"Others enjoy stories from the road"

Their doors are as big as fortress gates. They guard a life carved in binary calendars and fridge note magnets. But not a single arrow was shot today. This year. Or the next. And these doors are special. For whomever can push them gently, they’ll open the road to the castle’s beds. They’ll guide the traveller to the living room and next to the chimney. This castle isn’t fighting the world. It’s waiting for the scent of the road and the wind of the horses to blow through its doors and fill its chambers.

They haven’t travelled for years. But the smell of my hair makes them dream. The look in my eyes takes them to India. The sand in my nails enchants them. And my beard is an ocean of adventures and the promise of a thousand stories. The women, the women and the mysteries. The secrets only travel uncovers. The things you can only see when you put on your foreign eyes and you stranger gaze. They look mesmerised and bemused. Bemused because they’ve touched what I’ve touched. They saw as well. And my walk is a sweet virus that awakens their own.

"But it’s not just the surfers who benefit. Being a host can be tremendously rewarding, as well. For instance, my hosts in Morocco, Vietnam, and Brazil all use CouchSurfing as a means to improve their English. Others simply enjoy meeting new people and hearing interesting stories from the road."

I sit down and I look into his right eye. Blue. Like the flag I stole from a bar in Budapest. Blue. Like the drink I gulped in the streets of Bruxelles. Blue. Like the sign above my London hotel. Blue like your eyes my love. My king with open arms and world-wide smile. My stories are yours. You’ll play a part in one. If you’ve not conquered that chapter already.