The Final Weekend of My Bed and Breakfast in France: Reflections and Reality

A Farewell to the B&B Dream

The last weekend hosting guests at my bed and breakfast in the charming countryside of Charente felt like a bittersweet symphony. As I prepared for my final visitors, tidying up cobwebs and giving the oven one last battle against years of baked-on grime, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of relief and nostalgia. This chapter of my life, though filled with cozy mornings and friendly encounters, was coming to a close—and honestly, it was time.

Running a B&B seemed idyllic at first: inviting travelers into my beautiful corner of France, sharing fresh-baked bread, and enjoying conversations over cups of coffee. But the reality has often been less romantic. Hosting strangers meant my home never truly felt like mine, always trying to make it perfect, always sacrificing my own comfort for the guests. And while I love hospitality, I’ve come to realize that loving something doesn’t mean it’s meant to last forever.

This weekend’s guests are kind, but as I finish making their room—fluffing the pastel-colored storage baskets in the closet and arranging fresh linens—I find myself counting down the hours until they leave. Not because they’re difficult, but because I’m ready to reclaim my home, to make it fully mine once more. The hustle of managing bookings, cancellations, last-minute inquiries—it’s been an emotional rollercoaster, and I’m ready to step off.

When Dreams Don’t Pay the Bills

Financially, the B&B never really added up. People might think a bed and breakfast can be a steady source of income, but the math says otherwise. Between the fees taken by platforms like Airbnb, government taxes, and rising costs for utilities, I ended up making just enough to break even—sometimes not even that. The romantic notion of running a B&B in the French countryside quickly collided with the stark reality of profit margins.

In the end, each night’s work earned me just about €25. That might sound fine for a hobby, but for a sustainable business—especially one that comes at the cost of personal peace—it’s simply not enough. There’s a significant emotional toll that comes with inviting strangers into your home, day after day, weekend after weekend. I found myself feeling anxious, my perfectionism pushing me to ensure everything was flawless for my guests. Ultimately, I became more of a host than a person living in my own space.

A New Vision for My Little French Corner

Closing the B&B is not about giving up, but about reimagining what’s next. I’m still in love with the idea of sharing this place—its tranquility, its charm—but in a way that doesn’t consume me. Retreats, for example, make sense. They’re planned and intentional, allowing me to welcome people without sacrificing my mental space. Knowing the exact timeline gives me peace of mind—a respite from the unpredictable rhythm of short-term guests.

If you’re dreaming of running a B&B in rural France, I won’t tell you it’s impossible. But I will say, consider all sides. Consider whether you truly want your personal haven to be always on display, or if the thrill of hosting will wear thin once you’re scrubbing another bathroom at 10 p.m. for a guest arriving in the morning. Know that in quieter parts of France, bookings are sporadic, competition is fierce, and profit margins are thin. For me, it’s time to let my home be what it is meant to be: a place of rest, joy, and creativity, not a revolving door.

Finding Freedom

This weekend marks a turning point, and the feeling of freedom is already creeping in. The sun is setting, and soon I’ll be taking a walk to clear my mind before heading to a casual night at the local bar. Fries and ketchup on the menu tonight—not a lavish meal, but shared in good company. It’s moments like these that I cherish. The simple, the genuine, the unplanned—as opposed to the carefully curated experience for guests.

As I move forward, I’m excited for what’s to come. I’m eager to focus more on creativity, on my artistic pursuits, on making my house into a true sanctuary for myself. And who knows? Maybe in the future, it will host not just guests but fellow creatives seeking a retreat—a place where, for a time, they too can breathe and find inspiration without pressure.

For now, though, I sip my coffee in the quiet of an empty house, a space that’s finally just mine again. And that feels like a perfect ending—or maybe a beginning.