It's A Thing: The Unsurfed Couch

Today, we made our first attempt at couchsurfing. We were never the same.

Our host, who for legal reasons we shall henceforth refer to as Alex, seemed like a friendly enough guy. His reviews from when we found him in May were all positive. “Best host I ever had,” and “Awesome couchsurfing experience,” were some of the stellar comments he received. Great place to start, right? Wrong, so wrong.

He greeted us with hugs and kisses when our bus arrived, and so the fun began. Not two minutes after we first introduced ourselves, Alex admitted that Kaley and Kelsey turned him straight, that Scott’s exotic look would get him Estonian beauties, and Alex was on the prowl for a cougar to revive his youth. Mind you, he is eighteen years old.

“Huddle, huddle, huddle!!” he shouted. It was time to move. We illegally boarded the public bus and were told to act “retarded” to avoid paying the fare. Up to that point, we didn’t realize that what he was doing was an act. He took us to a grocery store, where he likened Scott pushing the shopping cart to “that guy who carried the cross.” He was referring to Jesus.

We thought things would get better, or at least more normal. We still had hope.

Then, we walked through his front door into the seventh circle of hell, or what he would call, “my mansion” - a two room, one twin bed, no couch, dirty floor, and shower over toilet apartment that was temporary home to 17 people last week. Tonight, we were meant to share it with four others (“two football players and my China girl”) who were visiting the area for the sex, to be brought back to his apartment (?).

Alex asked how long we would stay. Kelsey responded with a quick “I don’t know, we are still deciding.”

We decided against it. But not before we left all our bags in his apartment and headed for town. We spent the following eight hours contemplating how to sleep in McDonald’s, the airport terminal, under a bridge, on a hill, or in jail (at least we would feel safe and protected from our host!).

Then we wondered about the bags. What to do?

We were going to show up the next morning saying, “sorry, we decided to stay with our Estonian beauties, who we met at the club and wanted to study all of Scott’s exotic features.” Never mind the fact that none of us has showered in three days or slept in two days. All we knew was we were not going back.

Scott went back. What started as a five minute walk to collect some items from our bags to “take to the club” (power adapter, towel, sleepsack) turned into Kaley and Kelsey fretting over Scott’s perceived death. When he didn’t return for two hours, we feared the worst.

Suddenly, the cafe doors swung open, and a beacon of light shone through. Scott had arrived with our three overstuffed bags over his shoulders.


The cafe fell silent. Scott came toward us, taking out everything in his path: tables, chairs, and various Estonians. As for the two hours, Alex mislabeled his house on the map by about twenty minutes. Scott only found it after spending an hour and a half of that time searching every block of the city (there are not many).

We had our bags. We still didn’t have a place to stay.

Since everyone overheard our plight, our waiter of eight hours had pity on us and welcomed us into his apartment, where we currently write this entry. With only ten minutes to prepare, he and his girlfriend have been more welcoming hosts than the man who had two months.

In other news, we received a new offer for a couchsurfing host tomorrow night. Fingers crossed!