Last year, I joined Couchsurfing — prompting a friend to remark, “I see you’ve signed up for the secret way to get sex club.” That wasn’t my (sole) motivation. I don’t travel as much as I used to, so I figured playing host to travelers would revive my spirit of adventure — without the hassle of getting injections, packing a bag, or leaving my house.

It was only when my guests began to arrive that I realized how much travel had changed. They turned up — gadgets in hand — asking for the Wi-Fi password. The next few hours were spent posting on social media, messaging friends, or chatting on Skype. They had left their homes behind but brought their online lives with them — so, in a way, they hadn’t really left at all.

Traveling with an internet connection is a double-edged sword; it makes an excellent servant but an awful master. Sites like Couchsurfing allow you to meet new people — but what’s the point if you just surf the net on your phone when you arrive?

For me, travel is more than moving from place to place and seeing different things. It’s about living with less, surrendering to the unknown, and discovering who you are when the ground is shifting beneath your feet.

I once spent an entire day in Nha Trang, Vietnam, searching for somewhere to stay. Everywhere was booked, and I must have spoken to over fifty people. At the time, it was exhausting, but I saw more of the city than I ever would have by booking online. I even went for drinks with three of the people I met that day. When I finally found a place, it felt like a genuine achievement. There’s a certain romance in following an outdated map in a distant land — but nothing romantic about tailing a blue dot on Google Maps to a reservation you made on Hostelworld.

As far as I can tell, the last part of travel untouched by the internet is hitchhiking. One of my first Couchsurfing guests, a Korean girl, delighted in sifting through my bins for a piece of cardboard, scrawling Prague across it, and waiting at the roadside for a lift. But I’m sure this too will soon be digitized. Someone will create a hitchhiking app called Pick Me Up or something (which sounds suspiciously like the “not-so-secret” sex club my friend mentioned).

For all my old-man complaining, hosting on Couchsurfing hasn’t been a wholly negative experience. When my guests do unplug, we share the kinds of conversations and experiences I remember so well from my own backpacking days. That’s why I haven’t deleted my Couchsurfing account just yet — so if you’re passing through České Budějovice and need a place to crash, send me a request. (Just, please, no guys.)

*First published in Milk & Honey, České Budějovice, Czech Republic