Tropical Paradise Part 1
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Nature, in its perfect design, leaves nothing to waste. There is something for everything to eat, drink and nest in. In the tropics, this is especially true.
The fruit trees offer their bounty so abundantly that their branches bend with their weight. Fruit that has matured and is ready to proceed with the next stage in nature's design lay strewn on the ground below.
Life exists in all forms, unique to tropical weather. Creatures not seen anywhere else on earth come out all day and night and can be heard chirping, buzzing, humming, clicking, and reaching an almost deafening chorus.
Our most current visit to the tropics was exceptional. The birds, fish, marine animals, and landscape were as beautiful as we remembered. We visited familiar places, found new ones, and enjoyed the local cuisine and the naturally gracious natives. There was no shortage of bugs, either. So it should come as no surprise that bugs play an enormous role in the continuing cycle of life, and there is a lot of life in the tropics.
As will always be the case, we found there were different species of bugs neither of us had ever seen before. I came home with the assurance that the insect population is in good standing, offering new varieties of flying, crawling, and jumping bugs in various sizes and an overabundance of other creative mobile capabilities.
Let me clarify. I am not a bug enthusiast. They serve more than a practical purpose, and I respect their role in all earth's species' survival, but my preference is not to have them close and, most notably, not on me. I rationalize that this is a big world and that I, not being a person of significant proportion, thus taking up little space, should be able to exist together with these creatures without our having as intimate a relationship as one requiring touch. However, the bugs and I have opposed points of view in this area of thought.
I often find myself face to face with a long-legged winged bug. For reasons unknown to me, if there is a bug in the same room I am in, it will find me. It will ignore the other people in that room to zone in on me. This situation puzzles me because of all the other people in the room, I am not the person that will bring about the creepy creature's early demise. Quite the contrary, I'm the one that will snatch it up in a bowl and release it back into its natural world.
For many years I have had a bug bowl in my kitchen. Yes, I said bug bowl. I keep it in the same place with a paper plate in it. The paper plate is for scooping the bug into the bowl and securing it while I rush to the door, where it is promptly released. This system works quite effectively and has been my salvation, especially when no one else is present to perform the bug-removal process.
Several bugs have come to call in unison on more than one occasion, making one bowl insufficient. When this occurred, the necessity of enlisting the troops was required.
The troops consist of several bowls varying in weight, height, and diameter. After all, some bugs require sturdier containment vessels than others, as not all bugs are created equal.
On our most recent trip to the tropics, it came to my attention that I, though usually organized and attentive to detail, still needed to secure a bug bowl in the event a bug encounter should occur. This lesson is one I will remember.
Our travel day to Isla Mujeres, a small welcoming island a few short miles off the tip of Cancun, Mexico, took approximately 23 hours from our home in Washington State. After such a long travel day, my husband and I operate on a built-in automatic overdrive system. No doubt this system has evolved over the time man has existed and clicks in when conscious thought is no longer possible. I, for one, am grateful it exists and am pretty sure that it keeps our right foot in front of the left and our eyes blinking at regular intervals after so many hours of wake time and the stresses connected with it. Remembering which zippered compartment our flight tickets and passports are in remains challenging. It is impossible to avoid mental side trips entirely, and "Where pray tell is our house key?" was a question that would arise. Not to worry, we won't need it for 14 days, so like Scarlett in Gone with the Wind, my new mantra would become, "I'll worry about that tomorrow."
Once we arrived at our rented condo, there were sighs of relief. We had achieved the most challenging part of our much-needed vacation, getting there. It was time to relax. We could put behind us the lines of people rushing to get their shoes off, removing sweaters, sweatshirts, and emptying pockets, purses, and backpacks. Fortunately, the searches did not reveal anyone carrying weapons or liquid explosives. Before leaving for the airport, those conversations included check-off lists such as "Did you pack the camera, the toothbrushes?" And "Be sure to leave the explosives at home" were helpful.
Behind us were the months of planning and saving for our exotic get-a-way. The airport shuffle and layover time, the last-minute flight schedule change, "My God! You're right; that plane is going to Amsterdam!" And let us remember (I tried unsuccessfully to forget) the yellow rubbery substance posing as scrambled eggs. They looked so good in the picture on the menu in the airport restaurant, but sadly and to my discontent, my stomach continued to repeat, "THESE WERE NOT EGGS." Now, even that was a distant memory.
To be continued