A Couchsurfing Experience



Today, if I am correct, is Thursday.  For some this is a simple piece of knowledge, but at least for me, it is difficult to really tell these days.  And especially after this last week.

You see, this last week has been particularly, well, interesting.  Last Wednesday Jenny and I boarded a bus departing from Dublin for a small town called Loughrea (somehow its pronounced Lock Ray).  From the lady in the ticket window to the lady sitting behind us on the bus, those who discovered our destination kept asking, “Loughrea?  But whatever for?”  The answer… “COUCHSURFING.”

“Couchsurfing” is a brilliant grassroots community of people all over the globe who open up their homes to travelers.  Sound shady?  That’s what we had worried too.   Sound suspicious?  It most certainly is, but not because of what you might be thinking.  It is suspicious,but because it breaks down the barriers that we are used to upholding, not for any other reason.  The suspicious (and truly beautiful) thing about couchsurfing is that it intentionally invites other people into your life.  Sure, as a rather convenient side note, it is much more pleasant financially to stay with someone in their home than in a hostel.  But that is not the point of couchsurfing.  Our lesson in what it is, came in the form of two men, Eamon and Alan.

As we approached the town of Loughrea, Jenny and I looked at each other, took a deep breathe, and nervously wondered aloud just what was about to happen.  But as soon as the bus stopped and we collected our bags from the bus, we noticed a face we had seen before.  Standing just a few feet away was the curly hair and bushy beard we had seen online when we were still in Dublin.  The man approached us slowly, yep, couldn’t be anybody else, it was Eamon.

Eamon drove us out (further) into the country to his home, a beautiful plot of land for the family farm.  As soon as we entered his home the pungent aroma of dinner simmering on the stove (traditional Irish lamb stew) welcomed us.  He gave us a tour of the home, showed us a real bedroom that would be ours, and drove us around the tiny little collection of farms known as Coolfin (not very Irish sounding, I know) until dinner was ready.

As we would find out over the next few days, Eamon was an excellent chef.  Cookbooks filled his bookcase.  But his skill, well, the proof was in the blood pudding.  His farmhouse had the kind of agreeable scent of a natural burning stove that makes you feel like you’ve always lived in such a place.  The newborn calves mewing out back only added to the general pleasant atmosphere.

When we first arrived, I had the impression that our time with Eamon would be little more than a comfortable place to put our feet up, read, take walks in the countryside, and be quite leisurely with our time.  And we did do that, for a few hours.  Then, after Eamon put in some work on Thursday, he came in the door with a grin and said, “I got good news and bad news.  There’s a front moving in.  The surf will be good in the morning.  And I think we should go.  The bad news, we have to get up by 4am to catch it.  What do you say?”

Jenny and I looked at each other, and smiled.  “Of course!” she said.  Then we both looked at each other and muttered, There’s surfing in Ireland?’  Thus marked the end of our tranquil, idyllic, storybook stay in Coolfin.  Thus also marked the beginning of a lot more fun.

The next morning Eamon woke us up at the promised time, we grabbed a bowl of Muesli, and were out the door.  The sun rose slowly over the misty fields of farmland as we drove and gulped down french pressed coffee (it is no easy task to drink a hot beverage from a mug while driving rally car style on these narrow, winding, bumpy, swervy roads).  Soon we picked up one of Eamon’s friends, Alan, who was on the way.  Eamon and Alan had been friends since school, were both engineers by trade, farmers by culture, and surfers – for no other reason than that surfing seems to be the hidden love of the Irish.

Eamon and Alan surfed, in wet suits of course, while Jenny and I explored the cove.  Afterward, we went to a local breakfast joint to enjoy eggs, rashers (bacon), sausages, tomatoes, sauteed mushrooms, toast, and orange juice.  Outside the window the waves continued to crash, and the surfers kept coming out of the woodwork.  By the time we were done with breakfast, the bay was filled with at least fifty surfers, if not more.

Because the surf continued to be good through the day, and Eamon was not going to miss the rare opportunity, we decided to camp on the coast with some (more) surfer friends, at another beach.  Again we agreed, and after an already long day, we drove to the coast and had a tent pitched on a small, beautiful peninsula, just as the sun was setting.

There is just a bit too much for me to write about if I were to try describing every event, but that evening Eamon, Jenny, myself, and two more lads enjoyed several pints at the closest pub while discussing history, politics, and eventually, astronomy.  In the morning, after the boys had their surf session, we cooked up more eggs, rashers, etc., and enjoyed the morning bliss.  But we were not done yet.

Alan, Eamon’s surfing friend we had met the day before, is also a couchsurfer, meaning that he too has opened up his home to any travelers that need a place for the night.  So that night Eamon brought us along for a barbeque at Alan’s place/farm/bed and breakfast.  Really from the first moment of couchsurfing, it felt as if all of this was too good to be true.  That somewhere, there would be a catch, or that everyone would actually turn out to  be creeps.  But, it was not too good to be true, and it was all starting to get a bit ridiculous.  I remembered thinking that there is no way anything like this should ever be free.  From the wonderful adventures/meals (of absolutely superb quality)/beds (so far no actual couches)/friendships (again, superb quality), it was all too much.  I began to feel guilty, as if I should have to go re-tile the roof in order to be this blessed.  But our hosts would have none of it.

For example, that night, for the barbeque at Alan’s house, Alan prepared no less than THREE lamb chops per person (there were six of us), baked fish, burgers, a slew of potato wedges, salad, cole slaw, and to top it off, homemade strawberry cheesecake.  We had our own bedroom overlooking his pastures, our own kingsize sleigh bed, our own bathroom and shower and towels.  And all of that was just the details of what couchsurfing is.  Because at the heart of it, it was a wonderful opportunity to be invited into people’s real lives.  They opened up their home (and their wallets, fridge, and beer) so that we could invest in what really matters and share something special.

The following morning the six of us drove to the Slow Food Festival (opposite of fast food) to enjoy locally grown and made foods such as homemade jams, chutneys, cheeses, wines, etc.  (an interesting side note is that here in Ireland there is a movement to buy and eat local, healthy products.  Eamon just planted an apple orchard, so that in 5 years he could produce his own cider.  I think I might have to come back for that one!)  Then, we headed off to the beach again.  We must have heard a hundred times that Ireland simply does not get weather like what we have had lately.  Blue, sunny skies, in the seventies, no wind, absolutely gorgeous, and everyone was taking full advantage.  People were taking off work simply because it was sunny.  The beach was absolutely packed with reflective devices I believe some call the Irish.  One of the lads brought a sea kayak and let me take it for a paddle.  Even swimming in the bone chilling Atlantic felt good given the warm weather.

I simply must be more brief because this is getting much lengthier than I anticipated.  But so much happened.

So that night we (Jenny, me, Eamon, and Alan) went back to Alan’s to barbeque more burgers and to sit out on his deck.  The four of us sat around a small fire we stoked in the barbeque and listened to music and shared stories.  We convinced Eamon to stay one more night before he had to go back home.  I had the feeling that everything was slowly becoming more and more enjoyable, everything felt more and more like we had always been friends, and that over the last week, something remarkable was emerging.

We said goodbye to Eamon in the morning.  He might not every realize how much he blessed us by inviting us into his home, for being the catalyst that began all of this, but I pray he gets back ten fold everything that he did for us, and I am confident that he will.

After an afternoon hike with Alan and his dog Rocco through the local area known as the Burren, we cooked up another amazing meal.  I stoked a fire in the fireplace while Jenny showed Alan the musical genius of Ryan Adams (definitely not Bryan Adams).  We uncorked another bottle of wine, and settle in around the fire.  There in the sitting room the three of us shared our favorite music, books, and movies late into the night (3:30 am to be exact).  I can speak for Jenny and myself (and I hope Alan and Eamon too) when we say that we did not want it to ever end, and that we were not looking forward to moving on.

In the morning, Alan dropped us off in the nearest town.  We shook hands and hugged, and then did it all again.  He pointed us in the right direction, and let us go.  Before we knew it, a French woman stopped and picked us up and we were off, still wondering just what in the world had just experienced.

We’ve taken it slow here in Galway.  The town is lovely, but I think after such an amazing experience, we are left feeling just a little bit sad.  We certainly still miss Eamon and Alan, and talk about them at least once every half hour.  But, we must go on, and they already have the next guests lined up.  The road calls to us, and the next couch beckons.