Britten - On the Couch

I have an idea. I was on the phone to my great friend, Ollie. Its a little extreme, but I think youll like it.

Ollie and I had been friends for so long that neither of us could quite remember when or where we met. Suffice to say it would have been drunken, at university, about fifteen years ago. We had a shared appreciation of the night, of the world and of the new; especially new chocolate products. Well, today, I had something new for us to try and it wasnt edible.

Lets go couchsurfing.

Couchsurfing was not, as might reasonably be assumed, synonymous with bed-hopping, or being a couch potato, but was the name for a one-million-member strong, international hospitality exchange website, connecting people who wanted to stay in other peoples homes around the world with people happy to host them; it was like one big notice board. When Id been abroad before, I had always longed to have tea with a local, or be invited to a party. Id done some home stays and had once gatecrashed a house party in Berlin after seeing it spilling out of a high window, but when it came to talking to the natives I suddenly felt stuck. Couchsurfing seemed like the ideal mediator.

If Ollie agreed, couchsurfing would become the theme of a ten-week trip to Russia, China, Mongolia and Kazakhstan (Kazakhstan alone boasted an impressive 124 couches). We were both drawn by an irresistible call to the East, intrigued by societies in varying degrees of post-communism, and for two years had been discussing planting our flags on what was over one-fifth of the globes landmass. We wanted to unpick the worlds largest country (Russia) and most populated nation (China) from the media myths theyd been reduced tocouchsurfing promised the inside track.

No more homogenous hotels for us, no more formulaic checklists and guidebook dependence deadening the whole experience. Couchsurfing presented a timely switch from passive observation to participationwed be hearing the truth, whether settled around the kitchen table, lounging naked in the Russian banya, or relaxed and disarmed on the sofa. And what an apt metaphor the couch was for a warm welcome. Wasnt couchsurfing what holidays were waiting for?

Couchsurfing was founded in 2004 when an American, Casey Fenton, spammed about 1,500 Icelandic students asking them to let him stay. He was inundated with replies, and the idea became a phenomenon. There were devotees whod sold up everything they owned to couchsurf the world, and couchsurfers offering couches in virtually every country across all continents, from Antarctica to Zimbabwe, where a couch could be a bedroom, a garden, a corner of the floor; or even just a couch. And all for free: how timely during these locust years.

With the average age of a couchsurfer standing at twentyseven, couchsurfing was something of a Generation Y game, but it was by no means exclusively so. There were over two hundred surfers between the ages of eighty and eighty-ninefree spirits didnt become less free with age, if they could help it.

Sleeping in strangers houses? Couldnt think of anything worse. That was the general reaction to my plan, but Ollie was up for it.

Cooool! he said boyishly. Itll be like The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Arthur travelled through time and space on his irrational sofa.

But Ollie was no Arthur, no stranger to exploration: worldly, courageous and blessed with a preternaturally sunny spirit, there wasnt a better travelling companion to be had.

Ollie had established himself an enviable modus vivendi. A freelance ad exec, he earned a handsome wedge for six to nine months of the year, and then travelled on a shoestring for the remainder, photographing his experiences. What he really wanted to do was find more, bigger, better Kodak moments and snap them allcouchsurfing was surely going to throw up some intriguing material for him. I, meanwhile, was a wage slave, a features writer for the Sunday Times, and in return for three years good service Id been granted a career break. I was desperate to escape the feeling that Planet Londonand the Daily Planetwas closing in around me. For too long stifled by institution and constantly stressed by killer deadlines, I yearned to recover a sense of self. For a bit.

Ollie and I had had a few adventures together before: regular alpine appointments for pleasure-seeking skiing; Goan New Year raves with the heroin-addled old-timers; and the cosy thrill of living together (though not like thatthat had fortunately never been relevant to us). Olliesomething of a kamikaze skierhad skied off a mountain early in the year, shattering his tibia and fibula so badly hed had a Terminator-style titanium plate and six screws fitted. By September, he still needed a crutch, walked with a grievous limp, and was more familiar with the physio than with his own mother.

Are you really sure your leg isnt going to drop off in Outer Mongolia or something? I asked.

Despite his protestations to the contrary, I was sure I saw flashes of electric white pain behind the brave face. But Ollie got himself thoroughly vetted, and his consultant promised hed be fine.

Perhaps we could have a sub-theme of communist swimming pools, Ollie suggestedit was critical that he kept up his physio.

I, too, was damagedin the cardiac department. One day, eighteen months ago, I met The Emperor. Right then and there he impaled my heart and the rest of the world fell away. We were so high on each other, wed stay up all night like one long waking dream, reluctant to miss a single second. But then a terrible and destructive war of the wills broke out. The Emperor was Serbthat came with insuperable Slavic pride; he had an artistic temperamentthat came with extreme emotions.

Of course, I also had my complications. I was neurotic, sensitive, highly-strung and, like so many girls, prone to overthinking. Plus, I was possessed of a will that wouldnt be broken. So, instead, it was us that broke up. Then, after not very long, we involuntarily gravitated back to each other; he still had my heart, while part of his soul, he said, had been left with me. And so began one very bipolar relationship, as we lurched across the emotionally exhausting canvas of love. He moved in, he moved out, he moved in

Cut your losses, friends advised. Its too dramatic.

At thirty-four I was getting to an age where I couldnt afford to be trapped in this cycle. Ten weeks absence, I reflected, would have to decide it one way or the other.

So Ollie and I had a revolution to ride. Participate in Creating a Better World, One Couch At A Time was couchsurfings endearingly cheesy motto. Couchsurfing wasnt only about free accommodation; it had A Philosophy. Through conversation and understanding, it wanted to bridge cultures. Whats more, it was an invitation to step out of the monetary economy and into the gift economy, where things were just given, with no expectation of quid pro quo: what timing. Couchsurfings founding principle was Pay it Forward, a virtuous cycle of give and ye might eventually receive. But reciprocal altruism wouldnt work without a community, and couchsurfing was all about enabling one big, happy community. The ultimate antidote to the Wests atomised society, its founders even called it a love-ocracy. This was globalisation at its most benevolent.

Hold it!We were about to stay with weirdos that lurked online in a time when trusting was a byword for stupid. How could we be sure it would be safe? Well, plenty of safety measures had been implemented, such as an eBay-style, meritocratic reference system where guests and hosts would write reports on their experiences, marking them positive, negative or neutral. Requesting a couch with lots of negative references would be very trusting indeed