Leaving Comfort

My last few days in Massachusetts were spent arranging how I would get from S & J's to P, in Nova Scotia. P lives in Yarmouth, a straight-shot ferry ride from Portland, Maine.  Having never been to Portland and as it was mentioned to me by several different people as a city I might like, I decided to have a stop-over there. Now all I needed was a place to stay. Seemed like a good time to try couch-surfing. 

Plenty of people balked at the mention of trusting a stranger to put me up for a night, but I was raised in a home that always welcomed strangers and I know lots of people who have fantastic couch-surfing stories to share.  Of course, those people probably started looking for a couch with more than a few days notice. There are lots of last-minute couch-surfing possibilities, but not so much in a smaller city, like Portland. I did find a very friendly young woman willing to host me for the 2 nights I'd requested. She lives right in the heart of the city, within walking distance to the ferry and offered to show me around a bit. Once I had the security of a place to stay in Portland, I went about ordering my train and ferry tickets online. The train was no problem, but when I looked at the ferry schedule, I realized I had been thinking of the wrong dates all along. For some reason, I was a week ahead of myself. Instead of October 9th and 10th, I'd been planning everything for the 16th and 17th. And as I was planning to take the last ferry of the season, I really couldn't postpone my trip. 

First, I changed the train ticket; easy enough, just a quick phone call. There wasn't even a fee. Then I had to write an "I'm a complete dolt" message to the couch-surfing lady, asking if it was at all possible to switch the days.  She got back to me very quickly, but could only offer her floor, as she was already prepared to host 2 other surfers for the weekend. I really do want to have an interesting travel experience, but I'm 35 and a stranger's sofa is one thing, but a stranger's FLOOR? After writing to several other surfing hosts and not finding a couch, I threw in the adventurous towel and booked a room at the Holiday Inn. 

S took photos of me with my backpack as I made my way out the door and J saw me off as I climb onto the commuter rail into Boston. It finally seemed like I was doing something different. I was leaving comfort. KInda.