I rolled into Austin for the SXSW festival this afternoon and headed to drop-off my bags. But instead of going to one of the many hotels, I’m staying with a complete stranger I met on the internet.
I met them through Couchsurfing.com. Couchsurfing is a site where people can find places to sleep or “surf” while traveling. The couches (which are often beds) must be offered for free and if you use someone’s couch, the unenforced rule is you must make yours available for another traveler sometime.
Staying with or inviting a complete stranger into your house sounds dangerous but the reality is the overwhelming majority of experiences on the site are positive.
Everytime you decide to couchsurf, a part of your brain throws up big, red flags reminding you of the things that could go wrong: the guy could be crazy, the house could be a dump, your stuff could get stolen, and on and on. I had those thoughts as I knocked on the door of a small bungalow 5 minutes outside Austin. Sam (not his real name) answered with a smile, shook my hand and invited me in. He took my bags, put them down in my room and we walked back to the kitchen where he was cooking for a potluck that night. As he stirred, we chatted about all the things two people getting to know each other would.
I already knew a little about Sam from his profile on Couchsurfing.com. The system is based on trust so a person’s profile becomes their currency: self-entered information (such as a bio) is the loose change and feedback from other surfers are the big bills. Other systems credit card record verification and fully monitored correspondence further increase a user’s credibility and site safety.
As the risotto simmered, Sam showed me around the house, spacious and open concept with warm, golden wood floors and high ceilings all decorated with a Mexican feel. My room doubled as his office and held a desk, computer, futon bed and chair. He told me to make myself at home including use of his computer, wifi and 50″ plasma TV in the living room. We returned to the kitchen where the risotto was just about done; and when it was, Sam made me a bowl, packed up the rest, handed me a key to the front door and left for the night.
Within no more than an hour of meeting, he’d entrusted me with his entire home. It sounds crazy and feels crazy too but Sam’s not a naive guy; I’m the fifth couchsurfer he’s let into his home. This is simply the culture of couchsurfing, one that is deeply rooted in the inherent good in people. And it makes me happy to experience it first hand.




