Whatever time any external clock says, it does not influence my internal clock. No matter where I am, a few hours behind or ahead of the timezone I am familiar with, I am used to getting up before dawn. On this second morning of our tropical get-a-way, I was up at 4:00 a.m.

Relieved to untangle my overheated body from the sheet I had tightly imprisoned myself in the night before, I saw that Hubs was still asleep and looked too comfortable to wake up. Instead, with eagle eyes, I thoroughly scanned my surroundings. When I was sure there were no crunchy or soft-bodied creatures I may accidentally step on or any from which to escape, I felt safe enough to put my feet on the floor. Quickly, I prepared a cup of tea and headed to the outdoor balcony, gathering my laptop to get a little writing in and my camera to catch the sunrise.

Observing the sky’s colors change as the sun rises and seeing how that changes the colors of the water, too, can leave a person breathless. Although the water is clear, when combined with the white sand underneath, the water appears turquoise. It is a color that is a treat to the mind's eye, and I continue to be amazed and delighted that such a color exists.

Reminiscing about our trip conjures up all sorts of memories. One that stands out is how quickly I forgot those unfortunate events with the bug the size of a Hummer and the black scorpion. Usually, I would be tremendously uncomfortable not knowing where something as big as the enormous winged creature was, knowing full well that it still had to be creeping somewhere in the condo. Looking back, I remember feeling at ease after quickly checking the floor, couch and walls when I first woke that second day. Morning is the coolest time on this island. Even so, I was still warm enough to be in summer clothes. Going barefoot has always come naturally to me. It reigns supreme over ever wearing shoes. Finding nothing to be alarmed by, the fear of Hummer bug left me, and I, with only shorts and a tank top, set about my writing that morning on the balcony with no more light than that which illuminated from the laptop.

In this tropical setting, writing came with ease. There were none of the usual interruptions I'd grown accustomed to. Only the sounds of life awakening on this island gem were present. The bird calls from within the jungle grew louder as the sun rose higher, and there was a constant high-pitched buzz that I was unfamiliar with. It was similar to the sound I've sometimes heard when standing near a power pole, but much louder. I have no idea what creature was making the sound, but I am grateful it stayed hidden.

Although the temperatures were higher, as was the humidity from where we live, I thought this was a life I could grow accustomed to, so for a few days, I settled in and continued to rise early each morning. I would write, listen, and watch the world wake up from our private balcony.

Every morning, following our breakfast, we packed our snorkel gear. Then we headed south to Castillio de Garrafon, a family-owned snorkeling park where the snorkeling was remarkable on this year's trip. What has always struck me as odd is that it is directly next door to a famous snorkel park that costs three times as much and has the same fish. A zipline at the more expensive park could contribute to the higher cost, but still.

The way I looked at it was this. To get to the zipline, I would have to climb up an extraordinarily high and shaky ladder to a height where I have no business being. Adding to that, a total stranger would cinch me into a flimsy contraption meant to keep me from falling while being catapulted at speeds I reserve for highway travel - to an endpoint I could not see. If I had wanted to sail at high altitudes through the jungle clinging only to a thin wire, having my head examined before the trip would have been advisable. I concluded the Castillio de Garrafon had everything we wanted, leaving me feeling we had hit the jackpot without the additional cost of a therapist's exam!

Although we had our snorkel gear, the Castillo de Garrafon rented equipment for those that didn't have their own. Their little outdoor eatery served delicious authentic Mexican food, and the lockers, the bathrooms, and the outdoor showers they offered made this place worth the 15-minute walk to get there.

Schools of fish in all sizes and colors and by the hundreds swam quickly all around us. Barracudas, octopuses, urchins, lobsters, and starfish (I know their new name is seastars, but they will always be starfish to me) and more sea life than I have ever seen outside of an aquarium were everywhere in this underwater paradise.

Like the year before, we met many friendly travelers from all over the world that came, as we had, to enjoy this unique little island, but most surprising was the number of people we met from Washington State. On one occasion, while I washed the seawater off my body and out of my hair in the outdoor shower, a man doing the same, using the shower head next to mine, introduced himself and asked if I had found the fish while snorkeling. My response to him was that they had found me.

He and I continued to share normal congenialities, like people engaging strangers in conversation do, including where each of us came from. He mentioned he was familiar with Whidbey Island, where we came from, and then told me he lived in La Conner, a town on the mainland about 30 miles from where we live. We shared our surprise at how small the world can be before toweling off and going our separate ways.

Upon my return to where our lounge chairs were, I gleefully exclaimed, "I just took a shower with a man from La Conner!" Hub's face lit up with a broad smile as he asked, "La Conner, Washington?" "Yes," I chirped. "Can you believe that? What a small world this is!"

The man I met in the shower that day added to our fourth encounter with other Washatonians on that trip alone. Every time we have gone to different destinations in Mexico, we have encountered more people from Washington State than anywhere else. The weather must be the culprit. It sends its residents running to all corners of the world seeking a warmer climate. The rain and overcast days can be overwhelming for some and may contribute to a higher rate of psychotics and serial killers that emerge from here. That is, however, another blog post for another day.

On one trip to this same snorkel park a few days later, a young couple riding their rented golf cart - one of the forms of transportation for tourists visiting the island - stopped and asked us if we wanted a ride. Hubs was quick to reply.

"No, thank you," came out of him before he turned to look at me. When he did, he saw that my face revealed I was willing and ready to jump on board. It was then he promptly corrected himself and agreed to accept the ride. He must have realized the sooner he got me into the cool water, the sooner my sweet disposition would return. Decades of indoctrination, or as some prefer, marital bliss, once again prevailed.

Again the cordial conversation between the four of us moved in the direction of where we were all from. Like giddy schoolchildren, all of us were excited when they told us they were from Seattle. The young man said his Grandmother had lived on Whidbey Island, and he remembered visiting her there. It is funny how that works. We plan our trip to get away from it all and yet get such a kick out of all the people who live within miles of us and vacation in the same distant places we do. It comes down to, even in faraway places finding someone that shares your home base makes you feel connected in some way in this big old world, and connections are important.

One meaningful connection is knowing there was still a massive bug sitting and waiting for the opportunity to even the score and bring bug karma full circle. The behemoth insect had not been captured nor secured for release, so if reason prevailed, it still lurked in a dark corner somewhere in the condo. That fact was something we frivolously allowed to elude us.

Immersed in the simple joy of our vacation's daily schedule and pleasantly blinded by the activities we embarked on each day, we had fallen into a blissful and perhaps somewhat arrogant mode that all was well with the world. Truthfully, it was. The water, the sea life, the shopping, the kind locals, and the phenomenal food kept our vacationing minds at ease.

I must hand it to the creature with a brain the size of a pinhead. Staying hidden proved it was using its brain, no matter the size. The reality that this enormous diabolical insect could be waiting for the most opportune moment to present itself was real, but that reality had evaded us. Thus, proving the size of our brains (although one of the largest per capita in the animal world) did not ensure our adeptness to be better than an insect's.

It was hotter on this day than we had experienced on our trip up to that point. We snorkeled in the morning, and later in the day, we went to Playa Norte, the island's north end, where many shops are located. Perusing the shops for those special items we wanted to bring home to loved ones was quite enjoyable, even in the unforgiving heat. For me, the remedy to the heat was easy. I would go to the water's edge and walk right into it.

As was true of most days on Isla, we had walked a few miles, not because we wanted to avoid taking a taxi or renting a golf cart. We were used to a daily routine at home which included a certain amount of exercise. Walking is one exercise we do daily, so it was a natural choice for us to make. In addition, we wanted to experience the island at our own pace. The one denominator we had yet to find in common was the heat and the toll it would take on us. So after a scrumptious dinner at Lancheros, one of the many excellent restaurants along the water's edge, we returned to the condo to relax and get a good night's sleep.

Once in the condo, the night's breeze was enough to make the windows' hurricane blinds rattle and shake as they did most nights, but the breeze barely cooled us down. After showering, I searched the collection of DVDs, looking for one in English. After I'd found one, I leaned back into the sofa, relaxing into a comfortable position with my bare legs stretched out before me, leaving my bare feet to rest on the cool tile floor.

They say timing is everything. Whoever they were, they were not kidding. I have to ask myself why, more often than not when something of sudden urgency happens, someone - including myself - is either in the shower or on the pot. Either way, we're caught with our pants down or off! As luck would have it, the timing for my subsequent bug encounter would come just when Hubs was again in the shower.

I felt something soft on the top of my right foot. Not so much as a tickle. It was gentler than that. It was dark in the room other than the light from the TV when I took a moment to glance down to see what could have been the cause of the gentle sensation. My feet were in the shadows, so I saw nothing to cause alarm. After a couple of minutes, the soft feeling began to rise from my toes to the front of my leg. This time I pulled my foot closer to me and bent down to get a better look.

Any horror film director will use lighting and sound effects to set the mood. If they use music, the closer the music comes to its crescendo, your fists and jaw clench because you know the predestined horror meant to stop your heart will, at any second, burst or slash its way from the darkness onto the screen and into your fragile psyche. It could be a blood-dripping mutilated swamp thing, a knife-wielding maniac, or, to my horror, the HUMMER BUG!

Even in the darkened room, once I lifted my foot, I could see that Hummer Bug had found its way onto me. Its body was about four inches long and went from where my toes met my foot to where the top of my foot met my ankle. The feeling of my blood temperature rapidly chilling filled my body as our eyes met. Frozen as if in an inescapable nightmare, I witnessed its tendril-like antennas twitching as it began a slow crawl up my bare leg.

Sometimes we come face to face with what lurks in the dark…. Stay tuned - Part 5 will follow soon.