I am a Couchsurfing user. A day before my flight, I was looking for people in the city of Sandwich, where my job was located. I found an elderly gentleman and messaged him. I couldn't have imagined he would reply. Upon arriving in New York, I received a message from him. He and his wife were ready to host us for a while. The flight was quite long: Astana – Moscow – New York. I was traveling with a girl named Malika from EAGI. We started doing everything on our own from the airport, took an airbus, then the subway to the GREYHOUND station. It was already 14:35. We decided to stay until the evening, bought tickets for the latest bus to Boston, and went to explore New York until 10 PM. I couldn't wait to get out and finally see this dream city with my own eyes—the yellow taxis, the tall buildings, the crazy rhythm, the crowd of tourists. It was an indescribable feeling. Sleep-deprived and tired, we wandered the city looking for Wi-Fi; by the way, Wi-Fi is hard to find there. We went to Times Square, sleeping on our feet. Only after reaching the public library was I able to contact the gentleman, telling him about our flight and that we were heading to Boston in the evening. When he wrote back saying we must be very tired and hungry, and offered to pick us up from the Sagamore stop, I was pleasantly surprised. Unpleasant thoughts did cross my mind—why was a stranger so kind and worried about me? As they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained. That was the principle I followed. The station staff didn't even know about the city of Sandwich; they were surprised and laughed, asking, 'Where is that?!' and 'Is that really the name of the city?!' After figuring it out on the map, we set off. The adventures began with losing our tickets while the bus was already moving. And this wasn't Kazakhstan, where you could ask the driver to wait. We left at 5 AM; I messaged him that we were on our way and would be there around 7. I sent the message quite late, or rather early at 4 AM, thinking he might not read it. At 7 AM, we were dropped off in the middle of nowhere. No buildings, no one around, only a McDonald's visible nearby. It was chilly. We didn't know what to do—no internet, no phone number. Just as we were about to head toward McDonald's, a car pulled up. It was him—Bill. He took us to his home. The house was gorgeous, just like in the movies; he introduced us to his wife, Trisha. Finally refreshed, we went to Dunkin' Donuts. Our manager advised us to go to Hyannis, a neighboring town, because this Dunkin' was small and they didn't have time to train us. At first, I was against it. But when Bill and Trisha took me there and I saw the city, I agreed to move. Bill and Trisha drove us around in their car, showed us the city, and we cooked barbecue and lasagna together. They were very kind. Soon, they became my American parents. I started calling them daddy and mommy.