I’m in my mid-twenties when I decide to join the Couchsurfing community and host travelers visiting my city. For those of you who don’t know Couchsurfing: it’s a platform through which one can find a place to stay with a local when travelling instead of staying at a hotel. It’s a bit like Airbnb, but unlike Airbnb, you don’t have to pay for the room. Still, many guests bring a small gift from their country or hometown, cook dinner, or invite the host to a few drinks at a local pub to show their gratitude.
I’m still a university student living in a shabby flat, but it’s in the city centre and I have a small living room and an air mattress I can offer to surfers.
Most of the time, it’s a fun experience and the people I meet are great, but sometimes… well. Below are some of the stranger things that have happened to me while hosting surfers.
One time, I host a young woman from East Asia who is traveling Europe and requests to stay at my place for two nights. When she arrives at my place, she jumps at the sight of my dog, who she didn’t expect to be there, even though two of my three profile pictures are photos of my dog and I mention him several times in my profile.
She is obviously scared of dogs, so I ask her if she will be okay staying at my place and offer to help her find a new host if she wants to stay somewhere else. She says it’s fine, but for the two and a half days she stays with me, I have to call my dog and hold him by his collar whenever she needs to go to the bathroom or the kitchen because otherwise, she won’t leave the living room.
But of course, she doesn’t call me when she has to leave the room because that would be too simple. No, she opens the door, sticks out her head to look around, shrieks when she sees my dog, who likes to sleep on the tiles in the hall because it’s summer and really hot outside, and quickly closes the door again.
After a few seconds, she opens the door again and repeats the whole procedure. She keeps doing this until I notice her desperate attempt to leave the living room — which sometimes takes a few minutes — and call my dog.
In the morning before I go to work, she asks through the closed door if I can lock the dog up in the bedroom during the day, so she feels safe. I politely refuse and suggest she go out and do some sightseeing or shopping while I am at work, which she does.
Another time, I host a German university student who is visiting my city to attend a conference. She seems nice and normal when she arrives, and we have a very passionate conversation about traveling, literature, and philosophy over a glass of wine when she returns from the conference.
The next morning, I enter my living room and find her taking at least five of my books off my bookshelf and stuffing them into her luggage. When I ask her what she is doing, she simply replies, “Oh, you told me about those books last night and got me totally interested, so I wanted to read them, too.”
She isn’t even embarrassed about getting caught stealing my books and just sits there as I take them out of her suitcase and place them back on the shelf. I then stand next to her until she finishes packing, making sure nothing else catches her interest.
I also host an architecture student from Southern Europe, who is a very polite and respectful guest. It’s the afternoon of the third day of his stay and I want a cup of coffee. On my way to the kitchen, I walk past the living room door, which is wide open, and I decide to offer him a cup of coffee, too.
But when I take a look into the room, I see my guest sitting on the couch wearing only boxer briefs, a towel placed around his neck, his hair still damp. A bit embarrassed, I quickly turn around and apologize for barging in on him like that and explain that I came to ask if he wanted some coffee. He says he would love some coffee and I go to the kitchen, my face red like a firetruck.
About ten minutes later, I return to the living room with two coffees, expecting him to be dressed by now. This time, I ask if it’s okay to come in before entering — just to be safe. He tells me to enter and… he’s still in the same spot wearing nothing but boxer briefs. He thanks me for the coffee and, before I can retreat, starts a conversation about how much he liked one of the museums I recommended.
So, there I am, awkwardly standing in the middle of my tiny living room, having a cup of coffee and a conversation about expressionist art with a naked stranger sitting on my couch.
