Adventures of a couch surfer

The beauty of couchsurfing is that you can tailor your trip to match your every desire. My eyes were gazing eastwards - I wanted to demystify Russia and China, observe their nouveaux riches and gain a different, more personal view than the one supplied by western reporting. I wanted the romance of Slavic Russia, the beauty of rural China. And since I was passing, why not stop off in Mongolia and Kazakhstan, too?

"I couldn't think of anything worse." That was how most people responded on hearing I was about to spend 10 weeks sleeping in the houses of strangers that I'd met online. But I was looking forward to sharing what its founders call a "love-ocracy". Couchsurfing is also a philosophy, and it relies on the milk of human kindness. It works on the premise of pay it forward - there is no need, they say, for quid pro quo. This is globalisation at its most benevolent. Couchsurfers are a progressive bunch, keen to bridge cultures rather than judge from afar. Its motto is "participate in creating a better world, one couch at a time" - cheesy but true.

My adventures saw me bunking down with all manner of good eggs. A couch, however, is not necessarily a couch - I slept on five floors, four sofas, three sofa beds, two camp beds, one bunk bed, one single bed and four double beds. In Moscow, it was a sofa bed in the kitchen, so keen was my host despite having a postage-stamp-sized Soviet apartment. I kipped on the floor of a Siberian doctor's one-room apartment - his own bed was a door balanced between two chairs. I even had my own luxury apartment (shared with a pet rat) in the Russian city of Yekaterinburg. More importantly, I was granted amazing access to real life (albeit a generally middle-class, English-speaking, emancipated version - such is the couchsurfing type). There were the vodka-doused welcomes, plenty of home-cooked food and entrées to things the average tourist isn't privy to (a Russian police-dog training centre, plenty of house parties, and a Chinese classroom, where I got to take a lesson).

Perhaps the average tourist would find it a little hard-core. However, as a lone traveller, it was my salvation. I had friends - of sorts - waiting for me in every location. With these lily pads of hospitality dotted along my 12,000-mile journey, I didn't feel quite so alone. And more than that, I made lasting friends - if you're up for meeting people, couchsurfing is for you. There are couchsurfing communities in every city (its philosophy is big on community) that organise parties, dinners, karaoke and film nights and so on. When my Chinese host went Awol on my arrival in Xian (land of the Terracotta Army), I soon had an instant gang simply by joining the local couchsurfing group. That night saw a dinner of 10 strangers all knotted in a spontaneous bond, one that would take months to build up organically. It felt like the most normal, and modern, thing in the world. What's more, the deep-end approach - of sleeping with strangers - isn't the only way to couchsurf. Plenty of people arrange their own accommodation and then meet local hosts for a drink. They'll still take you to the coolest places in town and steer you off the tourist trail. You can even couchsurf in your own town (there are 56,666 members in the UK).

I know what you're thinking: all those young people, the partying, the intimacy ... How close is couchsurfing to bed-hopping? For some, pretty close - you could plan an entire trip around the hotties. "Sure, I kiss my guests," chirped my cute 24-year-old Russian host in Vladivostok. "Sometimes, I'm looking at them, thinking, 'Okay, when do we start kissing?' "

Some of you may be thinking, rather more seriously: how safe is all this? The internet is, after all, the haven of the weirdo. There are the scare stories, of guests turning squatters, the swinger who propositioned his single female guests, and the odd rumour of rape. However, couchsurfing.com claims that only 0.2% of experiences are reported as negative (the website has an eBay-style feedback system, so you can read up on potential hosts).

And what about just plain rubbish couches? "How you define a bad experience," said my expat host in China, "depends on what kind of traveller you are." Well, I'd call myself a softie, not a traveller. My worst experience was being witness to a force-10 fight between my Russian-Kazakhstani host couple, whose bedroom floor I'd be sleeping on. Grimly awkward, but it was still a kind of tourism. "Anthropology," I said to myself, arguing it away. That's the point about couchsurfing: the intense, intimate, unique situations it throws up are infinitely more memorable than a homogenous hotel.

The couch-surfing code

- Do turn up with a gift, preferably something edible, even better imbibable - always useful for those gauche beginnings.

- Do be prepared to surrender control and overlook cultural differences in hygiene. This is not one for OCD sufferers.

- Do the washing-up. Even if it's not your stuff. You owe 'em.

- Do always defer to your host - they are sacrosanct.

- Do always have a back-up plan. The bridge of altruism between strangers is a delicate one.

- Don't leave it too late to organise. Most hosts appreciate at least 10 days' notice. And they still might say no.

- Don't hold back on the cultural exchange: share those English idioms, British traditions and perhaps a Delia Smith treat.

- Don't overstay your welcome. Three days is about all most hosts can handle.

- Don't cling to your host like a lost puppy. Make your own way, and invite them along, too.

- Don't go making yourself feel too at home. There's a fine line between relaxing and taking liberties.

On the Couch: Tales of Couchsurfing a Continent by Fleur Britten is published by Collins on June 25 at £7.99. To buy it for £7.59, call the Sunday Times BooksFirst on 0845 271 2134 or visit timesonline.co.uk/booksfirst