Couchsurfing - Pictures.

I figured some of you might be interested in seeing some photographs of my North Carolina adventure.  Here are some below.

The house in Asheville:

The baby snakes I found in the kitchen:

 

One of the many masks decorating their house:

  

Lindsay and Brandon enjoying some beverages:

On the road, somewhere in Asheville:

  

Camping in the Smokies.  Lindsay wrapped in the furry coat creature, and 

one of the boys' housemates walking by with his banjo (posing like a sasquatch):

Lindsay and Cory saying goodbye:

Cory and me saying goodbye.  I think he's picking my hair like a monkey:

More to come.

Peace,

Kelly

Couchsurfing, part 3.

Awhile back you may recall some posts about my Courchsurfing adventures.  I never completed the tale of the adventure I had with my college roommate, Lindsay, and the pair of hippie brothers we met up with in North Carolina.


I'm attempting to continue that story now.  I recommend reading up on my last entries which you can find here and here.

Needless to say, Lindsay and I had an unexpectedly enjoyable time with our new North Carolina buddies.  So much so, in fact, that we decided that after our brief trip down to Florida, we'd come back and stop in Asheville again before heading back to Indiana.  We just had to have more of this experience (plus Lindsay was crushin' on Cory at full speed).

We spent a few days in Tampa so we could get the Spring Break sun we were yearning, and had a ball crashing in Lindsay's friend's apartment with her boyfriend, who I accidently kept calling Conrad instead of his real name (don't remember it), and his roommate Chicken Balls (because he kept making these ball-shaped chicken nugget snacks).  I don't really remember much of our Florida trip, probably because a lot of alcohol was involved.  I DO remember being at the Tampa Zoo, and seeing a sign that told us not to molest the alligators.  I was very disappointed because that was definitely on the top of my list of things I wanted to do before I left Florida.  Oh well, can't win 'em all.

Back to North Carolina we went.  One our way back we did stop in Charleston, South Carolina for a night, stayed in a motel, freaked out because we thought we saw a shark in the bay (ended up being a dolphin), and woke up grumpy, sick of the car, and hungry.  But if it's one thing I know about Lindsay and me, is if we get food in our stomachs, our mood changes for the better immediately following consumption.

We got back to the Asheville house after a long day of driving.  Cory and Brandon were packing up.  "We're going camping in an abandoned apple tree farm in the Smokies," they told us.  So before our stuff even had a chance to touch the ground, it went straight from our car to theirs, and we were on the road again.  You can imagine what I thought a drive into the Smoky Mountains would be like: peaceful, serene, calm.  But instead, I found myself listening to some horribly loud techno music with a heavy bass that made my ears throb.  "What is this?!!" I asked.  Brandon continued to shake his head to the music.  Clearly, he didn't hear me.

I lost track of where the car was taking us, and eventually realized that we were driving on a grassy matted-down path that lead to a more open grassy pasture.  Several rows of leafless trees dotted the area, and that was about it.  Except we weren't alone.

As I got out of the car, I saw patches of tents in different corners of the field, some clearly spray painted with psychedelic neon patterns and peace signs.  Brandon and Cory explained to us that this was the site of one of the many open-trade open-music festivals they often attended.  "Is there a festival this weekend?" I asked.  "No," Cory explained.  "This is pre-festival.  There is always a giant bonfire at the festival, and this is the preparation meeting where we gather up a bunch of wood for the bonfire."  I nodded and pretended I understood.

It sure seemed like a festival to me.  Half of the wood we collected ended up going into a giant bonfire for all the people there to PREPARE for the festival bonfire.  As night fell, the ruckus began.  Music came from all areas of the field.  At the main fire, I talked briefly with a middle-aged couple who were both wearing tie-dyed t-shirts, blanket capes, and neon afro wigs.  Another guy was juggling some sticks on fire, while another was putting lighter fluid in his mouth and spitting at great distances.  

Our gang went back and forth between socializing at the main fire and our own, and again got out the banjo and bongos to make a rhythmic pattern of randomness.  Brandon got one with the earth and I listened as he and his housemates had an in depth conversation about the meaning of the universe, its connection with Occam's razor, and an unrelated discussion about whether dogs were innately inside or outside creatures.  

After a night of one heavy conversation after the other, we retired to our tents.  I fell asleep to the sound of crackling flames, the strum of a banjo, and Lindsay giggling away in Cory's tent.  Surprisingly, I was at peace.

That's all I can get out for now folks.  I'll continue soon.  Must go to bed!  It's a school night.

Peace,

Kelly 

Back from the dead.

Hey everyone! I am BACK FROM THE DEAD.

I think after failing at the NaBloPoMo thing, I decided I'd give myself a little hiatus from the daily writing. It really was a LOT harder than I thought it would be. Now I know what I'll be getting myself into if I sign up for it again. They do it every month, so maybe I'll try it again in the summer, when I have more time on my hands.

I've been busy. Remember way back when, when I mentioned Invisible Children? Well, the roadies ended up coming to our school and doing a presentation, and it was great! I let them stay at my house the night before and treated them to some homemade pizza (made by the boyfriend of course, not me). It felt great to be hosting again, and was really reminiscent of couchsurfing, so I MUST get into it again once I get my own place.

I also went through the whole process of getting a realtor, and getting pre-approved for a loan (YAY!). I have great credit and no debt, so they said I'm set. I'm not looking for a house any more than $125,000, even though they say I could go much higher. THAT is partially why our economy is in such a mess, because people buy more than they should just because they CAN. I'm going to play it safe. I'm looking at houses today! There are some cute historic ones downtown, and I'm pumped up.

I also had my third paid photography job, and I'm thinking now I at least have enough decent pictures to get the photography website going. My friend Justin is going to help me. I hope to have it up and running by summer so I can start a summer career out of it.

Thanksgiving Day is coming up, and I MUST write an entry soon about my family. They are hilarious, and there is a wide spectrum of personalities that show up on Turkey Day, and it is always an interesting experience.

My next entry will be dedicated to a movie Dyke made me watch. I'll be back soon. Wanted to let you know I'm alive!!! Expect more entries more often!

Couchsurfing, part 2. (NaBloPoMo Entry #10)

Besides continuing with the Couchsurfing story I started in the last entry, I'll also summarize some of the fabulous times I have had as a Couchsurfing host while living in Bloomington, IN. My roommate Lindsay and I (the same one I went on the road trip with) decided we'd try hosting some people in our little home on Roosevelt St. We got a wide variety of visitors. I'll cover our first experience here, and then continue with the North Carlina story.

Hosting Session 1: Elin and Traveena

The second Elin and Traveena showed up at our door I knew they were going to be up for anything. Traveling without a car, they managed to get a lift to Columbus, IN from another host. From there, they went around with their bags at a gas station until they were able to find a guy willing to let them hitchhike with him to Bloomington. They offered to pay him, but all he ended up asking for were some coins from both of their countries (Sweden and New Zealand).

Wanting to be gracious guests, Elin and Traveena also brought with them a bottle of fruit punch flavored Boone's Farm as a token of appreciation. They had no idea what Boone's Farm was, but decided it looked good, so that's what they got. We loved telling them how overly sweet and cheap the drink was, and of course opened it up and let them try it.

We learned that they'd become friends while working at a summer camp in Texas, and after finishing the summer decided to road trip around the country together. I can't remember where they'd been, but I believe we were their first official Couchsurfing hosts. Before their visit with us, they'd been staying with people they happened to know throughout the different states. By chance, they heard about the website, and jumped on the opportunity to meet some friendly strangers while on their adventure.

They said they were up for doing anything, so Lindsay and I ended up taking them to our favorite local bar, The Bluebird. It was Wednesday, and it was 15 cent pint night, so they were able to get a lot for the little bit of money they had with them. The band playing was called The Pop Tart Monkeys, and as the night went on, we became the most central group of dancers on the floor of the bar. Traveena and Lindsay both developed crushes on different members of the band, and we ended up getting their drumsticks, an autographed drum cover, and bunch of hilarious pictures.

We stopped and got some pizza on the way home, and stayed up late reviewing the pictures we'd taken, laughing about the whole situation. Traveena and Elin had so much fun that they stayed with us another night. A year later, Traveena even came back and stayed with us again, and of course... we relived The Bluebird experience.

***

And now, a continuation of the North Carolina surfing adventure:

(continued from the previous post...)

The next day Lindsay and I explored Asheville—walking around the adorable downtown with its artsy corner shops and street musicians. With no set schedule, we went where our feet took us. The Biltmore Mansion, the most famous tourist draw in Asheville, was too cliché for us, but we did drive by the gate. Excited to see something besides flat landscape, just driving within the smoky mountains was enough to thrill us. We didn’t get back to the house until that evening, after eating at a delicious local Mexican restaurant with extremely spicy food (It was called Salsa’s. I recommend it if you can handle heat. My mouth was burning and I think I chugged my margarita a little too fast).

We were both exhausted and were thinking of crashing early just to get some energy for the following day’s drive to Florida. Lindsay was yawning and curled up on the floor mattress, and I sat at my laptop sending some emails out to friends. Then Cory came in and threw out an idea. “Some of us are heading out tonight to one of the bars. There are a couple other couchsurfers in town that are meeting up there, too. You guys up for it?” I was pretty tired, and I knew Lindsay was, so I started explaining our exhaustion to Cory when Lindsay piped in.

“Yeah, I definitely want to do something, I’m restless. Sure, we’ll go!” After Cory left the room, I looked at her with a sly smile. Just a moment ago she had explained how tired of a state she was in. At the time, I was dating someone back home, but Lindsay was as available as available could be. I think she saw an opportunity open itself up before her. Cory was cute—he was strange, but cute. So, of course, we went.

*****

The sound of muffled bluegrass music seeped into the outside air as we walked towards Jack of the Wood pub. Once inside, the quick-paced fiddling hit my ears with full force. We were in Appalachian country, for sure.

Wooden tables and benches lined up against the far right wall, and a large aged bar acted as the room’s centerpiece. The musicians to our left continued to play and stomp away, while a gathering of ten to fifteen people stood watching, drinking their pints and smiling, the brave ones dancing an attempted jig.

Lindsay and I got our beers, selections from the local Green Man Ales, and sat. I love to people watch when I can, so I didn’t mind spending most of the time as a voyeur to the scene around me, sucking it all up in my senses so I wouldn’t forget it. Lindsay chatted it up with Brandon and Cory, and a couple of other guys eventually joined us—one of them a couchsurfing host, the other a surfer.

As expected when one drinks a few beers on a pretty empty stomach, I became very content with my surroundings and myself over the next hour or so. My senses were bleeding together—the beer, the music, the dark wood, the low lighting—and I found myself in a daze of smiling, so much that my cheeks ached. “Hey, I think there was supposed to be a drag show tonight at another bar. We should go!” Cory said, looking at all of us with anticipation. Brandon, who remained silent, looked hesitant. At some point we must have all decided to go for it, though, because all of a sudden I was in a line with my ID out, waiting to be let in to "Scandals"—self-dubbed “the hippest, most fabulous, exciting, almighty dance club in the history of the world.” For boys.

Unfortunately we’d missed the drag show, but the night was still young and active. The club was dark, but the flashing colored strobe lights reflecting off the aluminum bar and walls gave enough luminosity to keep me from running into anything. I vaguely remember getting a drink from a tight t-shirt at the bar, and then walking over with Lindsay to a stand among the many men among us, again trying to saturate the experience. Brandon got a drink and stood awkwardly off to the side, while his brother Cory took the center floor and began gyrating to the beats, his curls dancing with him in all directions. Eventually, under a bit of persuasion, Lindsay and I finished our drinks and took to the floor as well, making fools of ourselves, but too mentally and physically free to care.

The rest of the night comes in flashes, like a roll of photographs in my memory. Image one: Cory stripping off his white t-shirt and humping the air on the stage of the bar. Image two: Lindsay swaying and giggling outside, swallowed up in Brandon’s giant furry coat creature. Image three: Flying pellets from toy guns in the hippie kitchen. Image four: Hiding from pellet-guns on the floor mattress. Image five: Finally falling asleep as the sun comes up.

To be continued...

Couchsurfing. (NaBloPoMo Entry #9)

For those of you who already know me, you are probably completely sick of hearing about Couchsurfing. But for those of you who don't know me, get excited... because I'm about to tell you about a way to have a unique, exciting, spontaneous, safe, yet affordable adventure while traveling. Couchsurfing, to put it simply, rocks my socks.

The world is smaller than you think... at least that is what is said by past and present participants of Couchsurfing.org. The website allows you to search the globe according to your destination of choice and find locals who are willing to host complete strangers in their homes. Many hosts not only provide a roof over your head, but also take you around town and show you the local sites. You get your own personal travel guide, and get this... IT'S ALL FREE.

And safe, too. The website has different levels of verification, as well as visible reviews from past encounters with the hosts and travelers. Think that Johnny guy asking you for a place to stay seems a bit shady? No worries... just see his past experiences, talk to some of his previous hosts, and if you still feel uneasy, you don't have to host him. It's all up to you.

The same goes for the opposite situation. Going into one's home can be a bit intimidating, especially when you have no idea who the person is. If you think their lifestyles are too different from yours and you find out that they only will let you sleep in the backyard, you can hunt around for someone else. There are usually so many options, and most of them good, that it is hard to narrow down a decision.

I have been a Couchsurfing host as well as a Couchsurfing traveler. Not once have I had a negative experience. Some people I bonded with more than others of course, but everyone was polite, hospitable, friendly, and open to new experiences. Everyone involved in Couchsurfing knows that the goal is simply "creating a better world, one couch at a time." It's all about the peace and the love, and that is just what I'm about, too.

And on that note, I'll share with you a story I started up sometime ago about my first Couchsurfing experience as a traveler. My former roommate Lindsay and I went to on a Spring Break road trip, and one of our stops was a Couchsurfing visit in Asheville, North Carolina. The first section of the story is below. I'll add to it later:

*********

We pulled up to their house in Asheville, North Carolina, and we were both afraid to get out the car. Crazy from being stuck in such a small space since our leave from Bloomington, Indiana, we were in a fit of giggles. Lindsay’s nerves were also getting to her in more ways than one, and coming out in the form of gas. Trying not to piss my pants from laughter, we both stepped out and went towards the front door.

Right away, we could tell the house was odd. Random weeds and plants grew all around the front yard. Odd stone statues covered in overgrown vegetation watched us as we climbed the steps. Their door was ancient, with different colored glass forming a mosaic square in the upper center. Below this was a sign hanging that read, “Please ring the doorbell.”

“I can’t do it!” Lindsay was still bent over with gassy discomfort, laughing, her eyes big and looking at me, pleading.

“No way,” I said. I stood back and refused. As much as we had hosted people ourselves, it was different to think of being the guests.

“Fiiiine,” she sighed. Lindsay pushed the doorbell button, and we both screamed. As soon as her finger went on the button, a massively loud air-horn blow came out from who knows where, sending us jumping and flying back from the porch. Laughing hysterically again, and barely catching our breath, the door opened, and young guy with curly hair, also laughing, told us to come on in. It was Cory.

“That never gets old,” he said, smiling and shaking his head.

The inside of the house matched the randomness of the outside, and right away, I liked it. The main living space to our right had an assortment of furniture like one you’d see at a flea market: random couch, iron-rod chair, another random couch. The walls were adorned with eclectic paintings, artistic statues and knick-knacks rested on the mantel, along with some didgeridoos, banjos, and guitars leaning against a back corner.

Cory led us into the next room, the kitchen, where a hustle and bustle of dinner preparation was taking place. Five or six people were standing around or sitting, and they all looked like they had stepped out of 1967 San Francisco. One girl, I think, even had flowers in her hair. They stared as Lindsay and I walked in, a few politely said hello, and a few just nodded or stared. “Here, I’ll show you where you’ll sleep,” Cory beckoned, and we followed him through the kitchen to the next room. As I passed through the kitchen, I looked at their spice rack. There was a small jar of baby snakes next to the garlic powder.

It was a tiny space, practically a hallway with a small extension. A mattress sat on the floor underneath a loft, which happened to be covered with a weird red and black faux-fur blanket. The rest of the space had walls decorated with African masks, and I think I even remember a machete hanging somewhere.

“It’s a bit small, but this is where we have people stay. You guys can squeeze together on the mattress, or maybe one of you can sleep with a bag on the floor. You can also use the couch in other room if you want. Want some good, local North Carolina beer?”

We drank our beers and unpacked while the rest of the crowd hung out in the kitchen. We couldn’t stop laughing; it was a nervous reaction to the uncomfortable situation in which we found ourselves. Then another guy walked in—he kind of looked like Jesus.

“Hey, I’m Brandon. Cory’s brother.” He was thinner and quieter than Cory, but the coat he wore was rather loud. It was made of the same furry fabric that matched the blanket covering our loft. Attached to it was a hood, so long that it came to a point almost at the floor. “We’re going to make a fire out back tonight if you guys want to join us. Help yourself to some more beers."

That night, we really got to know the people of the house. There is something about a fire that brings out the ridiculousness in everyone. One guy, with long blond dreads, brought out his banjo and played it horribly. He was soon joined by Brandon’s didgeridoo and Cory’s drumming on the bottom of a large empty tub. The youngest girl of the bunch, influenced by the many beers she’d swallowed, began moaning an off-key chant to the haphazard rhythm being produced around the fire circle. At one point I thought I heard someone make a bird noise, only to find out that a pet chicken lived in a small pen on the other side of the backyard.

The sensory overload eventually made us tired, and Lindsay and I stumbled back to our sad little mattress. We settled in for the night, her head at one end and mine at the other. Pulling the fuzzy blanket down over the loft, we made a tent and fell asleep in our own little corner—our own little corner of this North Carolina nuthouse.

To be continued...