Nikki Yeager

I wrote this MONTHS ago when this amazing Turkish guy stayed on my couch for a few nights. He's probably my favorite person and I discovered so many cool places while he was staying with us!

A couchsurfer friend of mine stayed a few nights on my horrifically uncomfortable futon after coming back from a meandering trip through Belgium. To deal with the mediocrity of my apartment (and satisfy his newly acquired beer-tooth), he dragged me out to Voldenuit Belgian Beer Lounge in lower Manhattan.

Now let me just say, I know a thing or two about wine, have an encyclopedic knowledge of sake and adore a good vodka. But for the first time in my life, I paid a second glance to the wonderful world of beer.

First came the Delirium Tremens on tap. Admittedly, it was a little watered down, but still much heartier than your typical American beer. With little pink elephant logos all over my glass (and plenty of girly-Republican jokes from my friend), I took a sip of the relatively pale ale. There wasn't much foam in the glass and I swear I tasted some sort of spice after I swallowed but my friend insisted I was imagining it. Overall, though, it kicked any beer I'd ever tried out of the water.

But then came a variety that changed my life: Leffe Brune. With a rich brownish foam on top, I took a look at the chalice holding my new-found beverage. Apparently Leffe is huge in Belgium and just taking a whiff of it, I knew why. Then came the first sip of the heartiest beer I've ever had. Instead of a drink, I felt like it'd be better defined as a meal with it's rich, wheat taste and subtle sweetness. Normally I equate beer to drinking toilet water, especially when it comes to Budweiser or Miller. But this beer, it was nothing but wonderful the whole way down.

At 6.5% alcohol, I couldn't taste much after my second oversized serving. However, I'm pretty sure it was more than the alcohol that was making my head spin. It was the fact I discovered an entire world that I'd never paid any attention: the world of fine beer.

A few days later I found myself stuck drinking my previous favorite brew, Newcastle, expecting the same sense of love. Unfortunately, it did just the opposite and made me remember once again how lackluster beer can be.

Unless, of course, you happen to be at a Belgian beer garden in the West Village. In which case, order away.

Couchsurfing is my favorite. Have I ever mentioned that?

Because of CS, I've spent my entire weekend doing things I would never tell my mom about (until AFTER I already did them of course!) and have nothing but love for Boston so far.

It started with a poetry festival at the Boston library and then a day wandering around the city, watching skateboarders, hanging out, drinking coffee.

Then I headed off for a friendly meet up with Sergei, the random CouchSurfer who offered to host me Saturday night. I found him lounging outside the BU gym after he got out of classes at the law school nearby. He was wearing a leather jacket and I was speeding to find him in my heeled boots and ginormous backpack.

We said hello and exchanged a few words about school and law and Boston. Then he lead me to the parking lot where we found his motorcycle safely resting as far away from the other bikes and cars as possible. I awkwardly attempted to put on my helmet (a 15 minute endeavor) and then hopped on the back ready to go.

He happily shouted that we were taking the "scenic route" and then sped off with no delay.

We veered off the road past Boston University and headed over the bridge to Cambridge. He picked up speed on the freeway as I stared dumbly to my right - the water between Cambridge and downtown Boston sat before me.

 Beautiful.

Inside my helmet, my eyes stayed glued to the scene speeding past me. Sail boats idled quitly in the water. Harvard students stood along a dirt path, walking, talking, kissing. Behind it all, Boston stood as a backdrop to the activity, each building standing tall beside the others while the sun sank slowly behind them.

Sergei shouted back in his lovable accent  (Russian.. because now that I'm dating Daniel everyone I meet seems to be Russian) and asked if I was ok.

I nodded.

In that moment there was nothing else I could do.

FYI: I stole this picture, definitely did not take it.

Last night I had a full blown Madrid night complete with great Spanish wine, lots of sightseeing and tapas that would make your mouth water. 

It started at a bear statue outside the Metro station where my third CouchSurfing host met me and proceeded to take me through every neighborhood in Madrid. He explained what different buildings were, told me about the population, the culture, everything. Then we wandered into a huge market with small stands for random tapas and caña. A few small beers later we wandered back into the cold air and discovered  a holiday market, wonderful coffee shop for Cafe con Leche (seriously, coffee here puts all of the United States to shame) and worked our way back to his apartment for dinner. 

To finish off the night - and boy, was I ready to finish the night considering I slept for 3 hours on a bus between Barcelona and Madrid the previous night - we ended up walking through one of the huge public parks in the city center and then met up with a few friends of his at a bar. One girl was Polish (now living in Spain), my host is originally from Argentina, and we were soon joined by a Brazilian girl who spoke little English but was one of the best human beings I've ever met. 

Sitting behind another glass of Spanish vino, I took a moment to look at where I was. Around me were people from three different countries using an awkward mix of English and Spanish. Somehow, from sheer interest in one another, we managed to make it work. After discussing accents we moved to sharing silly jokes and talking about discotecs (sp?). 

And the four of us had some of the best conversation I've ever seen until well past 2am in a small Spanish bar in Madrid. The perfect addition to an already wonderful vacation. 

My parents came to visit me last weekend and during the night they had a visitor. Of the unsavory variety. In fact, it was a pimp (or some sort of crazy man) demanding that my parents give him "his money" at 4 in the morning. 

And don't you worry, I'll write that whole story soon. 

Anyways, it seems my visitors bad luck goes further than my parents. I invited this girl from couchsurfing.org over for two nights with hopes of making a friend and getting some bonus points for hosting my first surfer. Turns out, the day she decided to come was a very bad day for train travel. 

Here's how the texts went while I waited for her to find her way to Bay Ridge. Keep in mind I've never met this girl in my life and had a maximum of two or three email exchanges with her: 

Her 10:03pm: Update- there is a shuttle from 59 boo mta.

Me 10:04pm: Oh no!! R u on the shuttle at least? lol

Her 10:05pm:  Not yet. It stopped at 36 so i'm waiting for the n to 59 then shuttle. I'm sorry. 

Of course, I didn't mind at all. I usually don't go to bed until well after midnight so it didn't phase me one bit. Instead, I offered to order her some miso soup and then finished watching South Park with Daniel.  

Until my phone buzzed. Quick look down and this is what I saw:

Her 10:31pm: Dead body on the tracks apprently

Ummm, what?!?! 

Turns out that while my new friend was making her way to my apartment, someone jumped onto the rails (or fell... or ...) and got ripped apart at the middle. She figured out what was going on as soon as she heard the collective "gasp" in the car and then the follow up whispers. And yes, people saw the body.

Because, of course, it wouldn't be a story if they didn't actually see it. 

Which makes me wonder... is this just a spurt of bad luck or should I stop inviting people to BK?

I've decided to take this CouchSurfing thing seriously. Well, as seriously as you can take a loose community of willy nilly travelers willing to hitchhike across countries and spend nights on  stranger's floors, couches or whatever little air mattress may be available. 

But honestly, the people on that website are exactly the type of people I like. Travelers with a lack of fear about life and a passion for all things new and different. People who aren't afraid to pick up and leave it all behind for a few days, a few weeks... a few months. Most of whom have an excellent and carefree sense of self. 

Anyways, I met this amazing Armenian guy today who speaks 5 or 6 languages, restores old cars and just came out with an album. He's touring the U.S. to promote his music. You know, doing t.v. appearances and radio shows and all sorts of important stuff. 

And then setting aside a random hour or two to run around the city, drinking tea with me. 

Anyways, you should definitely check out his music at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Peter-Jam/ and take a second to talk to him. The man travels like it's his job, teaches guitar and grew up in Lebanon.

Very fascinating guy no matter how you look at it.