-in after a red-eye from Europe. A late check-out because a meeting ran over in Upper Hill. An iron at 10pm. A vegetarian option, even though the menu leans into nyama choma and grilled fish.

Being a good guest doesn’t mean asking for less. It means asking with clarity and kindness, and holding space for a “no” as gracefully as a “yes”.

You can:

Share your needs early, so the team can plan around them.

Understand that every “yes” is someone re-arranging unseen schedules.

Receive favours like gifts, not entitlements.

Hotels remember the guests who stretch their flexibility without snapping it.

Handling Friction Without Leaving Scars

Sometimes, things go wrong.

The Wi-Fi drops before a crucial call. The hot water hesitates. A neighbour’s music leaks through the wall, or a taxi driver waiting outside is not the one you expected.

The difference between a complaint and a conversation is tone. A good guest understands that feedback, when given well, is also a form of care. It helps us refine, adjust, do better for the next arrival — including your own.

You:

Speak directly to the team rather than to the internet first.

Describe what happened, not who you imagine is to blame.

Allow a chance to resolve before you decide the story.

The art is in staying firm about your needs without becoming unkind about the people trying to meet them.

Leaving a Gentle Aftertaste

Departure is part of the ritual.

Being a good guest is not only about how you enter, but how you leave. Do you check out with the same warmth you arrived with? Do you return the key card with a smile, even after a full week of meetings, traffic, and jet lag?

You might:

Offer a specific compliment — the night receptionist who was always awake with a smile, the omelette, the garden, the quiet room at the end of the corridor.

Leave the room in a state that tells housekeeping, “We saw your work.”

Drop a short note or review that reflects the truth, held with grace.

The best guests exit like a good final chapter: complete, warm, leaving the door open for a sequel.

A Small Companion Guide, If You’re Curating Your Guest Ritual

For business stays:

Communicate clearly about arrival times and meeting schedules.

Use shared spaces thoughtfully — lobby for quick calls, room for longer ones.

Treat staff as partners in your productivity, not obstacles to it.

For weekends and leisure:

Soften your volume when others are clearly here to rest.

Try at least one local dish, drink, or experience recommended by the team.

Let yourself slow down enough to notice the art on the walls, the trees outside, the way Nairobi light hits the plains.

For long stays and return visits:

Learn two or three names — and use them.

Give feedback as you go so each stay improves, rather than saving everything for one long complaint at the end.

Build small rituals: the same corner table, the same morning walk, the same greeting to the guard at the gate. These become your private chapters at the hotel.

Your signature as a guest is never just about how much you spend or how long you stay.

It’s written in how you enter a room, how you inhabit shared spaces, how you treat the people who make your stay possible, and how you leave.

The art of being a good guest is simple:
Arrive with respect. Stay with awareness.
Leave a softness that makes everyone quietly hope you’ll come back.