sofasurfers

Since thus far, our couchsurfing experiences have been limited to the virtual world (as we simply message and receive messages from prospective hosts), it seems appropriate enough to find oneself treating the whole endeavour rather like a computer game. And so, since we graduated from the entry level (big city - ie, Moscow, plenty of safety shots to take aim at, choice enough for spare rooms and even the wonder of horses’ hooves past bedrooms; see below), we have found ourselves, like naive kittens, seeking just a little bit more danger…

COUCHSURFING LEVEL II

So, for our first stop out of Moscow, Ekaterinburg (some 24 juddering hours away via the Trans-Siberian Express), we arrive at 2 in the morning, where in fact our brave and trusting host will still be on her holiday - she has left us in the undoubtedly curious company of her pet rat.

COUCHSURFING LEVEL III

Next stop, we’ll be staying with a man with a gun in Novosibirsk - really. Look at his profile picture and you’ll be looking down the barrel of an AK-47 (”Get scared of my userpic? Get the fuck out from my profile!” he says). Actually, we won’t let you look at his picture because violating his rights might mean turning the (metaphorical or literal) gun on ourselves. And double actually, he has 23 couchsurfing friends and we have none. So a) who are we to talk? b) he has back-up. And c) he does actually sound like an eminently likeable character.

BLACKBELT COUCHSURFING

And then, there’s the German nurse in Mongolia’s capital, Ulaan Baatar, who sounds so extraordinary/ extreme/ <insert-word-for-totally-terrifying-that-begins-with-’ex’>, that we suspended our “we just wanna stay with natives” rule for the experience. Here’s what one recent guest says: “At Sabina’s i had the craziest CS [couchsurfing] adventures, she is unique, in both really good and really bad ways, but once you understand mongolia you understand sabina, or viceversa. So, in the end, thankyou sabina!” Anyway, she’s up for hosting us in her Mongolian ger (like so:

though this isn’t her ger, but a friendly flickr photo). And we are up for the ride.

And this is David Shrigley’s curious cat…

David Shrigley

“I’m Dead”, 2007, Courtesy of the artist and Stephen Friedman Gallery

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