by Eric Schenck
The first time I hear about couchsurfing is in a political science class. It’s 2013 and I’m a sophomore in college.
Our guest speaker is a guy in his 30’s that’s traveled the world. His secret to doing it on the cheap?
A website called Couchsurfing that lets you sleep in strangers’ homes.
He tells us about all the places he’s been, the people he’s met, and the adventures he’s had. He finishes his presentation and asks if there’s any questions. Nobody raises their hand. I take the bait.
“And all of this is safe?”
He nods his head and laughs.
“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”
I go home that evening and look it up. Couchsurfing has over 14 million members around the world. Sounds legit to me.
Creating a profile can be stressful. You add some pictures, the countries you’ve been to, and a little bit about yourself. But what to say?
I spend a few hours thinking about it. How do I sound nice without trying too hard? Or trustworthy without being desperate?
The profiles I look up all sound so much cooler than me. I’m 20 years old and have never left the United States. What interesting things can I possibly offer?
I throw up a few random lines about languages and reading and call it a day. I don’t plan on using it anytime soon. But a few months later, after going back and forth in my head, my time comes.
It’s time to give couchsurfing a shot.
…
I have an internship in southern California. Rent for the three weeks will be at least 1,000 dollars. My first journey into the seedy world of strangers’ homes is not about adventure, but cold hard cash.
I’m new on the platform, but I get lucky. My first host will let me stay ten days. I’ve already gotten half the time of the internship squared away. And for free.
My first host’s name is also Eric. I’m gone most of the time, but when I’m there I watch movies with him and his roommate. It’s all very normal, and I’m delighted that my first couchsurfing experience is (literally) sleeping on their couch.
I get my second host for an entire week. Sarah is in her 40’s and talks about how much she hates her job. She’s an accountant but dreams of working as a pastry chef.
For 17 days, I’m surrounded by the mundane. Couchsurfing really is just a bunch of normal people doing a not-so-normal thing. Nothing weird to see here.
That cute worldview goes up in smoke with my third and final host of California: the Doorknob Guy.
Kelvin lets me stay in his guest room the last four days of my internship. He shows me around the house. Very quickly, I notice a mysterious absence: his doors don’t have doorknobs.
I laugh nervously.
“So…I see your doors are pretty easy to open.”
Kelvin nods.
“Yeah. Honestly…I guess I just don’t really trust them.”
I have no idea whether to take him seriously. If any of my friends said something like this, I’d punch them in the face. But a private room in an expensive city that I don’t have to pay for?
I continue with my nervous laughing.
My host is nice enough, but I’m not about to be on the news. Later that night I pile my bags and two chairs in front of the door. There’s something very off about Kelvin. I try to minimize the time I spend at his house.
When I leave, he writes me a review. Kelvin is sad that he only saw me “for a short while every evening.”
A year later he checks in with me. He’s hosted more people, and every review is glowing.
Kelvin really was just that weird.
…
The entire concept of couchsurfing sounds like a serial killer’s dream come true. A steady stream of strangers coming to your home.
It’s impossible not to wonder about the safety of it all.
This is where the review system comes in. It’s just like anything else: if a couchsurfer was nice and respectful, you leave them a positive review. If they suck, a negative one. These are all posted on your profile for other people to see.
Like Airbnb, there is an internal pressure to avoid anything negative besides the most extreme cases. After all, if you say something bad about them, they might say something bad about you.
This system of Couchsurfing reviews is inherently flawed. But it is something. Even just one review is a signal to other members that you’re not a total psycho. And by the end of the internship, I have three of them.
The entire time I’m in southern California, I lie to the rest of the interns about where I’m staying.
“My aunt’s house.”
This is always my hopefully-not-too-quick answer to anybody that asks. Do they see the panic in my eyes?
Thankfully, nobody asks me what this aunt’s name is. Or where exactly I’m staying. Or to hang out.
The concept of couchsurfing is exciting. But only for the right kind of people. For the normal ones, it’s a one-way ticket to a stabbing. Who tells a group of strangers that they’re sleeping in the houses of…well, other strangers?
But alas, three weeks later I’m still alive.
1,000 dollars less poor, and with some hilarious stories.
I’m officially in.
…
In 2015 I move to Cairo.
Egypt is not an easy culture to assimilate into, and the first real friends I make come from Couchsurfing events.
The first one I go to is at a rooftop cafe. I end up sitting next to Mahmoud, Cairo’s “Couchsurfing Ambassador” (the website is becoming more intricate). He is Egypt’s version of John Candy and always seems to be laughing about something.
Mahmoud pats me on the back when I introduce myself in Arabic.
“So how long have you been a member of the community, Eric?”
The way he says it makes me feel like I’m part of an exclusive club.
“A few years. I couchsurfed a few times back in the U.S.”
Approving nods all around.
Mahmoud smiles.
“Well, welcome to Egypt.”
Most Egyptians don’t drink alcohol, so they all raise their tea in a toast. Mahmoud takes the lead.
“To Couchsurfing…and to trusting strangers!”
It’s the hardest I’ve smiled in awhile.
“To trusting strangers.”
…
During my three years in Egypt, I take various trips. It’s not about the money. Egypt is one of the cheapest countries in the world, and you can get a decent hotel room for 20 bucks a night.
Unaware of it, I am becoming a true couchsurfer: in it for the people and what they can show me about life.
I take a trip to Alexandria. A Coptic Christian named Michael hosts me while I’m there, and takes me to visit St. Peter and St. Paul’s Church. We chat about what it’s like to be Christian in Egypt. It’s not easy, but Michael manages to see the humor in all things.
A few months later the church is bombed by terrorists. 25 Egyptians are killed. I message Michael. He’s fine, and hasn’t forgotten to make light of things.
“Dude, your timing was perfect!”
About a year later I’m back in Alexandria again. I’ve come with my friend Moumtaez, and Ahmed is hosting us. He shows us how to cook koshary, Egypt’s famous noodle dish. These are the things that I love. Connecting to a person from a different place, and learning something in the process.
My experience with other couchsurfers is overwhelmingly positive. But there are some bad apples. And when I start to host, some really gross ones, too.
Ming is a good example.
He started his “world trip” six months ago, and he’s trying to become the youngest Chinese man to visit every country. Apparently also the quickest.
Out of 195 official countries, Ming has been to 94. Almost 100 countries in 180 days. On average, he’s been in each country less than 48 hours.
“All my time is in airplanes or visa offices.”
Ming says it is with obvious pride. But to me, he’s the definition of smug. At this point I’m 23 and have only been to a handful of countries, and even I know that he’s full of shit.
Ming has nothing interesting to say about where he’s been. He’s not traveling; he’s crossing off a checklist.
The day after he begins his stay, my roommate and I have an emergency meeting in the kitchen. Mohammed is drinking a glass of whiskey and shaking his head.
“Eric…his toenails are on the table.”
Mohammed sounds like somebody just stole his dog. Hurt, incredulous, broken inside.
Ming is staying in our living room, but he’s not currently there.
I slink over to the couch to investigate. Mohammed is absolutely correct: Ming’s toenails are scattered across the living room table, right next to nail clippers and a pair of dirty socks.
I want to crawl up in a ball and die. I’ve brought this plague upon us.
The only good thing about Ming is that he’s not staying too long. The next morning he’s off to Sudan, and yet another surface-level travel experience.
But again, for every terrible couchsurfer, there is somebody that you didn’t believe, couldn’t believe, actually exists.
Like Haruto.
Two Egyptian couchsurfers and I meet him in downtown Cairo one afternoon. We all gather to smoke shisha and listen to his story.
Haruto is from Japan and has ridden his bicycle from eastern China all the way to Jordan. After that, he took a boat to South Africa, and the last two months he has pedaled the entire east coast of Africa to Cairo.
10,000 miles in total so far, and now another 7,000 back to Japan.
I ask him why he’s doing it.
“Very fun, Eric. Very fun.”
I’m sitting next to a living legend.
…
In late 2016 I take a trip to Ethiopia.
After a year abroad, I think I have things figured out. I’m a modern day Marco Polo. When it comes to traveling, there’s nothing I can’t deal with.
This leaves me a little too trusting, much to the delight of the two Ethiopian guys that “hang out” with me on my first day in Addis Ababa.
I end up in a back alley, surrounded by four of their much larger friends, being “politely asked” for compensation. At first I refuse. Then the mood changes.
“Just trust me. Pay them – or you will regret it.”
Nobody has any idea where I am. If they wanted to kill me in the back alley, they could probably get away with it.
I nod my head and walk to an ATM with two of them. I give them 150 dollars and get a taxi straight back to my host Tesfa’s house. A small price to pay for my life. I’m shaken.
Tesfa leaves me a review on Couchsurfing warning others of my mistake. Most of the words are capitalized. His sense of urgency can’t be missed.
It’s funny, and a bit embarrassing for anybody that checks out my profile.
But it’s also ironic. A stranger that is letting me sleep in his home is warning me about spending time with other strangers.
Couchsurfing, as great as it is, is full of contradictions.
My first day in Ethiopia is not a good one. But a few days later, Couchsurfing proves itself once again.
I surf with a young Ethiopian guy and his mom. She makes me the most delicious coffee I’ve ever had.
I sit on the floor, and her son translates as she tells me the history of wars in Ethiopia.
These are the stories that I can’t get enough of.
And with couchsurfing, they seem to be the norm.
…
Is it safe for women?
This is one of the most common questions you hear about couchsurfing.
As a man, I can only answer it anecdotally: I have met plenty of women that have used the website, couchsurfed alone, and most of their experiences have been great.
As always, street smarts and listening to your gut can get you a long way.
A good example is Stella. She’s one of the last couchsurfers I meet in Cairo before I leave for Germany. Stella is Vietnamese but has lived in Iran for the last three years. I teach her some Arabic, she teaches me some Farsi.
An American guy living in Egypt, chatting with a Vietnamese girl that lives in Iran: tell me you couchsurf without telling me you couchsurf.
Stella is alive. In every sense of the word. She laughs at herself, always has something insightful to say, sees the beauty in everything.
We meet for beers, and end our night sitting next to the Nile. We drink whiskey out of a paper bag and watch Egyptian families walking along the river.
“Come hitchhiking with me, Eric.”
I look at her.
“Don’t tell me that’s your plan.”
“Yup. From Cairo all the way to Aswan. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
I’m scared, and grasp for an excuse.
“I would come with you, but I have to work.”
It’s a valid reason not to go, but Stella knows what I’m thinking.
She nods her head and punches me on the shoulder.
“Fair enough. Maybe in another life.”
I nod my head.
“Maybe in another life.”
She comes over to my apartment and spends the night with me. When I wake up the next morning, she’s gone.
On my desk is a handwritten note.
Nice to meet you, Eric. See you in another life. 🙂
It’s my first couchsurfing heartbreak.
…
Stella must have inspired me, because a few months later I have the urge to hitchhike myself.
I’m in Fort Worth for Christmas, and my friend Luis lives in Tucson. It’s almost 1,000 miles away, but I don’t have anything to do the next week.
Why not?
It takes four days and three nights. The first two evenings I couchsurf.
My first host is Troy. He picks me up in Abilene and gives me a tour of the city. Later that evening he drives me up to a viewpoint overlooking piles of dirt.
“My uncle is in the mining industry. I’ll join when I’m done with college.”
I just nod my head. I’m not sure what Troy is thinking, but it feels awkwardly romantic.
All of a sudden he is reaching into a bag behind his seat. He pulls something out and extends it towards me. I just hitchhiked, and couchsurfing is not not new to me, but I’m filled with terror.
There’s really only two options right now: a gun, or handcuffs.
Troy is either going to murder me, or rape me…
Or both.
But it’s neither of these. I look into Troy’s hand, and he’s holding a red Starburst.
He smiles.
“Want one?”
I’m ashamed. But in some weird way, this is a good reminder: couchsurfing is not a natural thing to do. This fear of putting your wellbeing into the hands of a stranger never completely goes away.
We go back to Troy’s home and eat meatloaf with his mom while watching Jeopardy. We laugh and scream answers at the TV. I only get one right, but I’m already part of the family.
I wonder how cool Troy’s mom is with couchsurfers. But I don’t ask – I don’t want to put any ideas in her head.
Early the next morning we get pancakes at IHOP and chat about life. As he drops me off on the side of the road for day two of hitchhiking, I have a realization: out of every couchsurfer I’ve ever met, Troy is probably the least likely to ever do anything bad.
Troy is as vanilla, and genuine, as they come.
That night I arrange to crash on Andy’s living room couch. He only has two reviews. But they’re both positive, and I’m tired, and in the small random town that I end up in, he’s really the only chance I have.
Andy picks me up at a gas station and takes me to his house. It’s already 10 PM, but as soon as I sit on his couch, he asks if we can talk.
“I’m sorry Eric, I know it’s weird, but I just need somebody to chat with.”
I’m too exhausted to protest.
“Sure thing man.”
“Well,” Andy laughs, “it’s about my girlfriend.”
He grabs a bottle of vodka from his kitchen and comes back to the living room.
“Have some if you want. Helps me be a bit more honest.”
As I sit on his couch, Andy tells me his entire relationship history. He loves his girlfriend Jessica, but she’s not sure she wants children. Andy’s dad left when he was a kid. Having a big family is all he’s ever wanted.
An hour later I’ve said about ten words, but it’s clear Andy has gotten what he wanted.
The next morning it’s another goodbye on the road.
Andy hands me a Rockstar energy drink.
“Not really breakfast, but better than nothing.”
I laugh and shake his hand.
“Thanks for listening, Eric. I needed that.”
“Thanks for the couch. And good luck with Jessica.”
Andy shakes his head.
“Fuck, brother, I’m gonna need it.”
When I finally make it to Luis’s house in Tucson, it hits me: the last four days, I’ve been completely dependent on people I don’t know. I’ve slept at two of their houses, and I’ve ridden in twelve of their cars.
I haven’t gotten stabbed. I haven’t been robbed. The worst thing that’s happened to me is my poor showing during Jeopardy.
The kindness of strangers is very much alive.
…
In 2018 I leave Egypt for Germany. On the way there, my little brother Noah and I travel through eastern Europe. Albania is our first stop.
I message a couchsurfer named Ani that lives in Tirana, Albania’s capital. He gets back to me an hour later. Ani and his girlfriend won’t be at their apartment – they’re going on a multi-day hike.
We are welcome to join.
It’s Noah’s first couchsurfing experience and I’m thrilled. What better way to get started?
The hike starts out great. The Albanian mountains are some of the prettiest I’ve ever seen.
“See Noah, couchsurfing isn’t so bad after all!”
Couchsurfing is like a new girlfriend I was desperate for my brother to like, and their first meeting has gone great.
I fall asleep feeling worldly.
Day two is when disaster strikes. Ani’s GPS device dies, and what’s supposed to be a four hour hike turns into nine.
We stumble upon a group of shepherd dogs. Their job is to rip our faces off, and by the looks of their snarling and charging us, that’s exactly what they plan to do.
Ani tells us to take our shirts off and wave them at the dogs. That should scare them away. He tries it himself. It doesn’t work.
Our salvation comes from the shepherd himself. He stumbles out of his cottage and screams at the dogs. After a quick chat with Ani, he points us in the right direction.
My heart is beating out of my chest.
Three days later we say goodbye. We can’t get out of Albania fast enough.
Ani leaves me a review the day after we leave. According to him, “not everything went well.”
You don’t say.
The rest of our three-week trip is filled with a random assortment of couchsurfers.
Milos from Montenegro tells us about the Kosovo War and how his parents had fled. I’m dead tired but I can’t stop listening.
Fiona is a 50-year-old from Australia and lets us crash at her place in Slovakia. Her bathroom is full of condoms. We don’t ask questions and hit the road early the next morning.
We eventually make it to Germany. Noah is on a plane back to the U.S., and I hope couchsurfing has taught him a few life lessons.
That the world is a big place with adventures right around the corner. That strangers can be pretty damn cool if you’re willing to trust them. And, of course, that you should always make sure your GPS is fully charged.
…
I live in Germany from 2018 to 2023. My time couchsurfing is minimal. Less about surfing with or hosting anybody, and more about going to events.
It’s a different experience there entirely. A bit more negative. Maybe it’s just that I’m slightly older and skeptical, but I start to see the flaws of people. Couchsurfers can be really weird. Socially awkward. And, honestly, lonely.
A lot of people I meet at these meetups seem sad. Like they can’t make friends the normal way.
Then again, who am I to judge? Making new friends as an adult is notoriously difficult, and these people are putting themselves out there. More power to them.
But it is a realization that sticks with me.
…
My most recent Couchsurfing experience comes in late September of 2023.
I visit my Egyptian friend David in Munich for Oktoberfest. I stay at his place for two days. The third night his parents are scheduled to sleep there, and I decide to try my hand at couchsurfing.
An Israeli girl Shany accepts my request.
I ask David if he wants to hang out with her.
He looks uneasy.
“Guessing that’s a no?”
“It’s not that I have something against Israeli people. It just…doesn’t feel right.”
David is extremely pro-Palestine, but even this seems a bit too much.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know man. Just feel like things have been a bit quiet in Gaza. Like something is coming, I don’t know. Feels a bit weird hanging out with an Israeli right now.”
It makes me angry, but I leave on good terms.
Later that night, Shany and I sit on her back porch, smoke a joint, and eat a pizza. The conversation turns to the Middle East and Israel.
“So,” I ask her, “are things really as bad as people say?”
“In what way?”
“For Palestinian people?”
She shrugs.
“Better in some ways. Worse in others.”
“You know my Egyptian friend David didn’t want to come over here? Just because you’re Israeli? How crazy is that?”
Shany thinks for a minute.
“That’s ok. I don’t really blame him. The situation over there…it feels tense. Like things could explode at any minute.”
“Weird you say that. That’s exactly what David said.”
She smiles.
“Let’s hope we’re wrong.”
Exactly one week later, Hamas attacks. 1,200 Israelis are killed, and Palestinians start to die in the thousands.
I message both of them.
Shany takes a few days. When she does respond it sounds scattered.
Thanks Eric. I’ve been watching some of the videos online. Not a good idea. Absolutely terrible what I’ve seen.
David responds immediately.
It is sad, yes. But Westerners really only care when white people die.
My gut reaction is outrage. But then I think about the point he’s making. People that support Israel are hurting, and for good reason. But history repeats itself. The conversations from their side about Palestinians blown to bits will fade into the background.
Who’s right? Who’s wrong?
It’s impossible to say.
It’s easy to think of Couchsurfing as a big happy family, sitting on the floor and playing the drums together. I like to think that Shany and David would get along great if they ever met.
But Couchsurfing is still just a bunch people, and all of the ways that we’re fucked up to one another.
That will never change.
…
These days I feel boring.
Whether it’s less extroversion or desire to meet people, or more need for personal space, I haven’t couchsurfed so much the past few years. I do want to start hosting as soon as I have my own place.
But it’s one thing to say that.
It’s an entirely different thing to do it.
In a way, couchsurfing feels like a young person’s game. I’m in my 30’s now, and the thought of sleeping on a random person’s couch (or having a random person sleep on mine) doesn’t sound so great.
But there is always that urge. I almost always have this experience when couchsurfing: there is, in some way, a slight disappointment when somebody accepts my surfing request.
(Fuck, I have to talk with a stranger).
But after the fact?
Almost without fail, it ends up being wonderful. For different reasons, of course – but I never regret it.
It sounds strange to most people, but the 29 Couchsurfing reviews I have on my profile are one of my biggest sources of pride in life. To me, they’re proof that I believe in a decent-enough world and the people that live in it.
Maybe it’s all bullshit. Whenever I see somebody with 500+ reviews on their profile, my first thought (unfairly) is something along the lines of:
“Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?”
But let’s be honest: I still love couchsurfing, and I probably always will.
To all the couchsurfers I’ve met, hosted, surfed with, and talked to, the only thing I can possibly feel is a deep sense of gratitude.
You’ve all taught me something. Whether it was about distant wars, or the best way to make koshary, or simply about myself, my life is better because of you.
Words, truly, cannot express how thankful I am.
So instead, I’ll just borrow from Mahmoud, Egypt’s very own John Candy, at that first Cairo meetup all those years ago:
“To Couchsurfing…and to trusting strangers!”
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