What's that about?
Well, we've been CouchSurfing hosts for the past couple of years and have enjoyed it immensely! (check it out online) We've had some fabulous people come and stay with us, some funny, (Hey S!) some serious, (you know who you are) some in need of a break (bonjour Sylvain), some looking for adventure (hi Russell!)
Anyway, this year has been both busy and not busy. I've been kind of busy with stuff around the house, which I will write about in another blog one day... maybe a couple of blogs cuz it's a bit much for just one. So, not many CouchSurfers have been to stay with us. I've had to turn them down, left, right, front, and centre. I've been either booked or busy. So, when the New Zealanders asked to stay, I checked carefully to make sure that we had time for them to come. They're a 50-ish couple who were touring Canada and wanted to go (I thought) all the way East.
Check my schedule, looks good. I write to tell them to come along over. They contact me back full of profuse happiness. Give me the date of their arrival, and off we go...
Date of their arrival ... arrives... and Bill calls me on his cell phone. Where are we? Well, we're in Torbay, and I'll give you the directions to our house.
"No, no. I've got GPS. Just give me your address," he says in his quaint "Kiwi" accent.
"I don't think we show up on GPS!" I protest.
"No, no. I've got this covered," he insists.
I stop arguing and give him the address. Now, you must know that the address is already attached to the e-mail on CouchSurfing, as are explicit directions to our house. Explicit enough that EVERYBODY has been able to find us thus far.
They're going to arrive between 4 and 5 pm. 5:30 arrives and they're not here. The phone rings. They can't find the address in GPS.
Big surprise. Where are they, I want to know... Moores-something and Middridge-something... huh? Where the heck is that? I check on mapquest. Nothing to be found. I check the paper map. I find Moores-something in Mount Pearl. No Middridge, but it could be a new street since the map was published. It happens all the time. I call him back to say that I THINK I know where he is and tell him where to go from there.
Options are to get on the Trans-Canada Highway to our turnoff onto Route 20, or proceed to downtown and crawl up the long way. Either would work beautifully.
It's at least a 20 minute journey. Five minutes later, he calls us to say he's in downtown at the tourist centre. Huh? 5 minutes? Amazing! No traffic and he must've floored his car!
Where in downtown? Well... he's near the wharf... Okay. Water or Duckworth? His response was some sort of grunting noise which I took to mean he was negotiating traffic. Paul gets on the phone as I have to run off to do something else. I hear Paul asking for the name of the next side street. "Market" is the answer. My eyebrows did this upward-pointing thing. Market? New one on me.
Paul's still talking though. I hear the airport mentioned. Are we near the airport? Yes, we are! Go there and call us! We'll give directions from there. It's easy-peasy, smooth-sailing. Their phone cuts off.
A couple of minutes after Paul hangs up (I didn't know the line got disconnected), in the middle of blow-drying my hair, my mind wanders. Acting on impulse (backed by intellect), I go back to the computer.
Sure enough. They're in New Brunswick.
We try calling their cell. No answer. After several attempts, Paul tells me the phone line cut out. Okay... maybe it ran out of battery. They'll get to the airport and call us. Where's the airport from their last-known location? About 45 minutes drive from downtown St. John.
We wait. We wait more. We continue to wait. We go to a house-warming. We get up in the morning. I check CouchSurfing for a message.
There's a message. Their phone ran out of money. (?)
I guess there's no pay phones in New Brunswick.