Couch Surfing The World - News http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com Mon, 09 Nov 2009 14:32:33 +0100 FeedCreator 1.7.2 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=213&Itemid= Bolton adventurer hangs up rucksack for Vietnam soujourn 2:30pm Wednesday 14th October 2009 By Joanne Rowe AN intrepid adventurer who has been 'couch surfing' the world, has hung up his rucksack to write a book about his adventures. But Bolton man, Adam Schofield, has not returned to his native town. Instead he has temporarily settled in Vietnam after 1,000 days on the road. The former Little Lever (http://www.theboltonnews.co.uk/search/?search=Little+Lever) High School pupil, who began his travels after the death of his parents, has hundreds of people following his progress on his website and 2,000 people downloading his podcast each week. “I feel like my parents would have wanted me to do it,” he said. But relying on the generosity of strangers to offer accommodation can be a lottery. Couch surfing is a new trend which sees people put up 'surfers' on their setees for a few nights. Adam said: “If you get a bed it’s a double bonus. “I have slept on couches where my feet have been hanging off the end.” “The highlight has been being able to see real people helping each other, ” he said. The low point of the journey came last year when he broke his leg twice and would have given up his adventures if it had not been for the kindness of his host Ecuadorian family who nursed him back to health for six months. Now, half way through a planned six-year world tour, Adam finds himself in Saigon where he is work (http://www.theboltonnews.co.uk/jobs)ing as a freelance magazine writer and English teacher in local schools and sharing a house (http://www.theboltonnews.co.uk/homes) with three people. He said: “I feel like a teenager all over again, zooming around the chaotic streets on my motorbike and tasting mind- blowing foods every week.” Sun, 18 Oct 2009 10:31:55 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=212&Itemid= Click to Play (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUg_r5fLGuk) Sun, 04 Oct 2009 01:05:48 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=211&Itemid= Fri, 03 Jul 2009 01:58:22 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=210&Itemid= Fri, 03 Jul 2009 01:57:38 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=209&Itemid= Wed, 03 Jun 2009 23:47:55 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=208&Itemid= Wed, 03 Jun 2009 23:46:28 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=207&Itemid= Travel tips from WorldNomads.com and friends ! (http://journals.worldnomads.com/travel-tips/) for those of you who have done it, this will sound familiar. For those of you who haven't, learn fast! Come in, the water’s fine! A guide to better CouchSurfingHave you heard the term ‘couch surfing’ and want to know what it is? For some, it’s about scrounging a free place to doss so budget travels stay that way. For others, it’s about a desire to avoid the cultural bypass of big beige hotels and stay away from the flocks of tourists. Sleeping on a stranger’s couch (or if you’re lucky, in their spare room) can scratch that deep travel itch to find the ‘real’ life of a city – the one that only locals know.The first place to start with all of this is over at couchsurfing.com (http://couchsurfing.com/) – the heart and home of the vibrant couchurfing community. With over 1.2 million members, this is where you will find free beds, friendships and hopefully, deep and meaningful connections that cross oceans. If it’s sounding good, then read on.Our Travel-Tips guest blogger - Adam Schofield (/) - is a 30 year old professional Dj and freelance writer from Bolton/Manchester Uk currently writing a series of books about couchsurfing the continents of the world. He has just crashed on his 110th couch, at the home of Roy Abrahams in Toronto and is full of good tips to keep you surfing safely and getting the most from these great interpersonal experiences.Here are his top 10 tips on how to be a good surfer.1. Get set up The more information other members can access about you, the greater your chances will be of obtaining a host. When creating your member’s profile on couchsurfing.com (http://couchsurfing.com/), fill out all the appropriate fields to describe yourself, your interests and intentions. Also, make sure to include a cracking photo. Unlike passport authorities, smiling is encouraged… the bigger the better. 2. Get Verified The CouchSurfing community unites to provide info on their website such the host’s validation credentials and written references that can give you some peace of mind before you decide to stay on the couch of someone you've never met before. The validation system on Couchsurfing.com is extremely important and here's how it works There are three distinct levels of verification, each represented by an icon on your members profile page. How are these obtained?Level 1 – Add your home address: Simply add your home address details to your profile. This will not be available for others to see. Once this is complete the first icon will appear on your profile.Level 2 – Address verifications via your credit card address. Make a donation of $25 to couchsurfing.com via a credit card registered to the same home address you embedded in your profile. The donation helps maintain costs of the website running and the credit card security check . Level 3 – Password security. A snail mail will be posted to the home address you supplied with a unique password. Log into the CouchSurfing website and enter it to get your level 3 verification icon proving that you are who you say you are, and do in fact reside at that address.How does verification benefit you?Couchsurfing.com utilizes a specific search engine enabling you to tailor a search for your host based on gender, age, location, profession, language barriers, disability accessibility and especially, those who have taken the time and dedication to become verified. This way you can rest in the knowledge that your experience will be safe. The network will always have a record of its members should anything happen. 4. Choose your host well When staying in a hotel, you like to read about it first before making a decision, don’t you? The same applies to CouchSurfing. Make sure to read profiles during the selection process. The more you know about your host before your arrival, the better your expectations will be. Strike up a little rapport with your hosts via Skype or MSN chat a few weeks in advance and get to know each other before arriving. Always address the host by their name when requesting a couch. Spam mailing several hosts or groups looking for a quick couch will often make you look disorganized and disrespectful.5. Arrive in styleBe sure to give an exact date and time of arrival and if you’re lucky, a host might offer to pick you up. If making your own way there, be sure to get clear and precise directions and a contact number should you have any problems. One advantage of CouchSurfing is that your host can tell you the cheapest and safest way to get to their house and you can avoid the usual scams of overpriced taxis at the airport.6. Be respectful and learn to adapt My experience has led me to believe that a warm roof, clean drinking water and a safe place to store your bags are the three most crucial concerns. Anything else is a bonus. So, be considerate of the small expenses we take for granted. Remember, someone has to pay! Pay attention to water, electricity and gas consumption and even toilet paper, soap, and cooking essentials. Always keep your area clean and offer to help your hosts with household chores, cleaning and cooking. Never expect free food. When it happens, be grateful. Manners are essential and should be always maintained. And need we say, remember to wash yourself too! Considering all these points will not only create a smoother experience but will often lead to a lifetime friendship with your host and a positive reference on your profile for other potential hosts to read before deciding to host you. 7. Get social Before arriving at your destination, post a welcome message in the group for that city or country on CouchSurfing.com (http://couchsurfing.com/). Introduce yourself to the local members and other travellers in the area... even suggest a meeting. The sooner you post your welcome, the more time you will have to coordinate your plans with others. There will undoubtedly be other members wanting to get together for tours or a night on the town. This is my favourite feature of being part of the CouchSurfing community - you can quickly meet trustworthy friends in unfamiliar places and discover great, cheap places to visit, eat and enjoy like a local. 8. Know your new surroundings Familiarize yourself with your host’s neighbourhood as soon as possible. Hotels might be easy to find, but houses and apartments can look the same. Try and obtain a small map and mark your host’s location. Listen attentively to their advice and be sure to have a contact in case you get lost. If your host gives you a key, safeguard it at all times. 9. Beware Stranger Danger You should never invite strangers back to your host’s house without permission, nor disclose their address. 10. Do unto others It’s great to spread the word about CouchSurfing and share your experiences, yet wise to consider who to direct the idea too as there are some that may try and take advantage of others. Decide if the person you are about to tell is someone you would like to surf with or be hosted by in the future. Should you have any problems with a member, speak with local city or country CouchSurfing ambassadors or contact the dedicated member dispute team who will decide what course of action to follow Remember to always remain open minded, non judgmental, smile and enjoy the couchsurfing experience. It’s more than a free couch, it’s an opportunity to learn and share from each other, bring together our individual worlds, helping one another utilise the short time we have to embrace all that life has to offer. Fri, 29 May 2009 14:16:30 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=206&Itemid= Sólo necesita un sofáPor Camile Roldán Soto Adam Schofield es un viajero, un alma libre. En noviembre de 2006, a los 27 años, se entregó a un sueño. Dejó familia, posesiones y trabajo en su natal Londres, todo por dedicarse a conocer el mundo y escribir. Quiere ser la primera persona en publicar un libro sobre sus vivencias haciendo 'couchsurfing', una práctica permite a las personas viajar a casi cualquier parte del mundo, alojándose en casas de extraños.Adam, DJ profesional y graduado de literatura, anda por la vida prácticamente libre de ataduras materiales. No tiene casa, celular, mucho menos carro. Su posesión más preciada es la computadora que guarda sus fotos y le permite contacto con su familia y amigos en Londres, y los cientos que ha ido conociendo en su travesía.Paga sus gastos con un mínimo de presupuesto provisto por la venta de una propiedad y un acuerdo con www.couchsurfing.com, a quienes pagará $1 por cada libro que venda. De esta manera, Adam ha pisado 22 naciones de América y el Caribe. Mañana parte de Puerto Rico, su hospedaje número 107. “Ha sido muy agotador”, afirma. Pero su gasolina son decenas de correos electrónicos diarios de gente curiosa por lo que hace o anunciándole que, inspirados en su hazaña, ellos también están listos para “saltar al vacío”. ¿Su sueño? Escribir un libro de cada uno de los cinco continentes que piensa visitar. ¿Qué te inspiró a hacer 'couch surfing'?Perdí a mi padre hace ocho años y mi madre hace seis. Desde los 22 años he tenido que madurar muy rápido. Me dije que este debía ser mi momento de conocer el mundo. Les dije a mis padres que voy a usar mi cuerpo para viajar y así ellos puedan verlo todo a través de mis ojos. ¿Cuéntanos alguna experiencia memorable? Llegué a Guayaquil, Ecuador, donde había una comunidad de 'couchsurfers' que no se conocían. Tuve un accidente, me rompí la pierna dos veces y tuve que quedarme con mis anfitriones por seis meses. Publicaron un artículo sobre mí en el periódico más grande de allá y aparecieron como 500 'couch surfers' que estaban en Ecuador. Todos los días iba a alguien a llevarme regalos. Muchos eran gente pobre y me llevaban galletas, lo que pudieran. Me decían que cambié para siempre a Guayaquil, pues antes era solo una parada de un día para las personas, lo consideraban muy peligroso. Ahora hay gente quedándose varios días. Fue muy grande. ¿Qué país te ha gustado más?Las Islas Galápagos porque sentí que entendí de dónde venimos. Pero no escribo de países. Escribo de la gente, de la bondad, de cómo podemos volver a conectar. Así es que tendría que decir que en realidad fue en Guayaquil, Ecuador, donde me cuidaron seis meses. ¿Has estado en peligro?Parte de viajar es ponerte en riesgo. En Mendoza, Argentina me drogaron y me robaron todo. Fue un muchacho que conocí en un internet café. Me dijo que íbamos a ir con su novia y unas amigas a un lugar. Seis horas más tarde desperté en un hospital. Me llevaron todo, hasta dinero del banco. Fue muy duro para mi. El problema es que ahora no confío en la gente como antes. Lo gracioso es que antes estuve en Colombia y todos estos países que la gente califica como peligrosos y no pasó nada. ¿Has tenido que irte de uno de tus hospedajes?Un par de veces. Una vez uno de mis anfitriones me dijo que era bisexual pero todo el tiempo me preguntaba si había tenido relaciones con hombres. Como le dije que no parece que se decepcionó y a los cinco días me dijo que debía irme porque su madre venía de visita.¿Te has enamorado en alguno de tus viajes?Tres veces. Me enamoré en Medellín, todavía nos queremos. En Ecuador, estuve con la mujer de mis sueños. Una modelo. Es la primera vez que alguien me ha dejado y yo no lo podía soportar. En Buenos Aires me enamoré de una muchacha de Uruguay, la vi hasta febrero de este año. Intentamos estar juntos por dos meses a distancia, pero no pude continuar...Yo quiero enamorarme, viajar por el mundo con la mujer de mis sueños pero este es un proyecto muy egoísta. Comparto mi vida con el mundo pero no con una persona que ame. Nunca visualicé que sería así. Soy muy apasionado, muy romántico, quiero compartir mis momentos mágicos con una mujer. Me asusta estar solo. Tengo 30 años. Debería estar formando una familia pero quiero que cuando tenga hijos y en la escuela les pregunten qué hace su padre ellos puedan decir que viajó el mundo para escribir libros. ¿Qué es lo más difícil de viajar de esta manera?Lo más difícil es hacer contacto entre un punto y otro. El mayor problema es que estoy constantemente adaptándome a la gente. A veces estoy en un lugar con gente con la que no tengo nada en común y no quiero estar ahí. Pero yo me puse en esa posición. Esto me ha puesto en contacto con gente de todos lados y todas clases, gente a la que en una situación normal le pasaría de largo en la calle. Ahora mi filosofía es que siempre debes abrir tus brazos al menos una vez a todo el mundo. Quizás es el enlace perdido de tu vida. ¿Cómo te ha cambiado esta experiencia?Aprecio las cosas esenciales de la vida. Tener techo, calor, comida en la mesa. Son las cosas que deberían importarnos en la vida, no las cosas pequeñas. Yo solía vestir ropa cara, ir a lugares caros, mis zapatos siempre estaban brillados, guiaba un buen carro, llevaba la buena vida. Ahora que he vivido con gente de todas las clases sociales me he dado cuenta de que no extraño nada, excepto mi familia y amigos. No extraño ni mi televisión, ni mi carro, ni siquiera pienso en mi celular. Si quiero llamar a alguien uso Skype. Lo único que necesito es internet. La próxima vez que compre una casa tendré sólo lo que necesito. No quiero tener cosas por todos lados porque terminan adueñándose de ti, de tu vida. Tue, 19 May 2009 13:44:50 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=205&Itemid= Heading to my next destination it suddenly occurred to me that I would soon be leaving South America. It’s now a whopping thirty months on the road since I left home, twenty one months since I landed in Colombia via boat from the San Blas Islands. After an eight month intense recovery in Ecuador from two knee surgeries I was almost ready to throw in the towel yet the support I received kept my coals afire. Even the robbery in Argentina didn’t deter me from pursuing a strange and rather obsessive curiosity. I’ve spent Christmas with different families for the last three years and celebrated my thirtieth birthday with complete strangers. My native language has been flipped on its arse sapping me of my humour which was always my secret to building successful and trustworthy companionships. I’ve watched my family grow digitally over the internet and only ever seen my friend’s newborn babies in 7.5 megapixels. I’ve been accepted and rejected from the many levels of society I’ve thrown myself into sometimes portraying myself as the typical drunken loud and obnoxious Englishman or gratefully acknowledged as a sweet, caring and inspiring soul walking a lonely path for others to share. I’ve turned my back on love four times continuing to walk with the shadows and each day that passes is one less day I will spend with my future siblings yet somehow I still remain confident that whatever force of nature picked me to endure such a demanding, challenging and lonesome trail did so because it will all make sense at the finishing point.One of the most frequent questions I’m asked is where and when the finishing line will be? One of my most common answers is ‘I have no bloody idea’? What I do know is that this project has become much more than a title to Couchsurf the world. Every day I receive emails from people all over the globe encouraging me to continue and thanking me for inspiring them to live life to its fullest. I’ve witnessed stagnant souls jump up from an office chair, throw the keyboard on the floor and walk out the door having just booked the first flight to the place they had saved as a pc desktop display slowly being covered up with unfinished files and downloaded holiday shots of everyone else’s dreams. It seems I’m not the only one who wants to leap from the bowl. Thousands of us have been locked away in a dark cave hanging like giant icicles frozen in time then suddenly along comes an adventurer whose impeding curiosity breaks down the cavern walls flooding the darkness with generating rays of life. Drip by drip movement is restored until finally you fall into a river of possibility winding through mazes on a slide to nowhere falling breathless into an abyss of bewildering depths. After a frantic swim to the surface you fill your lungs with a taste of survival and suddenly emerge into a new ken of existence.That’s exactly how I felt as I raised my head from the swimming pool atop of my 101st official host apartment block overlooking the city of Recife, further north on the coastline of Brazil. I had met Almir G Castro Jr (ALMIRGOMESJR) at La Bomba in Buenos Aires and have since remained in contact. Ironically I was his 101st guest and the prospect of having access to a pool for a week seemed like the perfect way to un-wind and work on a tan in preparation for my Caribbean adventures. Almir was one of the most active surfers I’ve crashed with and it was no surprise to share the numerous inflatable mattresses and inviting hammock stretching across his living room with two other surfers, Linda Drechsler (LIMA.D) from Fortaleza and Jascha Behklama (MONSTERCHICKEN) from Germany. It’s always a joy to have company whilst my host’s are attending university or work and helps balance the budget buying food as a group. We wasted no time heading out to the supermarket to buy some essentials and both hungry surfers seemed as enthusiastic to try my cooking as I was to cook for them.I knew nothing of Recife upon arrival, only that it’s the fourth largest Metropolitan area in Brazil and is situated beside the sea. I was expecting a tropical paradise yet walking to the supermarket almost destroyed my sense of smell. The city is located where the Beberibe River meets the Capibaribe River to flow into the Atlantic Ocean. A maze of river’s run parallel to all major roads with small bridges connecting walkways which gives Recife the moniker of the ‘Brazilian Venice’ whereas I’d prefer to call it the ‘Devil’s Arsehole’. I have never smelt something so vile. The first time is impossible to forget. I felt abused, empathetic to what the Jews must have endured in the prison camps of world war two. In the midst of relating my travel stories to my new surfer friends in my typical giddy, animated and outré manner, my nescience left my big mouth open and prone to digest a horrendous and tetchy taste forcing my consternation to boil into a frightful cry like an ululating jackal with his balls stuck on a barbed wire fence. Imagine a fishmonger who returns home from work and suffers a heart attack before having a chance to change his clothes. Try to picture the smell of the house after the CSI crew discover his body a few weeks later. My shit has never smelt so good!Our small gang joined fellow surfer Mariana Maciel (MARI MACIEL) for my first night out in Recife at a local English looking pub which sadly didn’t live up to the extensive strip search and unnecessary queuing outside. The place was as dead as Michael Jackson’s greatest hits. The only highlight of the night was being randomly stopped by the police on the way home in a car scented with illegal herbal fragrances. Having forgotten to bring her driver’s license I.D, the officer had no choice but to give Mariana a ticket, all the while I was trying my hardest not to laugh at our ridiculous attempts to slowly let down the windows and fumigate the car. And just like Cheech and Chong we somehow found a way to avoid paying a hefty fine and possible jail time once Mariana had remembered she had a high ranking uncle in the police force. After a quick phone call, I witnessed for the first time in my life through blood shot eyes a police man apologize before tearing the ticket into a thousand little giggles from a car full of surfers who had somehow defied the law and escaped a pending pickle.To celebrate our renewed freedom I joined Almir and roommate Gabriel Faria (GABRIELFARIA) the next evening for my first mysterious insight into the unknown traditional style of dance and music local to Recife called ‘Forro’. A large open bar divided between a seating area and a large dance floor packed with couples enjoying the fresh sounds of the live band jamming to a brew of eclectic sounds. At times memories of my first Oktoberfest flooded back with violins and harps and the occasional twinkle of bells reminded me of Peter Pan, Pixies and Winkle Picker shoes. Then like the ghost from Christmas past, up pops an annoying dainty guitar player with a big cheesy smile and tobacco stained teeth and suddenly I’m back at school, ten years old rushing across the assembly hall in search of the cutest girl to be my country and western dance partner. I still can’t figure out why the hell we had to endure such a ridiculous tradition? Surely learning break dancing or Capoeira would have offered way more street creditability? What is it with country folk anyway? They always seem so naturally high and squeamishly happy and have no shame walking with buck legs and tight jeans and a George Bush Esq. gloat about them. Go back to the corn fields you freaky lumberjack shirt wearing, cowboy boot pairing, bunch of horse riding corn pickers! Aside from my obvious odium towards country music, I did come to love the Brazilian twist and found myself on numerous occasions dancing ‘do si dos’ with a beautiful senorita. I found her boots slightly more appealing.Deciding to take full advantage of my host’s scenic rooftop, together we organized a cs pool party in an attempt to unify the local members once and for all. For sure one of the most original and enjoyable meetings I’ve helped arrange with a glorious view of the city, beach and endless blueberry sea in the distance. I felt on top of the world, so far from the life I once had back home yet so much closer to the person I aspire to be. Around me only smiling faces, empty beer cans, fresh conversation and that ever present tingle of Brazil’s vibrant summer zest.Before leaving Recife, Almir had one more surprise install for me. A short bus ride out of the city to the harmonious fairytale town of Olinda! A world renowned UNESCO site and one of Brazil’s best preserved colonial cities, the name itself respectfully honours its splendour ‘O, Linda’ literally translated means ‘Oh, beautiful’. Ancient cobbled streets worn down from the yearly carnival celebrations weave up and around steep terrains filled with colourful shops and houses all strung together like slabs of brightly coloured cheese’s each aged in flavour and bursting with character whilst a background of jungle and perfectly round trees act like bunches of plastic parsley decorating the cheesemongers wonderful array. It makes you wonder why the hell people choose to live in big, ugly, overpriced, noisy, polluted and chaotic cities instead of small, soundless, sherbet, rainbow, raspberry, raptures by the sea. If it wasn’t for my host signalling it was time to leave, I would probably have got lost in the land of make believe.I was sad to leave Olinda yet more so my hosts both Almir and Gabriel who made my stay both refreshing and relaxing before my reluctant return flight to the grey and bleak bewilderment of the mighty Sao Paulo. With a few days to kill before my flight to Cuba, I crashed with my 102nd host, the cool and collective Maria Fernanda Menezes, a professional film critic for HBO. Her wonderful rickety renovated house reeked with the souls of artistic ancestors whose ghouls would tuck me in each night for bed. Better still just a few doors up I discovered a dark candle lit English bar with the smell of home, tiny steep wooden chairs at the bar and ash trays spewing with lipstick stories waiting for her whiskery faced romance to step in from the night yet the piece de resistance wasn’t the attractive, perfectly figured ‘Paulista’ to my left but the beautiful curved black pint of smooth draft creaminess folding itself into a crisp clean cloud of virtue that went down faster than Elton John on a small naked boy. Eight pints later provided me with a feeling of satiety both physiologically and psychologically and now fuelled with Gummi Berry Juice once again, I was finally ready to bounce the hell out of South America.It has been an emotional, sometimes traumatic experience yet looking back now I have no regrets and the only thing I would change if I could would be to bring back my 82nd Official Host in Paraguay, the lovable, munificent and heart warming Klaus Joachim who sadly passed away in May 2009. In typical Klaus fashion he refused to seek medical attention for his lung cancer and instead died peacefully at home in bed in the arms of his wonderful wife Sandra. Both of them are like parents to me and I honour their endless kindness by dedicating my final journal in South America to such a wonderful inspiring soul as Klaus. Like you my friend, I have found it considerably difficult to say goodbye and painful to leave so many amazing new friends and family behind yet as we discussed over the many times you whooped my ass at backgammon, all great things must come to an end, yet the journey continues forever.In this moment I find myself a taciturn man leaving but my thoughts to join you in whatever heavenly bar you rejoice in and now as we both part ways on our separate new adventures I salute your wisdom and forever your grace and of course how can one forget that big grizzly face.All my loveA dear friendAdam . Fri, 24 Apr 2009 17:42:54 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=204&Itemid= Mon, 20 Apr 2009 20:01:50 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=203&Itemid= Sitting in the airport at Panama City waiting for a connection flight, I had mixed emotions. I had finally left South America yet it certainly hadn’t left me. Whilst everyone else responded quickly to the gate announcement scurrying from their seats, I patiently waited till the end before boarding the plane. My new favoured Latin approach to life seemed appropriate after many tiresome days on the road, yet I was still to master the true art of leaving everything till the very last minute. Feeling as though I had thought everything through before boarding, my smug, relaxed approach was suddenly sent into a frantic overdrive when the boarding assistant asked if I had my Cuban visa.“Visa, I’m bloody English, Passport of the kings”, I cry!Unable to pay the twenty dollar fee with my credit card, I had no option but to hold up the plane for ten minutes whilst I ran back through the terminal in search of an ATM machine, returning to an angry cabin of Cubans who had previously shrugged at my cocky last minute preparations and were not the slightest bit impressed with my poor attempt to blend. If only I had bought one of those Panama hats now to hide my shame! This was my first border crossing by plane since I flew from Bogota to Quito over a year ago. One thing I hate more than someone putting milk in a cup of tea before the bag has had time to brew is filling out tedious immigration and visa papers and having to answer stupid questions such as:Are you carrying pornography with you?Of course I am I’ve got a dick! Since when did masturbation become a crime? Have I really been gone that long? Come to think of it, I’m sure air hostesses used to be hot with low cut tops exposing lacy bra and cleavage? Now they look like thunderbird characters that didn’t quite make the chop because some dozy sod in the art department spilt hot coffee over their plastic fake tanned faces. And cabin crew Mr or Mrs (who the f**k can tell) Rodriguez seems way more gay without the strings prancing up and down the walkway dishing out even gayer sized cans of beer with his big (I’d love to suck your c***) face. What the hell am I supposed to do with that, wash my teeth? No wonder this flight was so cheap!“Don’t worry”, I say to the Colombian family sitting next to me slightly nervous about the increasing turbulence, “It’s probably just the crew manager sucking the captains balls, it’s not even raining outside”.I had no idea what to expect about Cuba before arriving. Refusing to turn to the lonely planet guide I was relying on the little bits of information I had received from a Cuban couchsurfer who would take anything up to a week to reply to one question via email. The more I knew, the less I wanted to know so I decided to just figure it out on my own. Breezing past airport security, I had the immigration desk firmly in my sights when suddenly an undercover inspection officer with a Magnum PI hair style and matching moustache signalled me to step to the side and began asking me questions about my origin. No sooner did the first words leave my mouth I was pushed back in line so my new horny flare wearing friend could strike his ‘Studio 54’ pose for the super hot Colombian chick in eye catching tight hot pants behind me whose arse made James’s giant peach seem rather inadequate . Her ambiance made time stand still leaving every man, woman and child in a frozen flabbergast of disbelief. Personally I’d already had my wet dream and drooled over her several times before and during the plane ride, she was old news to me now and after figuring out which of the overweight, sken eyed and ridiculously rich boyfriends was her carrier bag, I quickly turned my attention away. I was too wise now to be sucked in by that old chestnut. Keep your dam fine ass love and your succulent skin tone and amazing pouty lips and I’ll keep my money safely locked up in the bank.After a surprisingly hassle free immigration crossing without anybody even bothering to ask for the papers I had painstakingly filled out, I now faced the daunting challenge of obtaining the local currency. I had been told in advance that Cuban atm machines only accept visa cards and won’t accept most international debit cards so I thought best to bring Brazilian money with me to exchange on arrival. Unbelievably the airport money exchange wouldn’t accept Brazilian currency forcing me to have to purchase money on my MasterCard at an exchange rate of eleven percent meaning I would need to carry a substantial amount of money, half of which was useless in the whole of Cuba. I knew I should have changed the Brazilian money for Euros at the Panama Airport but the stupid exchange guy told me I’d be cool. (Note to oneself, never trust a guy who sits behind a thick piece of glass and talks through a microphone with a squeaky voice).I was hoping the money I did have would last me my whole ten days saving me on transfer rates. My first expenditure didn’t help support my cause. A taxi ride to old Havana was pricey alone, so I persuaded a lonely Aussie girl to share the fare. My Cuban couchsurfing contact had arranged a place for me to stay downtown however here couchsurfing in theory is as popular as Che was at organizing Sunday brunch with Bolivians.In the darkness of the night it was almost impossible to feel like I had arrived to Cuba except when the occasional pre 1960 American brand Ford, Chevrolet or rusty Cadillac rattled passed us coughing a cloud of unattended engine dust our way. Often a beautifully restored convertible would join us at the lights, a pack of smokes rolled up in the drivers sleeve, hat tilted to the opposite side of his Cuban honey leaving him just enough eye candy. This is cool.A roadside billboard of George Bush and Obama’s faces catches my attention, especially the huge letters stamped across spelling ‘Terrorists’. That’s even cooler! Further down the road another billboard with Fidel and Che turns my head, ‘50 years of Revolution’, ‘Victory’. I was here to find out exactly what Che had gave his life for and hopefully make sense of Fidel’s motives after all this time. I had questions, lots and lots of questions!Cuba was the first country I had visited so far where couchsurfing is prohibited. The government only allows a residence to host a foreigner if they hold a special permit. Known as “casa particulars’, they are basically family homes with spare rooms run like a small hostel. I met a few travellers in Cuba that hitchhike and if lucky stumble across a family that will illegally host you for free, however if an inspector just happens to come knocking on the door (which they do frequently and randomly) and finds you staying for free, the residents will simply be evicted from the home. The foreigner can walk away without a penalty but I wasn’t prepared to put someone’s livelihood on the line for the sake of saving a buck or two. Even more fascinating, my curiosity on the subject unravelled the fact that none of the locals in Cuba actually have the rights to own their own home. It’s all governed by the state, so once evicted it could be months, years before they find another place to live. Personally I find it disrespectful when overhearing other travellers boast about finding free accommodation in a country that basically relies on tourism. We shouldn’t be looking to take advantage of countries that have no vantage. It only feeds the huge separation between the rich and poor.Arriving to Old Havana late in the night reminded me of the black and white photos of my grandparents and my parents when they where children. The kind of place you expect to see Charlie Chaplin waddle down dark alleys or Nazi tanks suddenly smash through crumbled walls held together with bits of improvised scaffolding. (Note Microsoft word demands I capitalize the word Nazi, furthering my beliefs that Bill Gates is in fact Hitler with plastic surgery). First impressions even in the dark had me debating what exactly Fidel had done to improve the city. The taxi dropped me into another world so fragile I was scared to make any noise let alone fart, god forbid in fear of a nearby building crumbing beside me. The faint name of my ‘Casa’ rocked to a sea front sway as it had obviously done so for many years. I knocked on a big white door, no answer. The taxi disappeared in a pother of broken tail lights as I waited in a profound silence in a street without time. I felt like the last man on earth after judgement day, sympathizing with Will Smiths ‘I Am Legend’ character concerning myself with shadows in dark doorways and unearthly rustling noises in the distance. For a second I thought the startling grinding noise echoing around me was a hunter-ship crunching terminator skulls under its tracks when in fact it was the owner of the ‘casa’ rolling back a prison like window in the door to catch a glimpse of the annoying gringo who’s been buzzing her bell for the last five minutes.‘Hola, Como Estas?’, I politely say, yet really my internal dialogue was screaming ‘Let me in dumbass, I come from a civilized place, why does your country charge me eleven percent and I hope you freakin take Mastercard sucker’?It’s a good job I’ve learnt to keep my mouth shut. My new hosts seemed very homely and for twenty five bucks a night I had my own air conditioned room with double bed, hot shower and towels, breakfast and most importantly peace and quiet. Before settling into a much needed sleep my hosts were keen and upfront about me paying with cash for my three day stay in advance in a desperate but sincere manner. Although I was made to feel welcome I was also made aware that this wasn’t couchsurfing but a business that feeds hungry mouths, who like me where also ready to hit the sack. I guess I’ll strike up the big introductions tomorrow then?Breakfast wasn’t anything to write home about, stale bread on a bed of scrambled egg with a cute pot of treacle coffee which I’m guessing is the reason so many Cubans have black teeth. Combined with cigars and insanely strong cigarettes I was keen to know the secret of anyone still alive after forty? Could it be the Caribbean paradise with white beaches and raspberry reefs or the incredibly hot and curvy Cuban mamas which definitely had my ticker working overtime or the universal free health care which since the collapse of the Soviet Union and its support for the country has suffered from continued shortages of medical supplies? Cuba however has the highest doctor to population ratio in the world yet I failed to see how any medical facility can work at a respectable level upon discovering that doctors get paid a mere twenty five bucks per month. That’s right folk’s, my room was costing me a doctors monthly wage per night. A tiny hole in the wall on the same street as my ‘Casa’ sold a delicious eight inch pizza for just under a dollar so basically a doctor could live off one of those everyday of his life. Everyone in Cuba has to find a means to earn money on the side which is why musicians or anyone in tourism has a better standard of living due to tips under the table. If you are planning to go to Cuba make sure you understand the difference between the two currencies used, otherwise you may get overcharged in some places.Yet incredibly according to the UN, the life expectancy in Cuba is around 78.3 years ranking Cuba thirty seventh in the world and third in the Americans, behind only Canada and Chile, and just ahead of the United States. Maybe that’s because they don’t eat expensive fast food and drink gallons of coke, take copious amounts of pharmaceutical drugs, are forced to live an abstemious life and don’t have money to get pissed every day? (Well actually the last part is debatable). Personally if I reach fifty and I’m still single, I’ll just follow in the footsteps of every other gringo and get me a twenty five year old sweetheart who prefers dried up walnuts over ripe juicy plums.My couchsurfing contact was unavailable so instead I wandered the streets of Old Havana by myself. The secret to avoiding the hustle and bustle of beggars and street vendors is music and a decent pair of cans (headphones). I would just glide past the many broken teeth and ‘Thriller’ like fingers waving around my face and let bass dwindle the sound of any unnecessary temptations. The choppy sea front had me turning back on myself in seconds parched for a beer to take away the sea salt splash back around my lips. For the first time since leaving home, I did the unthinkable. I jumped on a tour bus, the only thing separating me from the ridiculous, newlywed, over enthusiastic, brain drained tourists was a pink visor, Che Guevara Hat and an ‘I love Cuba T shirt’ but at least it dropped me off right outside a pub showing a champions league game.‘Cabron, Mohito por favour, gracias’.It was rather strange seeing English condiments on the bar through blurry cocktail eyes, Worchester Sauce, Hp and some weird herb I’ve never heard of before each marked with the Queens Stamp. For a moment I almost thought I was back in my local until a huge cloud of nicotine woke me from a daze.‘United just scored’, someone tells me, ‘Who gives a crap, where’s my leafy looking cocktail gone’?Stumbling out onto the streets I fingered around my headphones until the city chaos was replaced by the sweet symphonies of Pink Floyd and headed home for a catnap, stopping only to play a little street baseball with some local kids who couldn’t believe my ‘Babe Ruth’ first time home run swing. I hope they found the ball?Refreshed and sobered from a delicious one dollar pizza, I headed out into the unknown, alone to sample Havana’s nightlife. Just a few blocks from the centre, I coincidently bumped into a local guy I’d met during the day called ‘Cheeky’. Being a white man in Cuba, you’re suddenly everyone’s friend and an obvious target for hookers, beggars and anyone looking too bum a free drunk. ‘Cheeky’ knew a place we could begin the night so I played along. Within seconds of pulling up a chair at the bar I was surrounded by local folk both male and female, asking questions, pouting lips and rubbing my thigh. I offered to buy ‘Cheeky’ a few beers favouring to have him as a wingman rather than be alone. I kept track of how many beers we consumed so was rather surprised when the bar lady told me I needed to pay for two additional beers. Apparently I had also offered to pay for Cheeky’s friend who had sneakily asked for a couple of beers on my tab. I threw down the money for the beers I’d consumed and a tip and without reservation walked towards the door.‘Hijo De Puto’, my eyes burned at the teenage scank that tried stitchin me.‘Nesscito pagar para dos cervesa muchaca, caio’. I felt like John fookin Wayne but sometimes confidence in a foreign place can be dangerous. All this travel had made me feel somewhat invincible, unable to take shit from anyone and able to speak my mind clearly with an unnerving glance and tone. Cheeky followed me out the door apologizing for his friend’s behaviour and recommended we go to a club. In return for the beers I had bought him he offered to buy my friendship back with a small juiced sized carton of rum, which apparently cost five dollars yet I already knew they cost no more than a buck. This night was just an experiment for me to understand the desperate measures poor people will achieve to swindle a few bucks. By allowing Cheeky to reproduce every form of Cuban prestidigitation on me, I was learning to be prepared should it ever happen again, like having backstage passes to a David Copperfield show, the real magic was my discretion. On the way to the club a police man stopped us in the street and began interrogating Cheeky wanting to know what he was doing with me. Contact between foreign visitors and ordinary Cubans was deemed illegal until 1997 yet even today any locals caught talking to you will be questioned. Apparently its Cuba’s way of protecting tourism from the dark truth of Cuba’s poverty, which really is ridiculous because my travels have proven that people represent my memory of a country rather than the places I go to sightsee. Somehow Cheeky sweet talked his self out of jail time, which would have been an easier solution for me to get rid of him. Seriously, this guy hung around like crabs on pubic hair and no matter how much I itched I just couldn’t shake him off.Outside the club a huge queue had formed yet Cheeky had a friend that could get us both in half price and skip the long line. I paid for us both and watched Cheeky hustle his friend out of half of the money yet continued to play dumb all along. Once inside the club it was my turn to play the cards. I told Cheeky I needed the toilet and ditched him for a couple of trustworthy Italian guys and spent the whole night trying to filter out the whores from the normal girls whilst keeping an eye on the occasional sneaky hand trying to reach into my jean pockets looking for money. You gotta love Cuba.Three days in Havana had truly drained me. I had skimmed both the surface and the underground and was now ready to head further East along the coastline for some much needed beach time. Experience has taught me not to judge and even after a bombardment of strangers trying to take advantage of me from every angle I was far from unloving this mystical country. You only need to ask yourself how you would survive in the same situation to help clarify the motives of people like Cheeky. Like everyone else he seeks to understand yet some of us have much more to comprehend. Joining me for a short two hour bus ride the next morning was an Argentinean lady I had met randomly in an internet cafe. The internet is so freakin slow in Cuba you often find yourself ranting on at the person sat beside you whilst you wait fifteen minutes for your Gmail account to open. Of course as soon as it does your money runs out and the inpatient tourist behind you jumps in for a similar fate. In the end I just gave up and looked forward to only sun and sea at one of Cuba’s most prestigious beaches, Varadero.Upon arrival, I managed to track down a sweet hotel directly beside the beach for around forty five pizzas a night but which also accepted Mastercard, freeing up my limited cash flow for such delights as one dollar beers on the beach and fresh fried fish platters. Now this is what I came here for. Furthermore I was delighted to enjoy the company of some fellow English girls, one who shockingly but delightfully had a second name called ‘Beer’. The flour white sand felt good between my toes and tiny fish bones made excellent tooth picks and the cold beer but a stone’s throw from my sun lounger influenced my decision to stay here for the rest of my time in Cuba. Unlike everyone else, I hadn’t come to sight see. I didn’t care about here, there, what day or Che. I grew up in an industrial city where everyone spits a vile black substance from car windows to pavements at the traffic lights. The closest I came to a sea of Blue was Maine Road on a Saturday filled with City fans. I didn’t even know you could find sand on a beach until I went to Spain never mind it being white? I had found my happy place.Yet happiness is something I believe can only truly be shared with others hence the sad empty feeling I so often get as I waved my new friends goodbye. I always seem to arrive just when the cool people are leaving or I need to catch a bus in the early hours of a great party. I always have to tell my stories instead of having someone to share them with. I felt shipwrecked on a desert island surrounded by paradise like the ‘Blue Lagoon’ only my Brooke Shields had sunk with the boat, spending my days watching circles of friends and couples embrace the moment. Ever present voices in my head calling out for familiar faces, those who know me, love me and ultimately care for me. I was alone.Solitude is strange. Seconds feel like hours and hours feel like days. I see the world spinning around me and pay attention to other people’s details which they are too occupied to see. I read, I swim, crack another beer, give up trying to rub cream in the middle of my back and watch youthful hips dance without responsibility whilst drifting off occasionally into an oneiric never- never land. Food tastes bland without conversation. Bars seem endless without someone sat at the end. I humour myself as the busy weekend load of Cuban kids prance around with a teenage innocence sheltered from the realities of life before them. I miss my family, my friends, my cat and for the first time I actually miss my home. Solitude feeds my perception and ultimately forms my reality. I am alone. I have been alone for a very long time. Aren’t we all? Suddenly over a hundred faces and places flash by in my mind yet only one remains as clear as the blue sea before me. Everything would be perfect if only she was here. Yet I’m not one to sit around and pule over split milk and my gift of the gab very rarely leaves me alone for any long period of time. I soon found myself enjoying the company of an incredible couple, Les a sixty year old Canadian who now resides in Cuba with his wonderful twenty five year old future wife to be. Les reminded me of my father and I instantly warmed to his words of endless wisdom. An engineer peaking on the breakthrough of new technology, he was far from a man ready to retire. In fact like me he felt somewhat reborn and his beautiful young girlfriend helped regenerate his want to remain young in mind and strong in body. My time with Les made me realize that some part of me hadn’t truly accepted that my father was gone forever and no matter how much I travel, I will never see him again however that’s not to say I won’t ever feel his touch. I feel him every day as I do all of you that I love and care about. It’s bizarre that as a child I dreamed over blue seas and white beaches yet as a man all I dream about are the things beyond my reach, the opportunities I’ve missed and ultimately those eyes I left behind.I wonder what Che was thinking as he looked into the chamber of a gun for the very last time, his prescience hanging before him like a slaughtered pig twitching with the very last signs of life. Had Fidel had a salutary effect on Cuba? Was he successful? Of course on a personal level he was extremely successful, so much so that he and his brother Raul even possess their own bank plus the billions of dollars worth of property they confiscated after the takeover. Cuba was once a rich county with sugar, nickel and fields filled with cattle, yet today Cuba imports more than eighty percent of its food and don’t have the infrastructure to cater for the increasing population leaving many homeless and sick on the streets. Che was a doctor yet practiced the law of taking life into his own hands should anyone cease to agree with the revolution. In the end the fight is what makes us all go crazy. Yet we are crazy not to fight back against the handful of terrorists that somehow manage to take the wheel and steer us all into the darkness. Obama is now talking about lifting the embargo. Maybe that’s because Cuba has billions of tanks of oil surrounding its coast lines. Isn’t that what all history is about? Power, Money, Wealth and Control!This is our reality folks.Yet when I close my eyes all I think about is her.To go forward now I think I must go back. • Mon, 20 Apr 2009 20:01:06 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=202&Itemid= Heading further north along the coast line of Brazil, I decided to take advantage of a cheap four hour flight costing the same price as a twenty six hour bus journey. Since flying from Los Angeles to Monterrey and Bogota to Quito this was only my third flight in two years having travelled from the USA as far down as the Patagonia by land and water. It felt a little like cheating yet I could save myself an entire day as a result. Initially I had hoped to stay with one of Salvador’s most active members in a rather inactive group, Juliana Kalid Coelho (JULAKID) who was currently unable to host due to family matters yet kindly offered to pick me up from the airport and deliver me safely to my 98th Official host Fausto Matos (HOMEINBRAZIL).Fausto had left instructions with his aunty to get me settled whilst he was working. Every few weeks she would visit her nephew from the country to maintain the family commitment and enjoy the tranquillity of Fausto’s remarkably well decorated and spacious apartment perfectly located beside Salvador’s most popular beach. Bursting with colours of the Bahia from hand painted floor tiles and traditional wall paintings, my eyes where never jaded. Archetypal furniture and decor helped emphasis a relaxing warm welcome. So much so I just couldn’t resist a wee cap nap to recharge my soul.The cheery voice of Fausto woke me from a deep sleep whose beaming smile shone a light of love on my face like ET’s spaceship coming to fetch him home. Fausto was affectionately welcoming with a warm hug and a bowl of his Aunties special soup, my first taste of Salvador’s mouth watering delicacies. After dinner we rested well in his humble abode, two strangers sat around a fire without a flame yet a room filled with a burning desire to connect and share ones experiences. Fausto was extraordinarily attentive and offered respectable advice and valuable insights to help maintain my focus and passion for this project. It had been a while since I had really had a chance to sit down and share both my lessons learnt and pay tribute to all the amazing people who have helped me along the way. Fausto leads a typical nine to five lifestyle and very rarely goes out on a weekday opting instead to recharge his batteries over the weekend at a friend’s house beside the beach. Yet he enjoys very much his life referring to himself as ‘A free bird in prison’. I like that notion and agree that to be completely free is to be alone in this world but to fly freely is to glide softly in the hands of a universe willing to release you into a wilderness of your desire. Talking with my host, I felt like the sea after a busy day of crashing waves finally settling to a breezy sway as my mother would once rock my crib, a time in life when we are never insecure about our security. And just like her gentle touch nothing could stand in the way of me and a full night of blissful snoozing.Whilst Fausto played the host, Juliana offered to lend me her eyes to the city taking me for a drive the next day stopping by her favourite local hotspots. The first of which was a small, non-touristic restaurant called ‘Humaita’ outside the city beside the sea. I asked Juliana to choose a dish for me and had no idea what to expect. How shocked I was when the waiter delivered the most incredible, aromatic, mouth gushing, tantalizing and satisfying dish I’ve had since I started this trip, the mighty Moqueca, a spicy seafood delight cooked in Coconut milk with a splash of ‘Dende Oil’ also known as ‘Palm Oil’ a red oil extracted from special palm trees brought from West African during the colonial times. Sadly such a delight on ones palette is very ephemeral due to the fact that finding Dende oil outside the Bahia, never mind all around the world is rather like looking for a worm underground, yet occasionally you may find it lingering in the back of an old Chinese wizards shop with a little door bell that tinkers as you enter, where you suddenly find yourself drawn to the hypnotising whistle of a hairy little critter called Gismo.Unable to finish the enormous serving I asked the waiter to wrap the left over’s to take away; there wasn’t a cat in hells chance of me leaving a single drop of sauce behind. I even managed to persuade the rather shy chef to leave the kitchen for a moment to say thank you in person and have our photo together. Obviously this kind of attention was new to her but before I left, I made sure she was appreciated. It’s often the small, well priced, local restaurants with underpaid chefs that always make the most impact with flavour, presentation and that final mysterious loving touch we rarely refer to as ‘Wow’.Fostering an overdue satisfaction, I reluctantly waved goodbye to ‘Heaven’s Kitchen’ to pursue Juliana’s insightful tour heading back into the downtown area and historical centre ‘Pelourinho’, where the worn cobbled streets of Salvador so pleasantly decorated with street art, Capoeira clothing and vibrant smiley faces join together in a fusion of multi cultural inheritance and eye capturing collaborations from all around the world. Normally the streets would be littered with hungry tourists searching for bargain deals however the recent recession has left shop buyers walking the streets looking for potential customers who will most likely say they have no money anyway. Shops are deserted in desolated times relying strongly on the millions of people that come once a year for the world’s biggest street carnival hence the nickname ‘Capital Da Alegria’ or ‘Capital of Joy’.We stopped by the first ever Capoeira school which I had planned to take advantage of before breaking my leg yet even the teacher agreed it was still too early for me to be exercising such a sport. Instead I idolized a group of professionals fighting each other’s energy bubbles, combining agile dance moves and unarmed combat techniques with wild kicks missing their opponents by a whisker before landing a perfectly executed back flip ending in an almost impossible final stance as if playing Twister on the moon. Unfortunately the recession has forced the once free art of expression to become a hustling entourage tricking tourists into taking photos then demanding a fee. Once people realize the scam they tend to keep a distance and never fully appreciate how amazing the art truly is.As the heat of the afternoon sun gathered momentum, Juliana knew the perfect place to stop and quench our thirst. A small tavern called ‘O Cravinho’ which felt like a traditional English pub only it served the rather potent ‘Cachaca’ instead of the local ales. It’s very similar to the dreadful and incredibly powerful ‘Aguardente’ I had back in Colombia produced from the distillation of fermented sugarcane juice ranging from 35% to a ridiculous 80% in volume. Small wooden barrels filled with a range of spices sit upon shelving around the walls which are all connected to a giant barrel with individual taps behind the bar. Once you choose your flavour the bartender fills a shot glass with a range of taps until a weird and wondrous cocktail is produced. Two shots later I was back on the tour a little merrier than before.Looking out to sea close to the famous ‘Lacerda Elevator’, it was easy to differentiate between the old and new city of Salvador. The care, personality and individuality crafted into the colonial buildings still stand the test of time whereas nowadays buildings seem to be like supermodels, bland, brittle, useless when aged and ridiculously overpriced. The only concern of modern architecture is to profit from the continuous ignorance of humanities need to overpopulate this world and agree to live in fancy boxes filled with unnecessary gizmos which make our hectic and meaningless lives nothing more than a herd of cattle raised to feed the agricultural masterminds of the universe.Religion still thrives in the city since the first Catholic Bishop took seat in 1552 back when Salvador was the capital of Brazil before Rio. It was then known as ‘Roma Negra’, translated as ‘Black Rome’ because it is said that the Bahia has 365 churches and is the centre of ‘Candomble’ an African- derived, synthetic New World religion. The slaves were forced to celebrate foreign religious policies even though it wasn’t cultural to their society. As with Capoeira, the slave society found a way to entertain their masters pretending to join in with the many ceremonies when in fact they found a way to preserve their own in disguise. This has led to a modern collaboration of religious views from both cultures confusing our children further more with the harsh reality that all religion is a blatant push for social structure and money seeking deception. Why do you think the pope promotes sex without the condom? So we can breed more brainwashed stem cells for the hungry pockets of the church who, in return give you some crappy dried bread and watered down wine every Sunday. And if the pope is as holy as they say, why the hell does he need a bullet proof car if he’s got angels protecting him? Even Batman has the discrepancy to wear a protective suit!After a long hike around the charismatic centre it was time to unwind and meet some of the local surfers. I accompanied Juliana for a fair drive out of the centre to enjoy my first taste of Salvador’s own version of Samba, a style known as ‘Axe’. Unlike Rio’s popular dance, the circus style tent was packed with a slower, more sensual rhythm making it easier for me to find my feet and keep up with an uncanny selection of instruments played by a fusion of musicians who could all generate more than one sound at any one time. Even though barely any surfers joined us that evening the many ‘Baianos’ that did made it hard for me to feel alone.The following evening Juliana took me to ‘Largo Da Dinha’ a square named after the most famous ‘Acaraje’ chef in Brazil who sadly died last year. Made from peeled black eyed peas (the origin name of the well known band) formed into a ball and then deep fried in ‘Dende’ Oil. It is served split in half and then stuffed with ‘Vatapa’ and ‘Caruru’ spicy pastes made from shrimp, cashews and other exotic ingredients. These dishes are also used as offerings in ‘Candomble’ rituals. If I was to choose a religion I’d definitely favour the one with the spiciest handouts.With weekend approaching, my host Fausto had plans to head out of the city to his friend’s beach house and wouldn’t be able to host me any longer. Although we had spent very little time together due to his heavy workload, Fausto had reminded me how to stay calm amidst a storm and fuelled me full of excitement once again. Fortunately Juliana had the same idea and invited myself and a few other surfers to her family beach house a short drive out of the city in the popular tourist town of ‘Praia Do Forte’. After preaching to the the Israeli and English surfers just how good the Bahian food is we surrendered to a hearty meal of fried fish balls and a mixed seafood ‘Moqueca’ called ‘Mariscada’ teeming with baby soft shell crabs, shrimps, muscles and fillets of succulent white fish. The empty clay bowl proved that we had found more than one common interest in life and shared the same appetite for the Bahia’s sensational cuisine.Returning back to the city I paid a sad farewell to Juliana as she left me with my 99th Official host Ernest Bowes (BOWES). Although she never actually hosted me, her passion and overflowing kindness was enough to honour her as my 100th host. Juliana deserves full credit for helping me reach a landmark after an intense two years on the road. If we had more souls like Juliana the world would surely be a better place and it’s because of people like her that I will continue to pursue this dream even with the challenges I’m still sure to face.Interestingly Ernest lived in a Favala, an undeveloped and poorer region residing on the hillsides accessible via a rather daunting fleet of stairs which really challenged my knee whilst carrying all my bags. By far the smallest apartment I’ve stayed in so far with only room to cater for one but I revelled in the opportunity to stay in the heart of a misunderstood community. Most people instantly relate Favala’s to drugs and crime especially since the release of the hit movie ‘City Of God’. Surprisingly it was the total opposite, the uneven streets besieged with young children passing the day with football, chit chat and generally just hanging out with friends. At first I was frowned upon like a polar bear on a tropical island but soon felt confident to walk through the maze like pathways stopping occasionally to kick a ball or entertain the kids with my freckled skin and bright green eyes.Ernest took me for another tour of the city stopping by a delicious Bahia buffet where I loaded up on my favourite Brazilian dishes without a care in the world for the bulge in my stomach slowly overlapping my feet. As long as I can dance I know they still exist! All this walking had fuelled my appetite and what better place is there on this side of the world to overindulge!Also in Salvador at the same time as me was surfer Ryan who I had travelled with from Argentina to Brazil. Since Camboriu, we had gone our separate ways after he had found love in Florianopolis. Ironically it was Ryan who advised me not to get involved in a relationship whilst in Uruguay and as usual I was wrong to think that having a long distance relationship would last. I and Anita came to a mutual agreement that unless I was planning on giving up my curiosity of the world, I was in no position to commit. So yet again the Lone ranger walks lonesome leaving horizons burning red behind him with only darkness his enemy and bewilderment by his side.I joined Ryan, his host and a few surfers for a wild night in one of Salvador’s party hotspots otherwise known as the Garage. During the day the entrance to the club is used as a car garage yet at the weekends the back of the complex gets packed with clubbers and celebrity faces. A little like Hong Kong Phooey’s hideaway you would never have guessed something so kickass lies within.Before leaving this beloved city, I joined a few surfers at a jazz festival beside the sea overlooking the best sunset I’ve seen in a while. A strange girl approached us having overheard my English and introduced herself. All seemed well at first but then she seemed frightfully keen to take us to a party we were heading too in her car and buy us drinks. After being robbed I find it exceedingly difficult to trust anyone I don’t know and felt best to refuse her offer and stop accepting the free drinks. Instead I opted to take the bus but my lack of trust bothered me and I couldn’t help wonder if my fear had led me to be discourteous with a harmless lady simply trying to make new friends.My concerns quickly evaporated into a massive sea of naked bodies dancing on the third so called best beach in the world ‘Porto Da Barra’. A huge stage blasted live music over thousands of tourists and locals combined showcasing the true vibrant spirit of Salvador which is definitely on my list of places I must return one day, hopefully with my own family should I ever see the day!And last but not least, thankyou to Jorgia Machado (JORGINHA) for surprising me at the bus station, to say farewell and offer me a gift i am proud to wear around my neck. That was incredibly heartwarming and left me with the best impressions of your city i could ever imagine. Mon, 20 Apr 2009 19:59:54 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=201&Itemid= Moving from place to place consistently has advantages. For if I experience a negative emotion, I’m simply able to sling my satchels stained with the soils of the world upon my back and walk out that ‘god forsaken town’ shaking the dust from my boots and smiling to a saloon doors squeak dwindle into a heavy horse trot across new lands. No need to look back, for how can one look a man in the eyes and play decent cards when the opponent forgot to take out the joker before the game? Even cowboys had a retreat, someplace to flee if the heat is on or to rest should the lasso of loneliness caste its leathery grip around ones waistcoat, forcing the air and dirt from the great outdoors to splutter deep from an unsettling breathlessness. Stop to stitch a gunshot wound cleaned with ruby bourbon, mould some roll ups for the empty tobacco tin or drop by to see a frilly skirt, leaving a few nickels and dimes beside the bed after a delightful recharge, sealed with a whiskery kiss to the cheek while she’s still sleeping. Buckle the belt, spin the barrel and ready for the road again. I, on the other hand just needed a friend I could trust. Maybe even enjoy some dancing to shake off those empty spirits clinging to me like toilet paper does to the arse when you drop a sticky poop! That’s why you should always carry ‘Huggies’, the gods have had smooth cheeks since creation, laughing at us from above grinding our teeth with each wipe of recycled wood shavings! Even Adam and Eve used leafs and totally understood the phrase ‘Your barking up the wrong tree’. When the hell were we told by our mothers that we are now old enough to wipe our sphincters with the same material once used for two signatures to sign away their souls in a promise now regurgitated into the basin of a toilet with last night’s Vindaloo? I was the ‘Lord Of The Ring Stings’ for way too long until the 8th wonder of the world spoke green in the baby aisle of which previously I had never ventured down before? I no longer run backwards in the cornfields, but slide effortlessly on luscious grass fields leaving ‘El Bano’ like a 64 Pink Chevy pulling out of a car wash. A friend, I found in Rio, well actually over the bridge in the non tourist town of Niteroi which faces opposite to the second largest city in Brazil across the bay without the glamour and riches. I had initially met my 96th official host Antonio Queiroz Junior (AQJUNIOR) in the couchsurfing film group more than a year ago sharing a deep passion for world cinema. We had remained in contact via msn since my surgery in Ecuador and his big smiley face at the bus terminal helped me understand why I felt so at home with a soul I had never physically met before. Antonio was genuinely pleased to meet me and ecstatic to show me his hometown and Rio where he occasionally worked as a tour guide. Briefly meeting his wonderful mum and establishing a base camp for my bags, we wasted no time and headed out to a local Samba school rehearsal. I imagined a small indoor basketball court with step seating but suddenly found myself in the middle of an open top courtyard packed with gorgeous women shaking those big black booties to a full size cabaret on stages situated around the arena. An electric orchestra of drums supplied the thunder for thighs to get groovy, sometimes the ladies would shake their butts so fast I was expecting the Tasmanian Devil to stop in front of me, steal my beer then swizzle off again.Mesmerized by one ladies dance in particular I fell blind sighted to her hand wrenching me from the crowd and into a circle of people before cocking her back for a face off. Prior to having a chance to explain my dodgy knee I was spinning around, gambolling like Jim Carey in the ‘Mask’ and grinding my big white ass over a bottle of beer on the floor with everyone chanting for me to get down! ‘Balls to Samba’, I thought breaking out with some of my own moves ending in a ‘Torro’ Esq. stance with my eyes firmly fixed on hers, sweat pumping from our foreheads. The crowd’s applause deafened her whisper in my ear hence the reason I was slightly unprepared for our intended finale of me catching her with both hands in the air, instead sending her crashing to the floor. Again the crowd roared, more so this time with laughter which didn’t deter her from a second attempt and me finally getting a chance to hold firmly onto a pair of luscious legs topped with an ass reminding me of pudding at Christmas! How nice it would taste smothered in white cream, sorry I meant custard! She told me several times to put her down but the crowd was so loud I couldn’t hear very well! Yer right! Like a little child with a giant chocolate bar I was frisson and unable to let go, only wanting to peel back the wrapper and gobble her all up yet contempt with a rewarding osculation finally opening my eyes catching that unforgettable moment disappearing into a crowd of succulent cheek meat!Samba had cast a wicked spell on my seat hugger and leaving the party I couldn’t control the urge to shake my big white ass. Antonio explained to me that there’s actually a sacred ground called the ‘Cidade Do Samba’ in Gamboa, a district neighbouring downtown, apparently the birth place of the ‘Carioca’ samba, whose ancestors presented the art of African Dance during their arrival in the 17th and 18th century. It’s no surprise to see such similarities with Brazil and Africa, just take a look at the world millions of years back during Pangaea when both continents where connected, which may also explain the African animals apparently depicted in some of the carvings at the Nasca Lines of Peru; said to have been made way before man had even learnt to traverse the seas? Or maybe it’s just the fact that we have always been connected through mind, body and soul and our true nature is our ability to express ourselves individually, freely but never as one. The following evening I and Antonio ventured across the bridge to attend my first couchsurfing meeting in Rio. I always get a little frustrated if many people are to be expected yet even with a big turn out the Rio group seemed well organized and pleasantly welcoming and had arranged the meeting in an ideal location beside the beach with plenty of space to move around and talk. When I first began this venture the meetings where never more than twenty people, yet nowadays I’m experiencing on average around eighty people in the bigger cities. It’s truly a great way to make connections and I never get bored of meeting new faces from around the world. It’s impossible to connect with every surfer I meet and by now I’ve become a true master of obtaining information through eye contact at any distance. If you study eyes long enough a pattern forms which you can then concur with body actions. It’s not easy though as some people are masters of perception and after all what we perceive is reality itself. Once I figure out who my crowd is, then I can go about directing my energy in the right direction which often leads to a trade in positive vibrations. If you find yourself let down by the people around you even though you have expressed only kindness and friendship, it’s because they take you for granted often leaving you bewildered or disappointed. Think of it like football, we are bred to believe we are supposed to support our home team regardless if they are good or bad yet unselfishly we always have the option to change and support something we enjoy without being disloyal to ones happy bank! With that in mind I set out with my new tailor made crowd for my first taste of Rio’s nightlife, the loopy ‘Lapa’.Across the city, schools of children kicked off the Carnival celebrations at the Samba Dome showcasing their miniature version of Rio’s biggest celebration, whilst I wriggled my way through hordes of plastic pint cups in a Lapa overflowing with tourists pre-gaming the beers for a weekend of dancing and street parties. Couchsurfers unite amongst a world united; I lost myself in dark eyes and big black lips like two plump slugs making love. Who said heaven was white?Antonio’s friend offered to host us both during the carnival weekend in downtown Rio even though he wasn’t a surfer. A doctor with a fine selection of exquisite liquors on offer from the self made bar in his house as well as an avid movie lover with a giant projector screen and surround sound system, I had plundered upon an unexpected luxury and an ideal pad to watch the Oscars with my fellow film fanatics. To celebrate our fellowship, doc cracked open a bottle of Jonny Blue, as rare as watching an episode of Baywatch without bashing the ol bishop! Now I’m no ‘Frank Gallager’, and have yet to wake up the next morning in a wheelbarrow but occasionally I find myself in an unusual situation wondering how, why, who and what hellish decisions led me here. So imagine Doc’s car suffering a punctured tire on a main road at the foot of one of Rio’s most dangerous ‘Favela’s’ on the way back from a bar at two o clock in the morning. Furthermore imagine discovering that Doc had accidently snapped all the screws attempting to change the tire in a drunken state (everyone drink drives in Latin America) forcing us to have to wait for a recovery truck sat beside a busy road loaded on whiskey, sleepy, a brand new car we are unable to move in full view of a neighbourhood famous for crimes, guns and definitely not a place for a gringo to be singing ‘I’m feeling gin tonic’ late in the night. Top that with the fact that we had to wait more than five hours watching the sunrise in slow motion exposing our situation ever more to a hillside of pure bred gangsters, one may say this would be an acceptable time to shit my pants, chew my fingers to the bone and sweat like Michel Jackson at a high school play! Hail Jonny Blue, I was so wasted I slept through most of the ordeal and let my hosts explain the next day just how lucky we were to still have the clothes on our backs never mind the car in one piece. To save money I avoided paying the overpriced ticket for the live carnival parade and joined my hosts instead watching snippets on Tv. It’s very impressive but after a few hours I was bored and easily distracted. I favoured instead to hunt around the city joining the numerous ‘Bloco Parties’, where hundreds of people gather to march the streets following a small car or truck loaded with a loud crappy speaker repeating the same five songs over and over. Empty beer cans crunch beneath my feet, whilst fresh ones pop froth over my face. Hands grab me from all directions pulling me in for a kiss, before the smooching is over I’m already lined up for the next constantly losing my friends in a hustle of non- stop affection. Like being back in school with just an hour’s dinner break to kiss as many girls as possible I dodged and weaved between the hot and the goofy totally avoiding the toothless and occasionally regretting the taste of brace metal or dog breath caused from the chain smoking forty five year old with lips like sandpaper. A kiss is a kiss but unlike the Jews I was taught that kissing a wall can often be related with insanity. My host continued his overflowing passion to show me the sights guiding myself and some friends up one of the new seventh wonders of the world, the famous statue of Christ (Christo Redentor) overlooking Rio. It’s definitely a wonder, why so many people believe that praying will change the course of their lives? I’d love to be an ancestor of Jesus; the royalties must be richer than the Queen of England with the same tax exclusions, a few plastic moulds here, concrete statues there, mini gold crosses everywhere and suddenly your local priest has a Mercedes secretly stored away in his mansion hideaway. Coca Cola fucked up using Father Christmas and polar bears for their marketing campaign? ‘Jesus Drinks Coke; he’s loving it’! Even the church could charge extra to wet the baby’s head with Holy Coke, a white soda in a see through can! You honestly think priests abide by all gods expectations? Settle for a little gloomy old fashioned house beside a spooky cemetery, alone every night reading the same book over and over never once thinking to use some of Sunday’s donations to nip out for a six pack and swap the little white collar for a raggy t-shirt stained with the cries of last week’s best behaved choir boy? Wake up world, where the hell do you think all that money goes to? And don’t you agree it’s a little insensitive to replicate the very appliance used to kill your hero? Do you see Bob Marley fans walking round with a gun on a chain? Obviously it was the twittering of our fanatical brainwashed children in the past that led the sane to say such things as ‘Oh My God’, ‘Jesus Christ’ and ‘Hail Mary’, confusing the insane to believe that the non believers where actually praising the lords name. Simply put, it’s like pulling a toothless minger with your beer goggles on, realizing the next morning just how God awful she is but your irresponsible urge for sex has shamefully injected the once untouched virgin with a heightened self esteem. Her new found confidence renders you sickened and speechless as she glides out the door with the un-sexiest of sexy walks leaving you muttering through clenched lips, ‘You can’t polish a turd’!Our tour finished with a walk around the foot of the symbolic Sugar Loaf Mountain. Having paid one fee for the Christ trip I opted to miss the cable car ride famous for the memorable fight scene between James Bond and Jaws in the 1979 Moonraker movie. Always reminds me of Christmas and Bank Holidays and urges me to drink something tangy ‘Shaaaken Not Stirrrred’. At the foot of the mountain I followed my host on a footpath through surrounding jungle stopping occasionally so the tiny ‘Mico’ monkeys could nibble on my nuts. “Da namessss Bond, Jamess Bond, licenseeee to thrilllll. Antonio was one of my favourite hosts so far yet living across the bay proved difficult to join in with the many cs activities in the city hence the reason I pursued another couch closer to the centre. I had met my 97th Official host Laura Marcio previously in Uruguay who had said they could host should I have any problems. Ideally situated close to the Subway, a stone’s throw from the beach, I could now relax a little and catch up on some writing which has been hard to maintain recently with so much moving around. I find myself wanting to write but often can’t find my comfort zone, chasing my tail like a dog looking for that exact position to drop myself into. Also writing indoors without a fan in the increasing heat often leads to sweat filling the grooves between my keyboard frustrating my fingers like a fish trying to escape my grasp. Marcio works as a freelance director and fortunately for me had some free time to show me around. I joined him for a cruise on the back of his motorcycle, in my opinion the only way to truly feel the collaboration of a big city and nature combined, gliding through traffic at ease with a gentle breeze, epic rock formations erupting from the sea cause the sun to hide then appear again like a hot fresh flannel to your face, lush green trees line the central cause ways spreading a vibrant summer sensation with every turn we make. I felt like Magnum PI winding up hillsides, the great natural rock formations getting smaller as the sea opens up into a mass of rippled blues hugging the horizon slowly preparing to digest yet another day. I was struck with awe as we graced through Santa Terresa, one of Rio’s most popular neighbourhoods high in the surrounding mountains. Home to the rich and artistic, its growing trend has attracted foreign students to rent local properties and spirited a boom in expensive resto bars and high class restaurants. It had a very European feel with narrow roads catering for a cheap tram that chugs you up and down the hill for less than a dollar. Aromatic flavours bounce off mouth watering menus chalked upon blackboards advertising the dish of the day which many of the locals simply can’t afford to buy. Close to the summit of the mountain lives a friend of Marcio who had invited us both to play poker. Walking up the drive way of his home I was disappointed to not find any garden fairies or pixies playing in the jungle of wild colour and exotic plantations. I did however find a huge monkey in a cage, the house pet Sofia, who was keen to take from me the many fallen fruits I managed to salvage from the floor. I was mesmerized by her every swing and lost myself in amazement at just how monkey like I am! Failing to understand the many different styles of poker play, I hid the shame of an early defeat and resumed my curious observation of Sofia. Occasionally she was released from the cage to run freely around the huge grounds but always favoured to return back to her wire box rather than into the wild. God forbid should any of us ever consider life beyond what we perceive each day, better to stay in our comfort zones, away from danger with an ignorant bliss. I wish more than anything to be back behind those four walls, looking at the same view everyday through my window, happy to see piles of bills pouring through the letter box each morning, pulling weeds from my garden and keeping up with the joneses making sure my car is nice and polished every Saturday morning. Ha!The following day, Marico showed me more of the city by motorcycle cruising down Copacabana beach passing the Palace Hotel, the most luxury hotel of the Americas back in 1930. After a quick slurp on some fresh coconut milk, my host took me for a typical Brazilian style Sushi Banquet, reasonably priced and extremely delicious. Marcio had very good taste for food and was passionate about living life a little above the average standard. Being a backpacker for so long you often forget what it’s like to enjoy exceptional food, feel smart in well ironed clothes or a suit, walk the streets in shiny shoes and benefit from a clean hot shower twice a day. I think the most important thing for me now is what new things I allow myself to perceive in life, feels like Christmas every day except the gifts I receive are beyond anything I could wrap.Before the suns descent behind the two brothers peaks we cruised by the famous Ipanema beach packed with locals drinking beer and cooling down with my least favourite Brazilian snack, the bitter tasting Aca’i which contains eight spices of palm trees native to central and South America. I’ve tried many variations of the purple mush but it always seems to taste like soap to me. Unlike the over populated, grungy run down Copacabana, Ipanema seemed more vibrant and modern reflecting the Carioca spirit of the people of Rio, welcoming visitors eager to join in the fun, which I soaked up with a beer and good conversation with a new friend.Every Sunday night in Rio during summer is a VIP party in a museum surrounding tailored for the rich and famous. I was invited to join Marcio and his wife Laura with a discounted entrance. Whilst in the Dj box trying to blag my way on the decks, my attention was turned to a familiar face I was sure I had seen before but couldn’t quiet remember where. It was only one of Brazil’s most talented and famous actors, the Brad Pitt of South America, Rodrigo Santoro, who featured in a few episodes of Lost, played the handsome geek in Love Actually, the big bad Persian King Xerxes in 300 and recently Raul Castro in the new Che movie. After enjoying a pleasant thirty minute conversation about movies and screenwriting, I was amazed just how down to earth he was although I guess I would be if I was boning Natalie Portman! She can run around my bedroom dressed as Madonna singing ‘Like A Virgin’ any day. Wrapping up my final day in Rio, I met with Antonio for a quick tour of some of his favourite places, passing through the old town to check out an ancient library full of man’s quests for knowledge and the truth to our existence. Definitely not a place a tourist would stumble upon which is why I’m glad I’m not your average tourist. However there’s still the odd place I just couldn’t resist. Since I arrived to Rio I was eager to have my photo taken on the famous steps from ‘Snoop Dogs’ music video ‘Beautiful’ located in the Lapa area. I even managed a rare shot of me and the actual artist who has spent years collecting the tiles from people all over the world, carefully assembling them all to form a true representation of Brazil, big, bright, and extremely eye catching. Sharing a bowl of the most delicious fried fish Balls ‘Bolinho De Bacalhau’ after a hike up the steps to Santa Terresa with Antonio, I felt lucky to have found a true friend, who’s smile reached as far as my imagination that maybe one day, we can all enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company without fear, reservation and only the will to be true to our natural self. Learning from Antonio, the best way to begin is to smile, so that I did. Wed, 11 Mar 2009 16:20:44 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=200&Itemid= Before leaving Camboriu I accompanied host Eddy to watch his football team play an important match on TV in his local bar. Football is certainly a religion that shares the same ethics around the world, beer, shouting, angry protests and drunken lullabies. I missed those Sundays back home with mates in the pub, drinking all day to wash away the reality of another week at work creeping closer, waking the following day barely having any recollection of my two day break from a robotic rotation before breaking my balls over painfully long week days to put fuel in the bosses fast car yet leaving myself penniless each month upon discovering an unexpected bill through the letterbox. For two hours, Eddy could put his feet up from being a dad, wash down a few beers with a new friend whilst chomping on a delicious plate of fried cod fish balls, one of my favourite Brazilian delights. His team won the game and our time together concluded perfectly with smiles all around. It’s good to win however losing isn’t a bad thing either because without it how can we possibly appreciate a victory?I was excited about meeting my next host in Sao Paulo, which was really my only intention to visit the fourth largest and sixth most populated city in the world. My planned host replied to the original email sent to all members on couchsurfing over two years ago offering me a couch and the possibility of Djing in the city. Yet upon arrival my excitement was short lived and one of my most anticipated couchsurfing experiences proved in fact to be a very uncomfortable budget bashing headache and had me questioning for the first time if all this was something I really want to continue with. With respect to my host (he/she) will be called X and in return I shall honour my readers with a true account to what I feel to be the dark side of society which rarely happens but unfortunately exists. As always, arriving to a new city and making my way from the bus terminal to a host’s house alone is daunting for me especially when I can’t speak the language well and with so many bags I’m a prime target to be robbed. And my recent robbery has stripped me of any confidence I had before. I simply can’t afford to take chances anymore hence the reason I plan every step as safely as possible. Having spoke to X about my arrival he/she was too busy to meet me at the terminal which is fair enough (it’s not always to be expected) and instead gave me instructions to take the metro, change lanes once and then walk to the house from the terminal (or take a taxi). Taxi’s direct to his home where expensive so I decided against it. When I explained this to my host in Camboriu Stef who’s originally from Sao Paulo, she refused to have me arrive without someone meeting me sharing my concern about safety and carrying all my bags so far with a dodgy knee. If someone who knows the city tells me it’s not wise to be walking alone then I’m all ears. Stef kindly called her best friend who was more than willing to help, arranging for her boyfriend (also a couchsurfer) to meet me at the terminal and show me safely to my host’s house. Every time I hosted back home I would always pick up my guests when they arrived and most surfers I’ve stayed with tend to do the same. I guess I’m expecting too much but in my opinion it’s a small detail that tells me a little about what kind of host I’ll be staying with in advance. They are either too busy working, don’t have a car, have another commitment, live too far away from the arrival point or unlike me and the majority of surfers I’ve stayed with, don’t really consider the safety of their guests. Everyone has the right to choose which I must respect. When I arrived I was greeted by two surfers, Vicente and Andres who were thrilled to have me as a guest to their city and interested to know more about my project. I was invited to stay with them if I experienced any problems and should I need help with anything else aside from an escort I was to contact them without hesitation. Subways tend to be a little confusing at first but once you get the hang of them it’s an easy way to travel the city. However carrying over eighty pounds and looking lost isn’t a good entrance to a new place so I was thankful for the guys help. Once we left the subway we had a fair walk to my host’s apartment which had I attempted alone would have been near impossible with my knee. Both Andres and Vicente thought it was a little strange that my host couldn’t meet me however my host had to attend an important meeting and wouldn’t be home during my arrival. I was given instructions to leave my bags in reception, head directly to a couchsurfing meeting and meet with my host later that night. My first taste of the cs group in Sao Paulo was full of energy and offered a huge variety of members from all over the world. The group has more than two thousand people yet an average of seventy members attend the weekly meeting held in an adequate bar, its top floor dominated by a sea of surfers. I was welcomed into the group and helped Vicente and Andres enjoy their first cs meeting having only recently joined the network. Later I was finally united with my host who I’d been speaking to for well over two years via msn. Since that time X had took a step back from couchsurfing and ambassadorship to pursue a dream of opening a hostel, which was due to open this week. I agreed to work for free and help prepare the hostel for an opening party in three days time which X had arranged for me to Dj with himself and a few other surfers. I was pumped to get my hands dirty and get stuck into some real work. I never thought I’d say this but I am beginning to miss regular work, however the grass is always greener on the other side right?It was obviously a bad time for X to be hosting due his busy schedule organizing the hostel which at first glance seemed almost impossible to have ready in time for the opening. Yet everyone chipped in and it all came together surprisingly well. I spent two days assembling over forty bunk beds with X then made all the bed sheets, crafted a temporary bar for the party and numerous bits and bats barely stopping to rest. X wanted me to stay at the hostel but I felt a little uncomfortable staying for free whilst other guests where already paying to stay. I preferred to stay at his apartment with his parents to continue my couchsurfing experience. Exactly the opposite was happening in fact.I felt used by X. His only intention to host me it seemed was to utilize my help at the hostel which I never received a direct thank you for until I mentioned it. X’s philosophy seemed to be ‘well your staying at my home so you owe me’, and at times treated me more like an employer than a friend who’s offered a helping hand. I even asked ‘Why aren’t your friends helping you at this critical time’? “Brazilians don’t work for free”, was the reply. Nice I guess us English are just too dam gullible then? What really saddened me however was X’s complete and utter disrespect for me, my profession and my dream. Having known each other for so long I was surprised at his complete lack of knowledge about my life and project and a shady comment he made highlighting he’s never read a single journal and believed the rest of the world isn’t either commenting “people get excited but do you think people really read them”. My journals are the notes for my book not a craving for popularity, you are free to read and like them or not yet it’s unfair to comment if you are completely ignorant. X didn’t even know about my parents even after replying to an email from cs which clearly stated the reasons I had sold my house so I was obviously dealing with a self centred soul, I know because at times I can be the same yet I’m learning to listen, want to know more about other people and seek not to repeat my story over and over but nobody can take away my gift of always helping others at any given opportunity. My mother’s biggest weakness was she too often put people before her and never got the same care and love back when she needed it rendering her weak and broken. I’m prepared to help anyone but I’m certainly not going to be taken advantage of. You must know who to direct your positive energy to for its continuous flow or you will feel bitter and cheated and hatred to others. Walk away is my advice, don’t keep banging your head against a brick wall, climb over, smash it down, or follow it until you find a door to walk through making sure to slam it shut and throw away the key. X’s mum rewarded my help around the hostel with a few simple words telling me I had a beautiful soul and a kind heart whilst X continued to trot on like a horse who can only see what lies ahead, dragging me behind for the ride. A tour around the city proved to be a shopping spree for last minute hostel necessities whilst I waited patiently for an hour in the car park thinking of a story I can make up to make this journal sound remotely interesting. Yet interestingly enough even my negative accounts have some appeal because after all society thrives off sad and weird stories and here I was couchsurfing the world, living my dream helping my least favourite host who was a hugely dedicated couchsurfer for many years, achieve their dream to continue hosting people at a cost? It all seemed a little confusing. I realise there’s a market for hostels and money to be made but what I don’t understand is how someone with no regards to the feelings of others, expects a favour to be returned, refuses to offer a helping hand when needed and thinks they are above everyone else can possibly want to run such a business which involves the highest of people skills to maintain a reputable status of which it seems is already tarnished amongst most people who know X.Had I listened to the voice of several members before my arrival I would have planned to stay with another host. Instead my careless curiosity led me to suffer from a deep anxiety feeling a jealous wrath of negative energy being forced in my direction. X continuously wanted to make me feel inferior, frustratingly prolonged any solution to a problem I had, barely even listening to my concerns to begin with yet seemed fully attentive and operational when calling the shots like all good bosses do. The nail in the coffin of our friendship however was X’s inability to inform me of a minor detail as I frantically set up the Dj equipment for the party to do a sound test before the guests arrived, a task I shouldn’t have even been doing yet I kindly offered to help. Unbeknown to me the Cd decks where switched to 110v and I plugged them directly into a 220volt plug blowing the fuses rendering us without decks for the party. X later admitted to me it was partially his/her fault for not telling me yet I was stumped with the bill of a hundred pounds to pay the owner for them to be fixed. So in a nutshell I work for free, offer to Dj for free, don’t get to play and have to pay money because someone forget to pass on a tiny piece of information. How the fuck is that fair? Man of my word, I paid hoping to buy my way out of X’s life forever, it was worth every penny. The situation wasn’t explained well at the party and instead I was made to look like a joke to some of X’s ignorant bystanders. Sticks and stones whatever but the truth will set me free and you can’t steal my dignity. I will apologize to anyone who witnessed my drunken state that evening, to say I was pissed is an understatement. I simply had to wash away the embarrassment and forget how this world can be so full of self centred bigheads who can’t take responsibility for their lack of action and response!For over three days I was stuck at the hostel with all my belongings back at X’s house. Unable to stand X’s presence any longer I accepted the offer to crash with Vicente and Andre and hope to redeem my opinion about Sao Paulo. Having spent a wonderful day with the guys and Vicente’s girlfriend Carla strolling though the biggest park in all South America I agreed to cook them dinner to say thank you for saving my soul from the tyranny of selfish seduction. Andres offered to help me transfer my bags from X’s apartment. When I arrived to the hostel, X was unwillingly to take us home in the car due to the peak time traffic. Instead his plan was for I and Andres to take the metro and X would be home in fifteen minutes via motorcycle. Sweet, yet I sensed it wouldn’t be so simple even announcing to Andres that for sure we will need to wait longer. Almost an hour and fifteen minutes later X arrived having forgot about me, only remembering because we had a search party trying to call his cell phone “got tied up with something else”, was his excuse through devilish eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less”, was my last ever reply.I planned to have dinner ready for my new hosts for 8pm. Instead due to X’s amazing hospitality the four of us settled down to a homemade curry right before midnight. We shared the funny side of my experience concluding that life is full of obstacles both physically and mentally and unfortunately some people just don’t share the same values in life. I don’t hate X that would be immature and unfair because so many people have obviously shared a completely different experience and I have to take some responsibility for our clash in character and full blame for allowing myself to fall into the web of a social spider hoping to entangle the fish that can fly. In fact I appreciate the free accommodation and dinners you shared. And for helping me write something real highlighting that couchsurfing also has its disadvantages. Who knows maybe X will actually read one of my journals now it’s predominately about them. I wish you well for the future and appreciate the reminder of how not to treat people without respect. Unfortunately I just won’t remember X (my first official erased host) and instead will fill the pages of my book with something word worthy, inspiringly and not detrimental to my cause. To make the world a better place. Thanks to Andres, Vicente and Carla and the many warm hearts of Sao Paulo I’m still on course to achieve just that. Wed, 11 Mar 2009 16:16:55 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=199&Itemid= I knew little about my next destination except it was Brazil’s very own version of Ibiza in Spain. During the summer break the small beach resort and coastal city of Balneario Camboriu grows from an average population of around 100, 000 people to almost 1 million tourists seeking out sun, scenic beaches and some of the world’s best dance clubs which are gaining respect amongst today’s most popular Djs. A local couchsurfer had posted out details to all surfers in surrounding areas about organizing the first big cs meeting in Camboriu and had personally wrote to me offering a couch. Just a few hours north of Florianopolis and in between my next destination, I changed my plans to head direct to Sao Paulo and took a detour to the city still accompanied by surfer and friend Ryan Clark. We had been traveling together now for over three months through good and bad times and I had become rather comfortable with always having someone around especially during the long distance bus rides. Ryan is physically in much better shape than me however I had noticed recently he had been sleeping a lot more and the fatigue of traveling for so long was finally starting to have an effect. However his major advantage over me was his ability to fall asleep in any place. I have trouble getting to sleep in a bed never mind on a bus or plane or even sitting in a chair. As soon as I shut my eyes my mind goes into creative overdrive and attempting to sleep feels like a wasted opportunity to progress in life. Sleep after all is the cousin of death so why spend so much time with him when I feel so alive?Greeting us at the station was the rather small yet bigger than life Eddy Ervin Eltermann (EDDYELTERMANN) aka Eddieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee my 94th Official host who surprisingly greeted me with a taste of home ‘Alright Wanker’ in his strong London accent he had picked up after living in England for three years. It had been a long time since I’ve been challenged with the English dark sense of humor and Eddy knew perfectly how to push my buttons. His voice startled me at first. I was expecting broken English with the usual Latin lisp yet found myself chuckling to Barry White on helium. Eddy was straight out of a ‘Guy Richie’ movie, small but stocky, shaven head, tattoos, thick dark rimmed glasses and a West End gangster voice yet he wasn’t looking for trouble, far from it in fact. He was here to greet his first ever guests from couchsurfing with open arms and a trusting soul.Dropping our bags at his flat situated in the centre of the downtown area we joined Eddy and his friend Jean for a walk along the main ocean boulevard ‘Avenida Atlantica’ just a stone’s throw from his home. It reminded me of Miami and Cancun with skyscrapers dominating the sea view but I knew I was in Brazil watching old faces pass a giant cup of ‘Mate’ around and stopping to watch the retired play a beach version of grass bowls called ‘Bocha’ in little bowling arenas beside the beach. I wanted to play but it seemed you had to be at least over fifty and be up early enough to join the waiting list. The day was bustling with activity from Capoeira football, volleyball, surfing, running or simply walking at a steady pace with a beer to hand like me and my entourage. Small bars along the boulevard kept us nicely refreshed with cold beers whilst corn on the cob and churitto stands where always on offer should we get a little peckish. We stopped to watch the local fisherman retrieve a giant net from the sea with help from passersby who would be rewarded with a free fish should the days catch be adequate. Eddy told me that a few years ago the net was packed with fish everyday yet all I could see after thirty minutes of hard work was one helpless fish in a bucket gasping for life. I felt mesmerized by its will to want to survive continuing to breath for over ten minutes before its tiny lungs surrendered to the sight of a dozen human eyes interested in how good it tastes rather than how it could be saved. Part of me wanted to throw him back in the sea yet how ironic would that be from a fish who escaped my own bowl and I certainly didn’t want a herd of hungry stinky fisherman chasing me down the beach on my first day. Sorry fishy, you’re fried!Returning home we met Eddy’s wife, who he incidentally met whilst living in England, the warm and caring lovable soul Estefania Mello (STE TUMENAS). ‘Nice to meet you wanker’, followed by a hug and a welcome home smile, I knew this was gonna be one of my best surfing experiences so far. Eddy and Stef also had another member of the family who I was yet to meet, a five year old daughter called Sarah who would be returning from her Grandmothers in a few days time. Eddy was the same age as me and Stef just a few years younger, I was eager to see how they worked together as a family. After all this should be me I thought, settled down with a child, maintaining a steady job and married to the women I love. Although Eddy and Stef weren’t officially married, a piece of paper didn’t change anything and they seemed perfectly happy with what they had. Making us feel at home immediately we where showed to their daughter’s bedroom where we would both be sleeping during our stay. Bunk beds and pink sheets made me feel my youth again although I much preferred my He-Man collection over Barbie Dolls and a husband without a penis. Poor Ken! How’s a women ever gonna learn with that little rabbit nose stump? And what the hell have they both got to smile about if he hasn’t got his manhood? Poor design feature! Society is so fo*ked up. Just look at the toys we are given to play with as kids. Action men and guns for boys, no wonder so many young teenagers are brainwashed into joining the army. And is it a wonder why so many teenage girls want to get pregnant having spent their childhood raising a plastic baby that really cries when it’s not fed by invisible milk and learning how to behave well in a toy kitchen making sure to put the pots back in the right place at the end of the day? The computer games of today teach young children how to lead a battalion into war and fictional characters like the tooth fairy still exist. For Christ sake, don’t blame it on drugs when a young girl jumps from her balcony, maybe she thought she could fly? It was probably our parents on drugs that thought of the tooth fairy anyway. As for Father Christmas, don’t be so cruel; tell them it’s a farce while they are young because I was truly devastated when I found my dad on Christmas morning passed out on the couch with the whiskey and half eaten mince pie and Santa pants stained with piss around his ankles. And we get mad when our kids lie to us. Shame on you!Eddies friend Jean invited us over to his home for a welcome dinner cooked by his mother who was ecstatic about having two foreign guests. We had the choice to pick any of our favorite dishes and all agreed on my latest addiction to ‘Noquis’ however with little time to prepare we opted to buy them ready made. Jeans mum made a delicious homemade sauce and spectacular salad but I’m still yet to be convinced that ‘Palmito’ is meant to be eaten. It’s like a soggy white tasteless carrot but Brazilians go crazy for it. I just don’t understand how the middle of a tree can be appealing? Maybe it’s because I never grew up next to the jungle and was fed a hearty diet of Ketchup butties as a kid?The next evening we celebrated the first city meeting of Camboriu with a bigger turn out than expected. People from all over the world gathered together to share travel adventures and make new friendships. It was great to have a chance to walk around the tables and talk with each person individually rather than be overwhelmed by a huge group like Buenos Aires. The smaller meetings seem to becoming obsolete these days as the couchsurfing site nears to the one million member mark. I joined a few of the surfers for a sample of Brazil’s nightlife watching Dj Axwell at one of the top five best clubs in the world ‘Green Valley’. Clubbing isn’t what it used to be anymore that’s for sure and drugs are only recently becoming popular in Brazil. It’s funny watching society’s future gurning on the dance floor, ecstasy pumping serotonin through the pleasure domes of their mind. I remember when drugs and music were all about love, equality and harmony. Nowadays people just want an escape and will put anything in there’s bodies to achieve that. Ibiza was a special place for me when I was young, yet when I revisited a few years ago I was shocked at the levels people go to get out of their minds, unable to string a sentence together and wandering around a club looking like they escaped a mental institution after paying ridiculous amounts of money to sniff brick dust and house hold cleaning products. In Brazil however it isn’t cool to do drugs and even worse to look like you’re wasted. The people have a clean and respectful look about them and conversation is thankfully still present in the clubs and bars. You never see a Brazilian women stumbling around with makeup streaming down her face or groups of drunken lads smashing each other’s faces in with broken beer bottles. People are proud and have class and aim to look and feel good yet like any new trend, I’m sure as the clubs gain more popularity with tourists so will the drugs on the dance floor. Back at Eddy’s house I was finally introduced to his daughter Sarah. I couldn’t believe how well behaved she was for a five year old. Never raised her voice or stamped her foot to demand attention and always carried an angelic smile that would lighten up every room she entered. I envied Eddy and Stef, watching them play together as a family with the joy of their life, a true unconditional love, their whole world orbiting the spirit of their two souls combined, an atomic admiration dancing together in synchronized smiles. Sarah would always clean up her toys when she finished playing and cared for her dolls like a mother. “How did you teach her to be so well behaved”? Eddy and Stef explained that every time Sarah did something good she was rewarded with a paper star, which she could then trade for a gift. The more stars the better the prize. By now however she had already out grown the exercise and become a star on her own! I was impressed. Proves that we don’t need to beat our children to make them listen or spoil them to keep them in control. Sarah was learning that she must work for the things she wanted and appreciated them more once she got them. Very smart indeed!Like most Latin American countries I had been pre-warned about the dangers of Brazil but as of yet felt a total opposite. The people are incredibly friendly and the places I visited forever bursting with color and character. The country moves at a steady pace and life seems more relaxed with time to spend pursuing the things you enjoy. I guess I’m reflecting on my own lifestyle but even the hard workers have time for an afternoon catnap in the shade. Yet I knew I had to keep my wits about me regardless. Watching the afternoon news on TV reminded me of the dangers lurking in the bigger cities especially. I couldn’t believe the content being shown so early in the day, a full scale urban war in Sao Paulo had broke out after a policeman killed an escaped convict forcing hundreds of gangs to charge down from Favala’s and terrorize the urban communities burning cars and shooting machine guns in the street. Not exactly the perfect advertisement for my next planned destination. Even more shocking was footage of a man getting shot through the head in his car whilst waiting for his garage door to open which had been recorded via the security camera on his driveway. My lunch began to taste a little sour feeling like I’d accidently turned on the executions channel. No, it was just the regular news. Why does news always need to be bad? Hasn’t anyone ever thought to make a newspaper covering happy stories like doctor saves babies life or front page special ‘President Bush has been assassinated’. Why not? Probably because we live in a sick world of jealously and hatred and self motivation for power and success and the thought of someone else being happier than you would make your stomach turn inside, right? We prefer to watch the famous get torn apart, read the gory details of the footballer’s compound fracture ending his latest goal tally, give a dumb blond her own TV show after sucking some jock off on camera, destroy a great musicians soul with presumptions and speculations and bending truths the way we wish to see it. Well I’ve got a happy story for you. People like Eddy and Stef and baby Sarah, that’s a story I shall never forget and one that will make me smile for the rest of my life. Bless your souls, I love you guys. Wed, 11 Mar 2009 16:15:52 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=198&Itemid= I was thrilled to reunite with Alvaro at the capital and to be back in the couchsurfing realm again. His mother joined us for a few days whilst visiting the city and I was treated to some spectacular homemade ‘Milanesa’ and a local delicacy made from a cows throat in a special white sauce, a strange but pleasant texture almost like a blob of hard butter in the mouth. With my uncle arriving soon from the USA with some goodies, I was thankful for Alvaro’s help and patience with me hogging his internet for weeks enabling me to download all the programs I would need to reinstall on my new laptop including over ten language programs ready for my new I-pod. I was close to being fully functional again. Alvaro proved he was more than just a host but a great friend I could always rely on and one that continued to stand by his word. If you need something sorting, he is the man! Once Ryan returned from Chile we all rented a tent together with another surfer and close friend of Alvaro the lovable Guillermo Carpintero and joined a train full of surfers from all around the globe heading for the biggest cs event I’ve attended, an annual camping trip in the small town of Tigre a few hours out of the city. With around two hundred surfers expected to attend it was sure to be an interesting weekend. Trying to cater for so many people in a bar or club would be almost impossible so a campsite is the ideal solution however I feared such a big group was a sign of things to come within the network which currently has a growth rate of over ten thousand new members a week. In the past the most successful meetings have always been with fewer people in a local place easily accessible for all. Camping out of the city is an awesome solution for space and easier for people to chat but not everyone may have the money or time to attend. If all the groups continue to grow what will be the solution for five hundred people to meet at a local bar for example? My experience has also led me to discover that over time a large group tends to split into individual sub groups all sharing different ideas which can often lead to a conflict. People who like nightlife for example tend to avoid organized day events and hence forth. I was surprised how smooth the organization was of so many people at the camping with everyone participating in the cs Olympic games and helping make Pizza’s for the entire group and of course a giant ‘Asado” and although I never had chance to connect with everyone, I enjoyed very much the company of those I did. However a great threat looms to the future of the couchsurfing network. It’s still considerably underground on a world scale yet as it grows from day to day and continues to reach media all around the world the community begins to have less control of the preservation of its true spirit. How can it be for example that over one hundred and fifty people attend a meeting yet I and everyone I’ve spoken to say that Buenos Aires is one of the most difficult places to find a couch? I appreciate there are more tourists than hosts yet the majority of people I spoke to at the camp lived in Buenos Aires, have been a member of cs for more than six months yet have hosted little or nobody since joining. I also feel that the volunteer ambassadors of all the groups around the world run the risk of taking on too much commitment as well as holding down a full time job and without passionate people in place a group can easily fall apart. A bigger fear however are some of the ambassadors already in place that take their role a little too serious and allow pride to raise its ugly head. Why do I feel this? I’ve been accused of being a self seeker, a loud voice with a cocky profile by a few who haven’t even met me yet the finger pointers forget to look into my heart just for a second and feel my compassion to help protect the future of such a beautiful network and prove to the world that love is all around us, even in those that are blinded by a jealous zeal. I asked a key member what he thought about the rapid growth of the group in general. “We’ve created a monster”. The problem with monsters is that they always seem to attract thousands of curious tourists who come, don’t meet their expectations and leave empty handed. Obviously there’s no such thing as the ‘Loch Ness Monster’ and I feel sorry for anyone that travelled to Scotland, stood there for hours and didn’t see it, however let’s not forget that its myth dwells in a beautiful place and if your eyes are open its often the something you wasn’t expecting that leaves the final impression. So for any new and old members who have yet to host or surf due to uncertainties, doubts or concerns then if I may be as kind to offer some advice, try it, you never know, your house may well become a place others travel to from far and wide and unlike ‘nessy’ actually give people the chance to really know you. Two years have passed since I’ve seen any family and according to ‘Don Corleone’, ‘You can’t call yourself a man if you don’t spend time with your family.’ In my defence, I’m spending time with several families although I’d never for a second doubt the Godfather. Being away from family is a peculiar feeling. I keep in touch with my sister and niece by phone on a regular basis and everyone’s reading my journals back home but the truth is it’s an issue I try to avoid to protect myself from an emotional breakdown. I’ve watched my niece grow for seventeen years yet when I return I probably won’t recognize her. My only grandmother always gets excited when I call thinking I’m finally home again and has yet to accept that I’ve actually left. I feel closer to my sister even though I’m away due to all the help she’s given me from back home, without who I wouldn’t have maintained a smooth project. My parents however are here beside me, patiently guiding me safely back to my loved ones. The last member of family I spent time with was my uncle Ian at the start of my trip in the USA. We helped kill three birds with one stone, he wanted a break from the winter chill, I was desperately in need of a laptop, which of course is much cheaper in the States and I’d get to spend some much needed time with family again. I was overjoyed to have him join me for a month’s adventure; my only concern was how he would adjust to couchsurfing? Alvaro agreed to let us both stay for the first few days, however I would need to find another couch whilst his father came to visit. We would be welcome to come back once his father left. My uncle is the closest soul I have to my father and although my father wasn’t keen on hugging like me, my uncle’s ‘bear like hugs’ more than suffice. Often people who knew my father will say how much they see of him in me as I see him in my uncle. There’s no escaping the family mannerisms and throughout any blood line no matter how different the person, characteristics will always have similarities good and bad. The miracles of genetics are the subliminal signals alerting you that a soul close by has shared a valuable and honest moment in or before your life. If an atom is split, both halves will continue to mimic each other no matter how far they are separated. If one halve turns to the right, the other will follow, a phenomena called non – locality. A theory yet to be explained by any science local to what our minds perceive! We could say then that the qualities shared with family are our localities. Looking deep into my uncles eyes, I felt a piece of home again. My uncle immediately warmed to Alvaro and his brother and was more than happy with a luxurious first time couchsurfing experience. Suddenly I was a host again giving tours of the city, translating a little Spanish and generally making sure my guest was at ease, which he was until we had to move out for a few days. I had been recommended to stay with my (90TH Official Host) Ezequiel (EZEQUIEL) by several other surfers in advance who all commented on his passion for couchsurfing. He was very welcoming and considerate about my uncle’s arrival and even with limited space opened his home to the both of us. I did however forget to mention to uncle that Ezequiel also lived with three cats and was unaware of any allergies. I’m so accustomed to organizing myself that it didn’t occur to me to ask? Furthermore Ezequiel did highlight on his profile that if anyone has a problem with cats, it’s probably better to find another host. An embarrassing moment for all of us yet big respect to uncle for taking his pills and tolerating two days of cat hair! Ezequiel was incredibly thoughtful. His main concern was that my uncle felt comfortable in his home as well as making sure the cats felt the same in theirs. He could have easily just kicked us out but Ezequiel is a true couchsurfer in every sense. It was a short experience yet I learnt many new insights from a man that needs to talk very little to make a point. Although uncle was a little troubled by the cats it didn’t seem to deter him from couchsurfing and make an effort to know Ezequiel although it was obvious he favoured the cat free zone at Alvaro’s. My project so far has taught me to always be prepared for any situation and that I must always respect my host and adjust to the way they live. It’s not always pleasant or luxurious however if I am to understand society then I must look in all corners of life. My uncle had the choice to stay in a hotel but for whatever reason decided to stay and make the most of the experience. I love you for that! Back at Alvaro’s I could relax again knowing uncle was without allergies and felt comfortable walking about the house without the fear of a cat brushing past him. However with Christmas approaching and the addition of Ryan joining us for our trip to Uruguay, I was anxious about finding a host over the festive season for all three of us. I spent days browsing profiles hoping to find a member that was relatively new to the network and who would be eager to have his first couchsurfing experience. The time was ticking.. I had been waiting for my uncle to arrive before sampling the ‘Bife Chorizo’ in the capital which according to the locals is the best meat in the world. Alvaro and his girlfriend accompanied us both to one of his favourite restaurants with only one thing on our mind. “tres Chorizos muy grande por favour, y un botela de Malbec’ The moment that meat hit my mouth followed by a generous slug of vino was like the moment you discover masturbation and upon completion felt exactly the same. A small part of me felt bad for being a carnivore yet my big stomach grumbled in satisfaction, who am I to argue with the belly? A small bar crawl later and it was time to head home, however finding a taxi in the earlier hours at the weekend is almost impossible so instead we decided to walk. Somehow I found myself alone a few hundred yards behind uncle and Alvaro and which point I was confronted by what looked like a women from a distance with a breast hanging out to get my attention, yet close up it was an obvious man. With an accomplice transvestite they quickly tried to seduce me whilst searching my pants for a wallet or money. I politely told them to “F*** off’ and began shouting towards Alvaro that someone was trying to rob me. Before I managed to reach them both the same two robbers had already raced ahead, distracted my uncle and stole his wallet before fleeing in car. Luckily he only had cards and little money. It was time for me to leave Argentina I thought, too many bad things keep happening here. Robbed twice in Mendoza, almost put in jail for speaking English in the street, frowned upon numerous times when I show my passport in a supermarket, punched and butted in the face because of historical moment I had absolutely no control over and of which I have no support for whatsoever. I mean what is there to love about this country? Thankfully I do have some great memories, my hosts in Cordoba, Pam and Juan and the couchsurfing group are fantastic souls, Patagonia is a beautiful place and Alvaro, well my brother you are a fine example of how we should all live together in harmony. Do I dislike Argentina? No because it belongs to the world we all share which is a miracle we need to embrace, however aside from visiting my friends again I’m in no rush to go back. Thu, 05 Feb 2009 12:42:11 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=197&Itemid= O peregrino do sofáHá mais de dois anos, o inglês Adam Schofield, 30 anos, viaja pelo mundo pulando de sofá em sofá de casas de pessoas que conheceu na internet. O 93º deles, e o primeiro no Brasil, é em Florianópolis. Adam está na Capital catarinense desde a última segunda-feira e fica até a próxima segunda-feira.Claro que, literalmente, o inglês não fica sempre no confortável móvel da sala das casas que o recebem. A ideia de sofá vem do nome em inglês de um movimento que é conhecido no mundo todo como couchsurfing – couch significa sofá –, em que pessoas usam a internet para encontrar anfitriões nos países que visitam.Adam já passou por quase 20 apenas nas Américas do Norte, Central e do Sul. A aventura de conhecer o mundo com uma mochila nas costas começou quando ele tinha 27 anos.Após a morte dos pais, Adam morava sozinho na casa da família, em Manchester, na Inglaterra. Um amigo contou sobre o site que reunia viajantes e que possibilitava conhecer pessoas de todos os cantos do globo.No primeiro ano de couchsurfing, o inglês apenas recebeu visitantes em um dos quartos de sua casa. Depois da primeira experiência, decidiu que era hora dele se hospedar em outros países.– Vendi minha casa com tudo que tinha dentro, arrumei a papelada em seis meses e comecei a viajar. A ideia inicial era só viajar pelo couch, mas tive que parar em hostéis na Patagônia – contou Adam.Chegando ao Brasil, Adam fica uma semana em Florianópolis e depois segue para Curitiba, São Paulo, Rio de Janeiro durante o Carnaval, Salvador e Fortaleza. Ao contrário de outras cidades que possuem vários sofás disponíveis para hospedagem, Florianópolis ainda tem poucas opções.– Mandei recado para muitas pessoas daqui e apenas três se ofereceram para me receber – falou.Adam está na casa da família de Conrado Santos, 19 anos. Lá, Adam e um amigo americano que encontrou durante a viagem, Ryan Clark, dividem um quarto e participam da rotina da família.– Participo do couchsurfing há quatro meses. Aqui, ainda não são muitas pessoas que recebem em casa, mas é possível participar apenas para conhecer os outros e mostrar a cidade – explicou Conrado.Há poucos dias em Florianópolis, Adam já considera a cidade a melhor que visitou.– É como uma nova Ibiza (cidade turística da Espanha). As pessoas parecem gostar de morar aqui, estão sempre sorrindo. Há tanta coisa para fazer e ver aqui que dá até tristeza nos dias que chove.A experiência de Adam já virou um site da internet, no endereço eletrônico www.couchsurfingtheworld.com, e deverá se transformar em livro ou livros.– Queria escrever um sobre as histórias que vivi, mas só a América já dá um livro. Penso em fazer outros sobre Europa, Ásia e Oceania depois que viajar para lá – planeja Adam.tatyana.azevedo@diario.com.br (mailto:tatyana.azevedo@diario.com.br)TATYANA AZEVEDO Fri, 23 Jan 2009 09:11:54 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=196&Itemid= How do we define an argument? After all who’s to say what is right and wrong? Our individual motives are based upon the beliefs and directions of those we grew to be around and from the studies and curiosity of our ancestors. Even today, education is proving to be false in many areas and new discoveries are constantly challenging old traditions. Therefore debating what’s right and wrong can only really end with a truce because the truth is none of us really know who stands corrected living in a false world of misguided wisdom.Having purchased a ticket together with Ryan for our next destination I was at first a little reluctant about spending eighteen hours with someone I had recently had a quarrel with and as of yet still not had a chance to resolve the issue. It was one of those uncomfortable silences at first. Like when you’re talking about someone to a friend behind their back and you suddenly turn round and they are standing beside you having heard every word.Traveling has taught me many things, patience, adaptation, reservation, perseverance, forgiveness and most importantly the dignity to accept when I’ve made a mistake and which direction I must pursue to make things right again by facing the problem instead of leaving it to fester into an anxious predicament. This trip isn’t about couchsurfing anymore. It’s about connecting the world and its people, finding ways to trust in each other, see beyond spite and hatred, lend a helping hand without asking for anything in return and accept jealously as but a gift of fresh energy making me stronger and weakening the souls of those who sadly wish to waste time transmitting waves only they can hear.Before the bus even started its engine, I and Ryan shared a mutual understanding that what was said and done had passed. Between us we both knew what was right and wrong and together without words we ‘Sheath’d our swords for lack of argument’ (Shakespeare) and looked forward to the next chapter of our shared adventure.Entering my 18th Country Brazil was surprisingly much easier than we thought. Nobody asked us for our Yellow Fever Certificate which was stolen anyway with my things and we didn’t even need to leave the bus. The drivers took care of all the stamps and within minutes we had passed seamlessly across the border. It seemed the Brazilians where slightly more efficient and less work shy than the rest of Latin America which concerned me a little since I had now become such a lazy bastard without a care for punctuality. We may even for once arrive to our destination on time I thought? I thought too soon, we arrived to Florianopolis two hours over schedule yet surprisingly my 93rd Official host was still there to greet us, impossible to miss at over six feet tall, the super cool, lovable and incredibly kind Conrado De Sousa Santos (CONRADODESS ) Aka Hightower. Since being robbed my only real fear is getting my bags safely to my host’s house and I can’t thank all those surfers enough who take the time to meet me once I arrive. I’m certainly not as adventurous as I set out to be but once I know my bearings and have my things secure I don’t mind finding my way around a place alone, to really know a city it’s always better to try and get lost and have to find your own way back home but also make sure you know where not to go.Conrado was an exception. Enjoying the summer break from school he had plenty of time to spend with me and Ryan and having the family car to hand we didn’t waste any time hitting our first beach, the popular ‘Mora’, which we accessed via our first scenic view of ‘Lagoa Da Conceicao’, where most tourists tend to stay. Florianopolis is certainly one of the most beautiful places I’ve visited so far looking similar to how I imagine Hawaii to be. An island off the Southern coast of Brazil connected to the mainland via bridge with a population of less than half a million and over forty two pristine beaches, it was easy to understand why most of the world’s top supermodels come to live here or take extended vacations during summer. Recently named as one of the ten most dynamic cities in the world and best place to live in all Brazil the recent tourist boom and property expansion from overseas buyers has raised prices to almost European heights, not good for the budget but who cares, after two years travel I felt like I was finally on holiday.Dazing in the intense heat I soaked up some rays whilst watching a group of mixed colors and stylish afros play ‘Futbol De Areia’ which translates simply to Sand Football, an artistic display of foot and body skills keeping a miniature football in the air using Capoeira style flips and kicks and somehow pulling off an almost impossible maneuver so as not to be the one who ends the flow. No wonder Brazil has won more World Cups than any other country.Everything seemed perfectly relaxed, the colorful cocktail shirt serving up a delightful array of exotic fruit juices with a smile as big as the ocean he faced, big white teeth atop chiseled beach bodies smothered in the perfect coco skin, a year in the gym certainly pays off in this climate. I felt somewhat like a punctured tire, worn out from my endless journey over difficult terrains, the only firm grip I had left was on my cold beer which probably should have been a coconut shell filled with a healthy beverage. Balls to it, if you think my white freckled out of shape body is weird you should check out Blackpool beach during summer, now that’s a sight. My E.T shaped man boobs frizzled into a lovely reddish glaze like a pair of cows bollocks swinging in the rays, yet my angelic talcum powder skin tone actually seemed to be working with the ladies who I caught on occasion having a wee goosy gander! Maybe it was because I was the only one wearing surfing shorts and not those little tight gay hot pants that show the veins in your penis. Or maybe it’s due to the mistaken motto of ‘once you try black you never go back’? Well I’m telling you now, ‘once you try white, you won’t give a shite’!We arrived back home to the first of many spectacular dinners cooked by Conrado’s mother. At first both his parents where rather shy and unable to communicate without the help of Conrado who spoke fluent English but as time went by they seemed to enjoy our presence and we all looked forward to sitting around the table together. Originally from Sao Paulo his mother took great pride in serving us the best traditional foods she was raised on as a child always accompanied with the famous rice and beans which almost every Brazilian can’t go a day without eating. Aside from the gas it gave me I can’t complain, it was delicious, especially mums spicy beans.Our first day was almost too perfect to be true. We were staying in a beautiful apartment complex complete with gymnasium, pool and basketball courts, sun blazing, had a wonderful host family who cooked incredible food, was situated close to the downtown area and had a young adventurous host with plenty of time and a car to show us around. Well at least for the first day anyway! At the end of our first evening out whilst dropping some friends off at home, Conrado accidently reversed the car into a lamppost smashing the back window. Me and Ryan felt so embarrassed having to return home on our first night with Conrado and watch him explain to his mother who had seen the three of us leave the house earlier with a bottle of vodka, which incidentally we never actually drank in the end. However family is close in Latin America and Conrado’s parents obviously loved and trusted their son very much and appreciated his honesty. The most important thing was their son was home safe along with his new guests.Without the car, our intentions to see many of the islands beaches were limited however it didn’t matter so much due to the heavy rainfall. There’s really not much to do in paradise when the streets are flooded except swing in the balconies hammock waiting for the drizzle to subside. Rain may ruin the day but it certainly doesn’t affect the islands nightlife. We joined Conrado for a night out at the world famous ‘El Divino’. On a backpackers budget I and Ryan took full advantage of an hour’s free bar, so much so that the next morning Conrado was woken by his parents who were wondering why I was face down passed out on their bed. Luckily they had already woken and dressed for work before I had somehow slept waked from my room into theirs. Not the first time this has happened but certainly the most embarrassing. Luckily the whole family saw the funny side and after a long cold shower my beaming red chicks finally resided.Having only hosted one person previous to Ryan and I, the other members of the family were beginning to get a little curious about who the new faces were wandering around the family house? Conrado’s uncle and aunty would often visit for lunch with their two children who were very well behaved and respectful to their parents. I have to emphasis how different family unity is in Latin America compared to the western world. Eating together around a table is important and TV isn’t the centre of attention. Families communicate and laugh together, play a role in their upbringing not just as a parent but also as a friend they can trust and the results are staggeringly different. You never see children sulk because they can’t have what they want and they rarely ever answer back. They always seem to appreciate the food put on the table and enjoy a varied healthy diet. Fresh fruit juices are often preferred to Coca Cola etc even though the children are not forced by their parents. Obviously this isn’t the same for every family but it’s noticeable with the majority I’ve stayed with.I offered to cook the whole family my latest experimental Chicken Tikka Masala which they found hard to believe was a national dish from back home. Even though I made it spicy as hell the entire family lapped it up and went in for seconds and thirds. Even the youngest member Pablo enjoyed the curry painfully washing each mouthful down with a cup of “Kuat’ a popular sweet drink made from the extract of a red ‘Guarana’ berry that grows in Venezuela and Northern Brazil. Guarana has gained huge popularity recently in the US due to its high caffeine content being used in many of today’s well known energy and sports drinks. Again no wonder Brazil won so many World Cups consuming all those legal highs.In return for the curry, Conrado’s Aunty invited us to her home for one of Brazil’s most popular national dishes, ‘Feijoada’, a heavy stew made from beans, sausage meat and almost every part of the pig. It’s so heavy, I felt like I’d swallowed a canon ball and it was funny watching Ryan push the pigs ears to the side of his plate. Not my favorite dish so far. I much preferred Conrado’s mum’s meat filled pancakes covered with tomato sauce, or better still the fried fish, which uncle had caught in a fresh water lake close to home. The best fish I’ve ever had. Ryan and I agreed we were being spoiled yet Conrado’s mum wouldn’t have it any other way, not only was she representing her family traditions, she was flying the flag for her home town Sao Paulo, beloved country Brazil and doing all she could to make two guests feel completely at home. So much we really didn’t want to leave.We joined Uncle and Aunty for a day out on ‘Palmas’ beach outside of the island further North along the coastline. Less populated with spectacular rock formations in the sea we enjoyed a rare day of sun before fishing in the ocean as the sun descended spilling warm spectrums over crashing waves. All of us where unsuccessful at catching a fish but often it’s what you take from an experience rather than what you reap. I also sampled my first taste of fresh ‘Garapa’, made from pure sugar cane passed through a grinder extracting a milky yellow beverage which is so sweet my eyeballs almost popped out of there sockets. Great if you want to be toothless at thirty.After a couple of successful couchsurfing meetings it was obvious that the locals or foreign people residing on the island enjoyed living here. Aside from the continuous days of heavy rain, when the suns out there’s plenty of activities to do, such as wind sailing, surfing, sand boarding, cycling and much more. Fitness is a part of life in Florianopolis, not just to look good but to feel great and the energy resonates all around. One thing I miss back home is my gym, having a healthy focus and tiring my body out ready for a good nights kip. Every day I wake up thinking today is the day I begin my new fitness regime but honestly I’m so worn out from traveling now and barely have any regular sleeping patterns that anytime I get to just relax I take it. I’m still too scared to do any kind of sports due to my knee, which often leads to many sleepless nights and a growing anxiety. It’s easy for people to say I should do this and that but I feel that many factors have altered my enthusiasm. Getting robbed certainly made me a little less avid to go out as much, breaking my knee has definitely made me lazy and having lived with almost a hundred different people has knocked me slightly off balance rendering me without that one place I can escape to by myself if need be. Friends and family tell me it’s time to come home. Why, I don’t have a home anymore which is probably for the best cause if I did I think I would have give in to the temptation of my own bed by now. Every time I get a rash or spot on my body I panic thinking I’ve got some kind of deadly virus but I blame that on watching to much ‘Dr House’. After all it’s always the guy who returns from South America that suffers from some unknown brain infection causing him to hallucinate and see things beyond imagination.Well most of the time that’s true. Regardless of all the negatives, the positives are enough to keep me going and the random acts of kindness I continuously experience with the majority of my hosts are the reason the fish continues to fly. If the rest of Brazil continues to be this good it may well be my favorite country so far. Obrigado Conrado and Family. Muito Bom! Thu, 22 Jan 2009 14:17:52 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=195&Itemid= To lose something you love is often a test of one’s endurance and for me a sad and brave excuse to continually preach that everything happens for a reason. No matter how far I’m pushed I remain open minded to the idea of a predestined search for oneself, which slowly unfolds with each honest step we take. A force governed by an all surrounding energy purposely safe guarded from the radar of a majority too preoccupied to appreciate the juice of a ripe apple when swallowed yet won’t hesitate for a second to spit out the bitter taste of the fruit when it’s bad. We all want to be loved however upon discovery it’s often taken for granted until it slips from our reach and suddenly there we are, rummaging through a jigsaw of tiny opportunities that only really comes to light when that final missing piece is restored. The truth is though love can never really be mislaid because it’s everywhere and without it the world has no pulse. Love is the Godfather of trust, passion, honesty, respect, kindness, friendships and ultimately the trigger of reproduction that feeds our existence! Love is the key to a change in motion. Love is my only real connection with everything and all and most importantly you. Love is my only impression of a true God second to the sun. And why is love both joyful and sad? A careful balance of appreciation I think. An insight into the true potential of our world and our passport to unification! A wifi connection with the big man upstairs accessible from any place at any time! If your there God may I ask “So where was the love when I got robbed?”No answer hey?Then excuse me for remaining an iconoclast and helping myself to the little bottles of vino next to my seat in the buses cooler heading for my next destination, “Salute.” As Ryan pours me another glass we journey further into the South of South America making sure to hide our empties down the side of chairs and with Mendoza further behind me I could taste the full sweetness of my free mini ‘Malbecs’ once again. The name Patagonia comes from the word ‘Patagon’ which is said to describe the native people for being tall like giants. Once a playground for dinosaurs, the final resting place for the Andes Mountains which I’ve followed since Quito in Ecuador and a vast collaboration of mother earths many wondrous faces crossing both Argentina and Chile, I was by now familiar with the scale of things and was thrilled to be leaving the big cities for some of the world’s biggest and most spectacular natural landscapes. Back in the 1800’s the famous outlaws ‘Butch Cassidy’ and ‘The Sundance Kid’ had made the same voyage as me from the USA to Argentina by land and water escaping the law in search for freedom. Sounds familiar! Even ‘Darwin’ made a trip reminding me of the Galapagos and how much I’ve missed the great outdoors. Sadly in the 1870s the conquest of the Desert, a controversial campaign led by the Argentine government was commanded to subdue or, some claim, to exterminate the native people of the South. By the mid 1880s the campaign's objectives had largely been achieved. However the many natural landscapes and national reserves remain unscathed and even after the arrival of German, English and Welsh settlers after both world wars the Patagonia is still a unique conservation of gargantuan phenomena. A long journey isn’t so bad after consuming a generous amount of free wine and witnessing the smiley waiter guys face when offering us a glass with our dinner suddenly turn a grim greyish colour as his mind seemed unable to fathom why the bottle he was so sure was half full was now suddenly empty?“I’d love another, (Hic) sorry a glass please.”First time I’ve ever actually slept on a bus! “Should do this more often”, I nudge Ryan but he’s too busy drooling on himself leaving me alone to dodge the evil eyes of waiter guy. Our first stop was also a reunion with a familiar surfer who I’d shared several adventures with in Mexico and Guatemala, now the city Ambassador for his beloved hometown of Puerto Madryn, Luciano Elizalde (LUCIANOELIZALDE) (89th Official Host). Having returned from his travels he was taking full advantage of the busy months of tourism working as a guide for the overseas rich who flood the area during the whale season. Our original plan was to see the whales but my budget didn’t approve so instead we celebrated our travel stories over a few beers with our host in his dainty little town beside the sea. Only able to host us for the evening due to work we decided best to head further south the next morning. Patagonia’s hefty prices were already beginning to threaten our bank balance so the best solution was to move fast. Although the Patagonia is vast and rich with wilderness unfortunately its couchsurfing network lacks any similarities. Having spent the last two weeks trying to plan my route and having to wait patiently for the limited amount of hosts to reply without success I wasn’t expected any miracles. I had already been warned about the lack of couches available so without any solid hosts in place I decided to take my chances and hope something would be available at the very last minute. Unfortunately, I had no choice but to book into a hostel at my next stop to the small town of ‘El Calafate’. Ryan agreed to pay for the hostel and I would repay him in food. This was the third time in over two years I’ve been forced to use a hostel; fortunately I’ve always been with a surfer keeping me connected to the network and we only needed to stay a couple of days, just enough time to visit a nearby sight I couldn’t miss, the mighty dynamic ‘Perito Moreno Glacier’, which was even more mind blowing after dropping a space cake with some guys from the hostel. I and Ryan seemed to be the only ones that thought a giant piece of ice was hilarious and for a few minutes distracted the attention of a big group of tourists from an epic wonder to our inability to stop giggling. Each time a piece broke off it would send us both into a rage of laughter and I’d start getting paranoid believing it was the decibels of our mirth that was causing the bloody thing to crack and then of course as soon as I say the word ‘crack’ on space cakes there wasn’t a cat in hells chance of withholding our roars of joviality. I was sure my head was going to explode but luckily the cold temperatures kept my blood levels stable. Seriously though it was simply jaw dropping stuff and my excitement was further enhanced when the end of a rainbow cascaded from the lake at the front of the glacier offering a unique photo opportunity for the two of us. It was the perfect metaphor, the end of the world with a humble site before my eyes and a treasure at the end of a rainbow!Further south is ‘Ushuaia’ which boasts one of the biggest penguin colonies in the world. With little time, lack of hosts and limited buses running through the week we decided to skip the real so called ‘end of the world’ and instead head back North to ‘El Bolson’. Due to road obstructions the direct road was blocked forcing us to come back along the same thirty hour bus ride route and miss the beautiful scenery of the Andes Mountains. Having enjoyed the luxurious standard bus trends of regular free meals and drinks on board we forgot to ask the sales assistant if food was included in our overpriced ticket. We had to spend the first several hours suffering from hunger and thirst and the frustration of not being able to leave the bus at gas stations to buy some supplies. Karma’s sweet revenge on us for stealing the wine! Once we arrived to ‘Bolson’ the next day we decided it best to immediately purchase a ticket extension and continue with the same bus further north fearing we may have to wait a few days for another. The Patagonia demands a few weeks preparation and at least a whole month to travel and with barely any surfers around I was slightly losing touch with my project. In fairness to the Patagonia, I’m actually glad it remains a little obsolete to the world. With an ever increasing demand of economic growth and tourism the government are already proposing new technological developments to utilise the natural power resources such as creating hydro powered stations and running power cables all the way into Chile, which of course poses a threat to local forestry. Even in the remotest parts of the world we are still finding ways to burn the candle at both ends. With that in mind I wasn’t so concerned about having to book into yet another hostel although I was a little disappointed being let down by a proposed surfer upon arrival to ‘Bariloche’, who had instead favoured the opportunity to host two female surfers. I guess my man boobs just aren’t big enough for the great outdoors. Having made acquaintance with two guys from the bus who Ryan had met back in Bolivia we formed ourselves a small fellowship for the days to come. The guys knew about a renowned hostel by the name 1004, which was situated in the penthouse floor of an apartment block boasting a spectacular view of the surrounding lakes and mountains. Lucky to find room for the four of us the next five days would be my longest stay in a hostel since leaving home. The atmosphere and staff captured my soul and I sensed this would be a pleasant experiment to learn the differences between couchsurfing and staying in hostels. My first and most noticeable observation was the intense ambience even though the hostel was decorated in a Zen like fashion and everyone was told to respect the presence of others by keeping noise to a minimal. With over thirty to forty people coming and going at any one time each with a day’s activity planned or a story to tell it was sometimes hard for everyone to get a word in edgeways and for myself incredibly frustrating having to tell the same story over and over again. I wasn’t so comfortable about sleeping in a room with seven other strangers especially after being robbed but beggars can’t be choosers and except for clothes I carried had nothing else worth stealing. When using couchsurfing I always feel right at home with my hosts or guests within the first few minutes knowing we share a mutual interest and secure in the knowledge that he or she has a profile that I’ve already read through to know a little about the person in advance and which I can use to report any good or bad experiences. In the hostel however this doesn’t exist and I was always curious and weary of how people projected themselves. To be sure of someone I always ask for their Facebook profile so I have some way of contacting them should any mishaps occur. I guess I’ve just been using couchsurfing for so long now that this has become standard practice. It was hard trying to digest everyone’s ideas and thoughts about the world in the hostel individually so I decided what better way to bring a conversation together than to cook a huge dinner for our fellowship which had now tripled in size. Having a professional kitchen to hand, with the help of my new friends we cooked a dazzling roast dinner fit for a king to celebrate thanksgiving as well as an Italian Ziti with over two hundred of my special meatballs rolled with my very own hands, the biggest dinner I’ve had the pleasure to cook so far. The hostel was so impressed they offered me a job to cook for the staff every night with free accommodation and expenses. “Tempting but the world is my oyster!”The one thing I missed the most about cs was my own space. It’s almost impossible to avoid joining others on a night out, sitting down in silence to read a book without someone harassing you or enjoying an early night without being disturbed. The one thing that hostels can never really offer though is the cultural insight that has become my addiction to couchsurfing. Hostels are a business which feeds off the hunger of travellers who are more than willing to pay over the odds for a local tour and who in general are too busy to even notice the lives of the locals around them and especially how they are affected by ongoing tourist booms. With every advantage of new business prospects there’s always a disadvantage such as the cost of living expenses in areas that become more popular and the need to create new space to build trending properties for overseas investors who end up monopolizing most of the local business. In fact the more I travel and continue to live a nomadic lifestyle the harder it will be for me in the future to get back on the modern day motorway of life forever racing from A to B without the time to know what lies in between, which is a unconscionable prospect I embrace rather than fear!With a huge couchsurfing camping event and the arrival of my uncle pending back in Buenos Aires I was out of time to visit Chile. It would be the first country I miss in two years but will help save me money to replace the stolen items. I have become so wrapped up in my project that I’ve forgotten that I’m the one actually making the rules, hence there are none! Rather than cry about the damage to my budget I can simply skip a few countries and still achieve my goal to cs the world. After all, my project isn’t to understand the countries but the people and I’ve met plenty of Chileans so far on my trip.Ryan decided to leave ‘Bariloche’ and head to Chile after a conflict we experienced but we agreed to meet back in Buenos Aires. Travelling with someone is both fun and difficult at times because a decision always has to be made with two minds and both are not always guaranteed to agree. I felt a little alone when he left even though I’d made plenty of friends at the hostel yet Ryan was my only link to couchsurfing. Regardless our plans to travel are temporary and I reminded myself not to get too attached to always having someone around, it can be a dangerous mind game once they leave. My time in the hostel helped me achieve several new insights. It’s wise to travel alone after witnessing so many couples and groups bicker over the smallest of disagreements or argue over money issues and their individual desires. It’s always better to wait for the question before giving an answer and we should show respect to all ages now we are living in a world where answers lie in the young as much as the old. My first real experience in a hostel was actually rather pleasing and I enjoyed the company of many new friends. I even persuaded most of them to join couchsurfing and quoting the words of a member of staff,‘You’re every hostels worst nightmare.’ “Don’t worry”, I replied, “As long as couchsurfing exists I won’t be in a rush to use them again.” “Exactly”, he replies!My visit was short to the Patagonia but for sure I will return again under different circumstances. I look forward to visiting all the epic and unique sights it has to offer, fishing in the bluest rivers I’ve ever seen, hiking untouched white wonderlands whilst inhaling the cleanest of air and coming face to face with some of nature’s most precious possessions and hopefully next time get to live with the locals. My only hope before my return is protecting such a jewel from being hackneyed by a society that’s moving as fast as the very rock we stand upon. Without Ryan accompanying me on the long bus ride back to Buenos Aires I decided to treat myself to a first class ‘Super Cama’ bed and hopefully sleep most of the way. The clientele was very different from any previous bus I’ve taken, older, obviously richer and slightly weary of the unshaved lone stranger sat on his own at the back of the bus. ‘Don’t worry; I only steal wine from buses’, I glared!If I could afford to travel this way all the time I wouldn’t hesitate. The full reclining bed was perfect for my knee, blankets and pillow made for a dainty sleep and my own private curtains even posed the possibility of ‘choking the old chicken’ but I didn’t want to push the boat out too far. I was a little disappointed having strategically booked the back seat, which is usually next to the place where the wine is stored yet it wasn’t in sight? However the young waiter guy was rather generous with the wine and even served us a glass of champagne before our late night movie. I was rather surprised then when he joined me on the back seats to watch the movie and cracked open a bottle of champers just for us. I woke in the morning with a strange arm around my waste; waiter guy had passed out beside me and it all seemed a little ‘way to gay to start my day.’ I pushed his arm to the side, dodged the three empty bottles of bubbly we had consumed and headed for the bathroom. Upon returning my space had be cleaned and a rather embarrassed red face disappeared swiftly downstairs. It was either a moment of two countries embracing after all the historical hatred or a rather confused waiter ‘gay’ sorry guy who spends too much time alone at work? Regardless it was worth the extra cost. Thu, 22 Jan 2009 14:16:57 +0100 http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=194&Itemid= Ever been in a line up?Not the one at school when they pick teams for a football match.I’m number five, my host was three and his brother four with the last guy claiming one, its paint more faded than the others symbolizing an obvious favorite for most. The squeak of rust on metal forces my back to straighten and my eyes to focus on the dark glass ahead of me. In a faceless void I can just make out the outline of a masculine chin before hearing a typical voice of a ‘Boludo’ with only one thing on his mind.Catch the guy that broke his nose. How the f*** did I get here?“Don’t speak any English”, number three whispers in my ear.Apparently I had agreed to help my host’s brother after returning home drunk from a night out.I didn’t know at the time it was going to be the real deal.My hosts in Buenos Aires Alvaro and Julio where both studying law so I presumed it was some kind of role play for their degree. Yet entering the Supreme Court, being escorted into a prison with numerous big gates slamming shut behind me I started to question how many beers I’d consumed to have made such an agreement.A drop of sweat rolls off my head, a second voice is now talking behind the wall, I can’t understand, all I know is if I hear the word “cinco” I’m fucked.What I did know was that the guy who committed the crime wasn’t a number in this room, I had nothing to fear, just a typical day out you know, helping a friend that’s all.The two voices combined to form a deep concern before fading to the sound of rust on metal again. A clipboard enters; her notes are useless in a courtroom, I’m free.Nice farewell memory of Argentina. I get robbed and later find myself as the accused. I’d expect nothing less in South America, guess that’s why I love it so much.My time with Alvaro, a legend host helped me remember what I set out to do and forget all the minor negative experiences. I was sad to leave as always yet my farewells seem to be getting colder nowadays because the truth is the only thing us nomads can really hold on to is our sanity to survive in a world constantly out to put you back in your bowl. I love you Alvaro thanks for all.Catching the super smooth direct ferry from Buenos Aires to Montevideo within three hours I was in Uruguay’s capital and my seventeenth country so far. Uncle (Runcles) still remained super cool about another surfing experience, too cool in-fact; I sensed a new profile on the horizon. The keen cook that I am, I decided to recently invest in a plastic box to store my much needed spices which I normally leave behind with a host. It’s pricey to keep re-buying and this was a handy money saver I’d learnt from the many Israelis I’ve met, the masters of cheap travel. I was a little worried how Ground Coriander and Garam Masala wrapped in sealer bags would translate on the immigration X- ray machine. Nobody seemed to bat an eyelid, yet strangely my other travel buddy Ryan who was queuing behind me was taken into an office for an intense bag search, maybe even a finger in the hole, who knows but Ryan? I loved ‘my precious’ curry powders way too much to say anything and favored instead to wait outside where I was greeted by a big smiley face and my 91st Official host Martin Martinez (MARTINW). New to couchsurfing Martin was anxious to entertain his first ever hosts and what better time is there than Christmas to enjoy the company of others. Hunting for a cheaper priced taxi than the ones parked outside the harbor we walked through the colonial small downtown built by the Spanish in the 18th Century as a military stronghold rather than a city of elegance with the utmost care to detail such as Madrid or Valencia. That’s not to say the city lacks character however, sometimes the beaten walls and chipped pavements reminisced a tone from ‘ The Piano’ yet suddenly the skies would open up spreading a golden cascade of warmth to dance through the streets like Baloo and Mowgli’s jungle jive. It felt like a city worn from the hardships of its occupants with half the counties entire population now living in and around the capital. What you see is what you get. There seemed to be no mystery and dodgy doings in the city and according to Transparency International, Uruguay is the least corrupt country in Latin America along with Chile with its political and labor conditions being among the freest on the continent. Just what I needed after my nightmare in Argentina! Martin was exceptionally warm and friendly and I wasn’t concerned about walking the streets with all my bags. I had felt somewhat trapped and out of place in Argentina and looked upon as the enemy. In Uruguay I felt accepted again, a people proud of obtaining independence in 1825- 1828 during a three-way struggle between Spain, Argentina and Brazil. It was odd to suddenly discover I wasn’t the only one who seemed to have beef with Argentina. There’s a huge neighborhood rivalry between the countries, the general consensus that Argentineans think they are above and more powerful than Uruguayans and like to think that Uruguay belongs to Argentina along with all its beaches which are over run with thousands of Argentinean license plates during the summer breaks. The people of Uruguay are far too laidback and friendly to want to bicker over such things and have come to enjoy the steady economic growth and tourism sprouted by their rivals. “Mucha’s Gracias Boludo”!I was slightly apprehensive about the three of us impeding upon Martins family so close to Christmas yet it didn’t seem to bother them, his wonderful mother even offered to cook us a traditional Uruguayan barbecue on our first evening, ‘Asado’ now refraining to pork ribs rather than a mixture of meats. It was a delightful welcome and we all felt completely at home, I could now relax and look forward to Christmas with family again.The following evening Runcles and I joined Martin for his works Christmas Party at the house of his boss. Everyone was so welcoming and happy to communicate in English making it easier for my uncle to participate in conversation. After all an estimated ninety four percent of the population here are mostly of European descent. Even though my Spanish has improved the one thing that I miss most about my language is making jokes. I used to think I was a funny guy back home but for the last two years I’ve barely had a chance to crack a one liner without everyone thinking I’m a right Tw*T!A pattern had formed. My experiences in Latin America have led me to believe that the countries with less tourism often tend to be the ones with the best hospitality. The locals seem thrilled and genuinely pleased to meet you and want to know about the place we call home and have yet to be strongly manipulated from the growing western trends even though I believe there should be a McDonalds on every street corner regardless of what the bickers say, quarter pounders will solve any stomach bug much faster than medicine. After a delightful Asado I was treated to my first glass of Uruguay’s famous drink ‘Medio Y Medio’, a kind of pink cheap fizzy cider wine bringing back memories of being drunk on the streets at fourteen years old. “Two bottles of mad dog and a litre of Merrydown please”!The weekend kicked off in full swing with a local cs meeting, yet another giant Asado. I must admit since Paraguay all I seem to be eating for the past four months is meat? No wonder the old ticker is beating so fast. Runcles wasn’t complaining however, he looked well relaxed with too young girls on each arm and a tasty burger in each hand. The couchsurfer’s loved the fact that my Uncle was surfing with me and all wanted to hear his story instead of mine pushing me to the sidelines in search of the handsome wise one with the grayish beard. It was great to see Runcles having so much fun and totally embrace the cs spirit.Ryan however was too busy falling asleep in the street and getting robbed. That’s right folks; all three of us musketeers have now been the victim of a crime, I couldn’t believe Ryan was so careless as to fall asleep drunk in the street holding his camera. I reckon the robber probably took his photo with an unconscious Ryan just to test his brand new toy. Nice one brother.Back in Buenos Aires I had met Anita at the Creamfields Festival who lived in Montevideo. I was excited to meet again downtown at the popular plaza during the build up to Christmas. The square was packed with locals, gringos, straw hats and skimpy carnival costumes all smothered with a deafening tone hanging like a single cloud raining excitement on the thirsty mouths below. I knew the dangers of getting too close to Anita yet we both felt an uncontrollable attraction for each other and before the day’s end embraced with a kiss straight from a romantic movie, the only difference being was our moonlit background was actually the public toilets but eyes closed who cares right?Suddenly I found myself in a complicated predicament. My feelings for Anita grew stronger each day and I wanted to spend the little time I had in Uruguay with her as well as time with my uncle and Ryan and host Martin. It’s been over a year since I felt in love with a woman and two years since I’ve been with family and now I found myself having to juggle between the two. I admit traveling for so long can be lonely and when an opportunity arises to spend time with an attractive young women who shares so much in common with me then I have no choice but to surrender my soul even though I know I have to leave at some point. This is something I never really contemplated when I left home and it’s impossible to imagine I could ever meet someone who could join me traveling for so long or wait for me to finish. So what do I do? The same as any other man I suppose, act now think later. I had overstepped the emotional barrier the first time I laid eyes on Ana and found myself caught in a tractor beam being pulled closer to the death star, my Lightsaber fully extended all the while my Yoda screaming to me to ‘use the force’ and turn away now while I still have the chance. I’ve never been a great listener.That’s when things started to get complicated. I was spending less time with Ryan and Runcles and host Martin and more time pursuing my thirst to feel the touch of a hand on my skin, lips on my mouth, hair through my fingers. Like best friends we trusted each other with everything, talking through the night and only stopping to watch a heroic sunrise pierce open a new day we were so thankful to share together. I could stay here I thought? But then again am I ready to give up on my dream? If I wasn’t hidebound I’d say yes but the greater part of me isn’t yet ready to settle.It’s amazing how lost you can be when your life is suddenly flipped upside down and your staring into the eyes of an endless possibility. Anita filled me full of zest again but at the same time distracted me from my project and social circle. I felt bad for my host Martin who watched me come and go from his house like it was some kind of hostel. Ryan and Runcles formed their own alliance with Martin enjoying nights out without me and returning with stories I couldn’t relate to. My standards of respect began to slip. Martins mum was uncomfortable with me having my feet up on the living room table whilst watching TV, of course I should have known this but my head was truly in the clouds.The guys also commented on my expensive taste for food and decided it’s probably best we all fend for ourselves rather than have me cook and split the money. The more things seemed to go wrong the more time I’d spend running to Anita, my savor, my secret door to loves limbo. I felt trapped, too afraid to choose sides and scared of the thought of being alone again even though I’ve spent two years by myself on the road. It was obvious I needed to be loved, just long enough to feel human again, part of someone real rather than a promise two people can’t maintain through email. Each moment brought us closer together yet further away from reality, every doubt intercepted with the hope that love will guide the way and all will be okay.To celebrate Christmas Eve the three of us joined Anita for the traditional gathering downtown back at Mercado Del Puerto, this time however the whole square was packed jammed with flying bottles of Medio Y Medio and drunken voices chanting the local lullabies. Anita thought best we avoid the crowd and head to the safer, less hectic ‘Ciudad Veija’, where I enjoyed my first ‘Chivito’ a national tasty sandwich. Montevideo doesn’t have a dangerous reputation however any drunken crowd with access to glass bottles is worth steering clear of.My host family prepared a huge feast to celebrate the night of Christmas Eve and my Fathers birthday upon the roof top of the house. Another giant Asado which was by far one of the best I’ve had followed by an ambitious firework display throughout the entire city seemed like an excellent way to commemorate midnight. Christmas isn’t about the presents anymore, it never was. The real gift is to have people who love you and who you can trust not what’s inside the big mystery box. This was my third Christmas on the road and I was truly blessed to yet again enjoy a family atmosphere. All of Martins brothers and sisters made us feel like part of the family and his mum treated me as one of her own. But to top it all, I had my uncle with me celebrating fond memories of my father and our shared adventure which was so far so good. During the New Year almost everyone in Latin America takes their vacations and heads to the beach. Anita offered to drive the three of us for a ten day tour of Uruguay’s coastline. Martin offered us a tent due to limited surfers in the intended areas we wished to visit however I did manage to find us a couch in our first destination Punta Del Este.One of Uruguay’s most popular tourist places packed with rich old and young and the occasional celebrity, Punta wasn’t exactly a backpacker’s dream destination and would be hard on the budget no doubt. My 92nd Official Host Magela Pribaz (MAGELA) was the only surfer in town and was able to host all four of us but for a small fee of ten dollars per person per night. This was the first time I’d been asked to pay using couchsurfing however it was much cheaper than the hundred dollar a night hotel rooms and over priced hostels. And how often do you get to sleep in your own miniature tree house with an awesome view of the night sky and one of the best nights kip ever? Magela’s partner Joseph had built the tree house from scratch for couples like I and Anita whilst my uncle and Ryan where treated to their very own guestroom beside the house.Magela and her family were one of my most memorable so far. Her son was so well behaved and streetwise that one couldn’t help appreciate his innocent vision of life and respect for others, like a wise old man trapped in a young man’s body. A budding dj also, he immediately took to my energy like a long lost brother, following me and Anita around the house and accompanying us for lunch. A taste of family life, something I hadn’t really considered when I handed over the keys to my house. Quite the opposite actually, I wanted to avoid the typical mid life cycle of thinking she was the one, moving in together, evade boredom and secure trust in each other by having the baby we made after a few too many rubies down the pub, have a second baby so the first one has someone to play with whilst mummy and daddy are stacking up empty pint glasses at the bar and then finally get married cause that’s what your meant to do right? What’s left then? Stretch marks, veracious veins, cupboards full of empty headache and sleeping pill bottles, the foul stench of nappies slowly evaporating into a full grown pain in the ass that will never be satisfied with you working all week to try and keep up with the joneses. Fook that, kids are really cool when you don’t have to take them home. Bitter, but the sweet truth!With two kids to feed and a self employed income of selling homemade jewelry, I respected Magela’s decision to charge surfers to stay. Punta is a seasonal city and the economic crisis has had a huge impact on her business. I helped Joseph prepare some pickled vegetables which he sells to the local community for extra income, anything to earn a buck or too was their motto and finding ways to save money was key to their survival. Both children hadn’t been spoilt with the same luxuries as the local rich kids but they did have something much greater. A family with strong values on life that understands the hardship of putting food on the table and having a roof over ones head. The whole family spoke openly to one another and rules were replaced with respect and honesty.We spent our last evening with our hosts celebrating the New Year and my Mother’s birthday watching the coast of Punta light up in a magnificent firework display from the beach. It had been my hardest year on the road for sure, yet I had overcome the challenges set before me, was still on route to achieving my interminable dream and continued to maintain a sanguine spirit. As the saying goes ‘What doesn’t break you, makes you’.A sad farewell and the four of us headed further East along the coastline to a packed out campsite in the popular party place of ‘La Paloma’. After a four hour queue to enter the campsite we struggled to erect our tent in the dark before finally settling to yet another Asado with some locals we met during our wait. Everything seemed fine I thought!Yet as the days passed Runcles and Ryan became more distant obviously wanting to give myself and Ana time alone. Runcles didn’t take too well to his first camping experience and had troubles sleeping on the hard floor and Ryan simply refused to sleep in the tent favoring instead to get drunk and fall asleep wherever he could. I and Ana would return to the campsite in the early hours from a disco as Runcles was waking to start the day so our agendas would often clash. I was trying to juggle too many things together and was losing balance and perspective. Runcles decided to head back to Montevideo with my host Martin with Ryan following a few days later after an argument we had at the campsite which led to us all being kicked out. Ryan said some rather nocuous things believing I had changed and was selfish for spending more time with Anita than my uncle. He was right to a point yet nobody can understand how it feels to be alone so long then to suddenly find someone you can really trust. I believe in living the moment and I was doing just that. I and Anita decided to continue our planned adventure and meet with the guys back at the capital. I had serious doubts about traveling with anybody after this experience; I work better alone and think clearer by myself.I shared some memorable and romantic moments with Anita visiting some of Uruguay’s most precious locations such as the remote beach village of ‘Cabo Polonio’ which is only accessible by obscure giant sand transporters which look like they have been assembled with pieces of a rollercoaster. What really impressed me more than the beaches and places we visited were the skies of Uruguay. The land is so flat that the colors of the suns descent spill out over the immensity of light blue merging slowly to the earth’s rotation spiraling orange into ambers causing violets to fuse with reds before purples digest the light until only diamonds glisten to the peace of the night.Having to leave the campsite early we decided to head back to Magela’s for a few days to freshen our backs after sleeping in the car. Magela was more than happy to host us again and it was nice to meet another surfer traveling with his father Marcio who lives in Rio, a destination I was heading too. He offered to host me once I arrived which was a great help because finding hosts in a big city is always a daunting task especially during the carnival which is when I planned to be there.When we finally made it back to Montevideo, my uncle had already returned to Buenos Aires where Alvaro had kindly left him the keys to his apartment. Runcles had officially become a professional couchsurfer now and was safely on route back to the USA. I felt angry at myself for not utilizing the time we had together but he told me he understood about my situation with Anita and would have done the same given the chance. Men are needy of love no matter how tough you pretend to be. We like to cradled, need to be controlled and want to feel safe. And as much as women can be a pain in the ass they really are the solvers of all men’s concerns, as well as good food! Especially Anita’s mums “Noquis, which stole my heart. Check out the recipe online.http://www.couchsurfingtheworld.com/index.php?option=com_ricettario func=detail Itemid=55 id=29 (index.php?option=com_ricettario func=detail Itemid=55 id=29)Driving to the bus terminal with Anita on my last day I had mixed emotions. As we passed the famous Centenario football stadium which hosted the first ever world cup final back in 1930 Anita explained that Uruguay went on to win the competition defeating Argentina 4-2 in the final, the smallest country, population wise to win the world cup. Uruguay then went on to win the hosts Brazil again 2 – 1 in the 1950 Fifa World Cup. It seems anything is possible in this world. Uruguayans are said to be a depressed nation yet from my experience I felt only big hearts all around. My only sadness was waving a ‘notgood’ bye to the reddened eyes of Anita who had been the heart and soul of my Uruguay experience sharing her passion and vision for her beloved country as well as a soul mate I could trust with all my heart.Nomadic lifestyle hey! Does this mean I’ll be alone forever? I hope not cause what’s life if it can’t be shared. Wed, 14 Jan 2009 17:10:37 +0100