sofasurfers

“I’m sorry – I already have a couchsurfer staying with me.” My Serbian
host is on the phone; we’re out in a bar. “There’s no space. I’m
sorry. I can ask around and see if anyone else could take you….blah
blah blah…. OK, I will meet you at mine in 30 minutes.” I’m not sure
what is being said on the other end of the phone, but this person
certainly has tenacity. My host hangs up and announces that he needs
to go home to meet a Russian hitchhiker who will stay with us tonight.
I don’t suppose by any chance it’s Stasia, I ask. Stasia was the girl
who took me hitchhiking in Russky Island. I took this footage on the
boat over to the island – she has a thing about orange but could only
find one orange shoelace.

“Yes,” says my host. “You know her?” And so the silver lining shines
yet brighter. Stasia carries a bubble-blowing kit wherever she goes,
plays the mouth-harp and likes a spot of skinny dipping – without a
hint of pretension, she is footloose and fancyfree. And so I had some
company at Guilin’s map of the world. Here we are trampling over
Birmingham the night she arrived.

I had someone to go for a stroll with the next day while my host had
to wait for a plumber.

We strolled to the Seven Star cave (just me and her in this vast, ancient cave).

There was someone to take a photo of me in front of a little white
rabbit-shaped rock formation (no, I couldn’t see it either; thought
best to recreate).

And she told me all about hitchhiking in China (ah, The Life
Vicarious): “If a Chinese man stops by the side of the road, it’s
because their car is in trouble. If a foreign girl stands by the side
of the road, they assume you’re in real trouble. My drivers they buy
me so much food so I don’t die [she shows me the photographic
evidence: crisps, fruit, biscuits, sweets – an ample picnic for five],
and then 15 minutes later, they buy me dinner. And nobody speak
English so it’s really…” she throws her arms out with grand
melodrama… “Theatre”. In fact, she told me all about hitchhiking.
“There’s one guy in our hitchhiking community who say he only spends
$300 in half a year – he just lives on rice.” But it’s not just about
free travel, is it, I ask, with wide-eyed (vicarious) idealism. “No –
some can pay for their travel.” (Of course, the idealism being that –
as with couchsurfing – the hitchhiker is really on the ground, open to
all sorts of random encounters; tellingly, Stasya’s Chinese is much
better than mine – we’ve been here for pretty much the same time.)
“Some hikers have all the good equipment – the good camera, the good
shoes, the good bag – and then they have to stand by the side of the
road and show the drivers they need a lift.” Meanwhile, Stasia’s shoes
are falling apart, I notice. “Yes! They come from China. I think they
choose to stay in China,” she grins, with characteristic Stasic charm.