Previously, on couch surfing: was it a case of the bunny-boiling couchsurfing host, or was I the receiver of that old-fashioned "southern hospitality" (only in this instance it would be northern Californian)?
Wrong on both counts. My host was neither intimidating, nor frightening. Friendly and familiar, he gave me and the other surfer complete freedom without obligation. He made no attempt to orientate me with the house, which ironically led me to feel all the more comfortable.
My host, let's call him "E", is no stranger to surfing. He told me he had hosted over 1,000 surfers in his three years with couch surfing. So experienced was he, in fact, that he was a CS ambassador for the San Francisco chapter of the network. An ambassador comes recommended by other CSers, must have ten positive references left by their guests, and a number of other criteria. They must also participate in CS community events in their city.
1,000-plus people in three years. I try to do the maths, wishing I hadn't denounced its function at the age of 14. There's roughly 1,000 days in three years. So you have one person per day? I ask. He tells me that he always has more than one. His most recent guests who (and I thanked my lucky stars for this next fact when I heard it) had departed the previous day were a mother, her 15-month old child and husband. His apartment measured about 25 square metres and held one bedroom, one bath and a small kitchen.
Surely allowing people in your home on a daily basis, none of whom you know from Jack, would cause you to be slightly discerning in your choices. "I once had a guy who hadn't taken a shower in 3 and a half weeks. In the time that he walked through the door, introduced himself , sat down, and asked me if he could take a shower, the stench was so unbearable that I had to open all the windows in the house." How much time had lapsed? "About two minutes."
What's the best thing about couchsurfing? Undoubtedly the sense of adventure it gives you. You don't know who this person is. They could turn out to be the most wonderful, giving person you've ever met, or an axe-wielding maniac, but you learn to trust strangers, for better or for worse; perhaps it's being part of a community, albeit a small role you have played, that gives and takes but not on the monetary basis which we are all implicitly accustomed to; or could it be that everyone is on the lookout for the same shared experience of letting a stranger into their home or going into a stranger's home and giving each other the benefit of the doubt that we will all get on and every human is inherently "good"?
I met some wonderful characters during my first and definitely not last surfing trip. Allis, a softly spoken but strong-willed Tex-Mex who had spent the last four months travelling around the US, and had decided she wanted to make another life in San Francisco, in addition to the ones already lived in New York and various cities in Texas. Allis has a soothing but alluring energy in both her choice of words, her soft American accent, her life experience and general conversation, and I immediately gravitated towards her. Now that she is staying in San Francisco, we are going to be "San Francisco resident friends" (to quote her).
Accompanying her were two more "border babies": Lizeth and Monica, and a dog called Bop. Intriguing but not intimidating, the three girls had just stepped off a 30-hour ride from San Antonio, Texas, which included almost being driven off the road and a probably meth-fuelled driver at the wheel. And these were two different people.
I considered it good fortune that I had only had to ride my bike to get here, I definitely wasn't on meth while doing it and that it took one-tenth of the time to get here. With those thoughts, I burrowed into my hygienically questionable sleeping bag on my foam mattress on the hardwood floor for a comforting night with my new friends.
Wrong on both counts. My host was neither intimidating, nor frightening. Friendly and familiar, he gave me and the other surfer complete freedom without obligation. He made no attempt to orientate me with the house, which ironically led me to feel all the more comfortable.
My host, let's call him "E", is no stranger to surfing. He told me he had hosted over 1,000 surfers in his three years with couch surfing. So experienced was he, in fact, that he was a CS ambassador for the San Francisco chapter of the network. An ambassador comes recommended by other CSers, must have ten positive references left by their guests, and a number of other criteria. They must also participate in CS community events in their city.
1,000-plus people in three years. I try to do the maths, wishing I hadn't denounced its function at the age of 14. There's roughly 1,000 days in three years. So you have one person per day? I ask. He tells me that he always has more than one. His most recent guests who (and I thanked my lucky stars for this next fact when I heard it) had departed the previous day were a mother, her 15-month old child and husband. His apartment measured about 25 square metres and held one bedroom, one bath and a small kitchen.
Surely allowing people in your home on a daily basis, none of whom you know from Jack, would cause you to be slightly discerning in your choices. "I once had a guy who hadn't taken a shower in 3 and a half weeks. In the time that he walked through the door, introduced himself , sat down, and asked me if he could take a shower, the stench was so unbearable that I had to open all the windows in the house." How much time had lapsed? "About two minutes."
What's the best thing about couchsurfing? Undoubtedly the sense of adventure it gives you. You don't know who this person is. They could turn out to be the most wonderful, giving person you've ever met, or an axe-wielding maniac, but you learn to trust strangers, for better or for worse; perhaps it's being part of a community, albeit a small role you have played, that gives and takes but not on the monetary basis which we are all implicitly accustomed to; or could it be that everyone is on the lookout for the same shared experience of letting a stranger into their home or going into a stranger's home and giving each other the benefit of the doubt that we will all get on and every human is inherently "good"?
I met some wonderful characters during my first and definitely not last surfing trip. Allis, a softly spoken but strong-willed Tex-Mex who had spent the last four months travelling around the US, and had decided she wanted to make another life in San Francisco, in addition to the ones already lived in New York and various cities in Texas. Allis has a soothing but alluring energy in both her choice of words, her soft American accent, her life experience and general conversation, and I immediately gravitated towards her. Now that she is staying in San Francisco, we are going to be "San Francisco resident friends" (to quote her).
Accompanying her were two more "border babies": Lizeth and Monica, and a dog called Bop. Intriguing but not intimidating, the three girls had just stepped off a 30-hour ride from San Antonio, Texas, which included almost being driven off the road and a probably meth-fuelled driver at the wheel. And these were two different people.
I considered it good fortune that I had only had to ride my bike to get here, I definitely wasn't on meth while doing it and that it took one-tenth of the time to get here. With those thoughts, I burrowed into my hygienically questionable sleeping bag on my foam mattress on the hardwood floor for a comforting night with my new friends.
feel like reading a book...love it!
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