After having had an excellent first experience couch surfing, I decided to give it a second shot. This time, however, had completely different results. Although my host had agreed to let me surf, she failed to give me her contact information up until the time I arrived in her town of Nancy. Once in town, I went to an internet cafe, by now starting to think about where else I could stay in town, and had finally received a response from her. Unfortunately, it was just a phone number so I then had to locate a phone since I had no means of calling her.

After a few difficult exchanges with the woman at the internet cafe, I was finally able to call, and my host came to pick me up. Right off the bat, I noticed she was particularly distant despite having offering me a place to stay.When we got to her place, everything was in disaray as she is apparently in the midst of a move. You know the way your place looks the day before you’re moving out? That describes the scene I walked in on.

 

I have to mention that as we walked to her apartment, she was lamenting about giving up her apartment, a feeling I personally can relate to, but she said it was especially dear because she had put so much into the interior decoration. So you can imagine my surprise when I walked into a place that looked as if it were in a third world country.

 

There was an inflatable bed in the living room which she said I could probably use though it looked like she was currently using it. She told me I was welcome to take a shower, but when I looked in the bathroom, there was no shower curtain, and all the wallpayper was peeling up the walls. A washing machine stood in the middle of the room, which I was also told I could use, but as in much of Europe, she had no clothes dryer. And while normally, I could have hung my clothes over furniture or something, there was none. Just a random chair here and there already occupied by books, paper, and anything else she hadn’t yet packed.

 

The view from this towering apartment building, however, was amazing. For us. It is one of those situations where if you’re in the tall ugly building looking over the tiny French town, the view is wonderfull, but if you’re in one of those tiny homes below and have to look up at this characterless monstrosity, the view is, well…breathtaking.

 

So as she’s opening the blinds to show me the view of the city, she just blurts out, “you are gay aren’t you?” I said “No. What made you think that?” “Well, your Couchsurfing profile said you were born in San Francisco.”, she replied. Now, I can appreciate her support for people being born gay, but she had an unusual perception that it was a geographic factor.

 

After we got to the truth of the matter she explained, “well that changes all my plans for you tonight”. Apparently, we were to meet up with one of her gay male friends that afternoon to walk around town, after which he was to make us dinner and then head off to a gay bar and dance club. It was becoming clear to me why she didn’t expect I would need to use her bed in the living room tonight.

 

She told me that she had somewhere to be for the next hour and a half but after that, we could meet with her friend to walk about town. I took this opportunity to put my backpack over my shoulder, leave a note, and head back to the train station. I am back in Paris tonight where I will be sleeping comfortably in a bed by myself.