Миша Чинков - Кауч

To the readers of my telegram channel Paranoid Android for their interest in my texts. I wouldn’t have the guts to write this book without you.

To my colleagues in hobby-writing for inspiration and support: Marina Solntseva, Dasha Suomi, Aina.

To Anna Permyakova for great book cover.

To IT industry for the money I could save to spend three months without making a living. I don’t know when I would be able to write this book without these three months. I guess, never.

To all the hosts and surfers for the mutual experience, for the chemistry that keeps the memories of the past alive. Due to privacy concerns, names in the stories are replaced with fictional ones.

To you, my dear reader, for opening this book in the first place. I hope you’ll like it.

Couchsurfing(also couch) – one of the biggest communities of independent travelers. Unites more than 6 million people over 246 countries. Its members offer free homestay during travelling and organize trips together.

Couchsurfer– member of the Couchsurfing community.

Host– a person who offers homestay; to host – to offer a homestay.

Surfer– a person in search of a homestay; to surf – to stay over.

Having finished the first university year in Penza, my hometown in the ass end of nowhere, I spent my summer holidays trying to move to Saint Petersburg. Initially I wanted to leave and become a bartender, though a figure of a military commissar 1 1 A servant in a Military commissariat whose duties, amongst others, include issue of draft cards to men who reach draft age. – horny for idle boys to recruit – blew it off. Another way was to transfer to Saint Petersburg State University. Alas, the academic deficiency of 13 subjects was too much to overcome despite my success in the entry exam.

Pretty soon, I had to take a backseat with moving. A quick 5-day visit to Petersburg turned my world picture inside out. I’ve seen the whole world without leaving Russia. Dazzling beauty of streets and yards was a common thing in this world. People travel all over this world: sometimes carrying Dostoevsky's anguish or Mayakovski's pep. I fell for anthropology and embraced the spirit of wanderlust into my soul.

Having returned to Penza I spent the rest of the summer quarrelling with father, working as a courier in the tax office and hanging out with strangers. That summer was much better than the previous ones as I was obsessed with computer games, poisonous pubertal virginity, thoughts about teen suicide and fear for the future. Still, that summer was boring, so I was making my plans for the next one.

That’s how I got that idea to go to the States via Work&Travel. Many students knew about it, but few would actually try it out. I saw the goal, not the obstacles. I was able to save money for the first payment by working small jobs, and I was lucky to make it before the ruble collapsed. For the second payment I borrowed money from my mother which I returned to the cent upon the end of the program. It took me half a year to improve my English to look smart enough at the interview in Moscow U.S. Embassy. I even managed to surprise my interviewer by knowing a bunch of hotline numbers by heart.

I had one month left before the trip. Finished the summer session ahead of schedule and was looking forward to having a great time. I didn’t want my Work&Travel to slide into Work&Work, so I planned a trip across the States. Just draw a circle route between the biggest points eastwards and closed it in New York.

The only question was where to live. That’s when I learned about CouchSurfing. Honestly, I can’t really recall how I found it. Most likely it came across in one of those TED videos watched millions of times. I instantly fell in love with an idea of multicultural homestays. I felt vibes of freedom, adventure spirit and desire to discover something new.

The States seemed both familiar and strange piece of land for a Russian. I’ve had no idea of the subtleties of life overseas. What's important for them, what worries them, what they dream of.

CouchSurfing seemed like a perfect place to get comprehensive answers to such complicated questions.

I live in New Jersey and have an occasional commute to New York by train – I go there in the morning and go back in the evening. New York reminds me of my mission in the States. Right now, I’m on my way to New York to stay over so that I see more and feel better. I need a couch.

Before my moving to the States, I asked my friends from an English-speaking club to write some reviews for me on couch; however, three reviews like “his English very good” weren’t all too impressive to find a host. Suddenly, as if according to the canons of Batman comics, a guy named Robin came to help. Robin migrated to New York from the Philippines a few years ago. He lived in a sort of communal apartment and worked as a physiatrist.

10 p.m., Brooklyn, Utica Street subway station. I feel weird as it's bloody dark around here. People say it’s dangerous out there at night. It turns out, it's easier to love Brooklyn from afar – when you see it through 90s hip-hop songs. Reality is different.

Robin meets me at the entrance with friendliness, uncommon for a stranger. He notices my skinny body, worn out by overtime hours. We go to a store and get some food, so there’s something to stuff me up. We sleep in a single bed – nothing new for someone who spent the whole summer in one king-size bed with a guy called Bogdan.

Robin left to work earlier than I woke up. During breakfast, I got to meet Robin’s roommates: Maxi from France, Karim from Tunis and Ahmed from Syria. Maxi came to New York for a month to learn cooking local thick crust pizza. Karim and Ahmed worked in a Middle Eastern restaurant.

– [Me]: Ahmed, I believe you have a war in Syria, how do you feel about it?

– [Ahmed, smiling]: I don’t watch TV.

Robin ended up leaving me no review on Couch. I think I must have offended him somehow.

At the Philadelphia bus station, my host Jim is waiting for me.

Jim is 28. Afro-American, originally from South Carolina, bald, average height, works as a nurse in a hospital. Strictly speaking, Jim doesn't live in the city itself, but in its suburb township Abington. It takes half an hour by train to get there from Philadelphia city center, and around twenty minutes more on foot from the train station to Jim’s house. Jim lives in a classic American house with his girlfriend.

The evening we spent together with his girlfriend drinking hard liquor, smoking bong and gobbling pizza from delivery. Jim ecstatically tells me about the benefits of marijuana. We read a themed journal he gets by subscription.

Jim left to work early in the morning. I have breakfast alone and notice his girlfriend is still home. I opened the door.

– [Me]: Hi! Would you like to keep me company on the way to the train station? You are going to the University, don’t you?

– [The girl]: Thanks, but I still have things to do here.

3 p.m.. I’m walking around the town, do sightseeing, get disappointed in the local delicacy Cheese Steak. Jim’s calling.

– [Jim]: My girlfriend told me you entered her room without knocking.

– [Me]: Well, yeah, my mistake.

– [Jim]: You disappointed me.

– [Me]: I get it, sorry.

– [Jim hangs up.]

On my way back home, I buy an ice-cream bucket and prepare a thousand apologies.