Over the years, I've been an unapologetic supporter of Airbnb. That faith took a bit of a dent on our last trip to Munich.

Growing up in the '80s, I had these weird ideas without knowing how to realize them. What if you could write a letter and it would reach your recipient the very second you finished it? Only a decade later: hello, email. Then I always thought: what if you could have an apartment for one week when you are on vacation? You know, just a little place, but with all the trimmings...kitchen, shower, TV...like taking your own home on the road. That is what Airbnb has been to us, in a nutshell. A home away from home.

For the most part, we've done fine. Most of the time, we've gotten our money's worth. Until this last one in Munich, we were always made the right picks. Nowadays, Airbnb owners have a way of getting you the key without any contact. In Vienna, it was a lockbox, hanging right there next to the door. Enter a combo, and you're in. Clever, really. I doubt very much a burglar would waste his time going through every combination in front of a front door with all of the next-door neighbors watching him. That guy would have to be more skilled than a safe buster and work in record time. Hardly seems worth it. 

Now there are always a few things (and people) I am willing to work with in order to avoid hotels. Less than a great location? Hey, that's why nature gave us feet. Walls made up of cardboard? Well, I still have a problem with that, I admit. Coming into Munich, I knew parking would be a problem. All right, so the guy couldn't deliver on a private parking space, unlike Prague, Vienna, and Salzburg. That wouldn't be a dealbreaker.

The first warning sign came when the landlord - let's call him Ludwig - told us where to find the key. A half-block from the apartment, tucked away behind a flower pot, near the recycling bin. Okay, this looks a lot like the "Blackmail" sketch in Monty Python featuring the last bit telling the person where to send the money: "Behind The Hot Water Pipes, Third Washroom Along, Victoria Station, London..." Sketchy, I'm thinking.

Big deal, we get into the apartment, and we are ready to pack it in for the night after a long day at the Königssee. We look around the apartment, the place is tiny, but that's Munich for you these days. Somehow we'll need to squeeze four people into our place. All right, we can squeeze four people into a tent, then we surely can do it in an apartment. It is also piping hot, which doesn't make things more comfortable. 

Next, we discover that the "apartment" seems to be separate from...well, from the looks of it, another apartment, a much bigger apartment. It's behind one door at the end of our hallway. Okay, then. What clinches the disaster is the moment we hear the dreaded key turn in the keyhole. There's what appears to be a student calmly entering our place on his way to the door that separates our two units. Open the door, shut the door. So now we officially have a roommate.

An hour later, the key turns again, and now it's Ludwig. By now, Liebi and I are annoyed. This is fraud, plain and simple. I could live with picking up the key from a crack in the sidewalk. I could live with the apartment being two separate units in the year 2020. But the guy sharing our airspace in order to get to his place, plus the landlord busting in like Kramer in Seinfeld? Epic fail. 

Ludwig, I tell the guy. Where is the privacy here? Ludwig says, "I wasn't aware my tenant was here." At least we have that settled. But what about Ludwig himself? For the first time ever, Liebi and I contemplate cutting a vacation short and maybe eat the last day. In the end, we don't, but I can safely say that this was the worst Airbnb experience ever. Tip: make sure nobody is sharing your living space. Make sure you are the only one in that apartment for the time you have rented it. 

Airbnb, not Airbn we...or so we thought.