I thought I’d finally gotten used to the wildlife of the tropics…You know, the lightening fast geckos that cover the walls, the constant hum of insects in the evening, the giant cockroaches scurrying past your feet, even (though barely) the spiders the size of my palm (god help me). I thought that after half a year of this, I was finally staring to acclimate, you know, get over some of those life-long phobias of creepy-crawlies. That was until I arrived in Costa Rica.
THE STRUGGLE IS VERY REAL.
I am currently living in a very basic, eco-type camp on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. All buildings are open air, dorms, bathrooms, and kitchen included. There are no mosquito nets in the dorms, so you are one with nature at all times. There is no escaping the elements or the wildlife. Here is what I have experienced in the past two days in order of least-heart-stopping to this-is-my-own-personal-hell:
There are resident Howler monkeys that live in the trees above camp. If you aren’t familiar with Howler monkeys, they’re cute little creatures with long tails and black fur that are incredibly agile and swing amongst the tree-tops. At first glance, they’re pretty cute. That is until you hear the sounds they make. To put it lightly, they sound like Satan incarnate. Truly, the deepest, loudest, most monstrous growls emit from these little creatures, and if you’re not expecting it, it is heart-stopping. On top of that, they’re princesses when it comes to their diets (at least the ones in this camp). They pick mangos from the tress to eat, but if they’re not ripe enough for their liking, they toss them from the tree tops onto the camp rooftops (or unsuspecting cats) below. This makes for some very rude midnight wake-ups and mid-dinner heart-attacks.
Last night I went to take a shower, something I was intentionally trying to avoid doing at night because that’s when all the “fun”critters come out to play. As soon as I’d locked the door and was half-way undressed, I turned around to find a toad the size of a large man’s fist sitting in the corner staring at me. There was laughter from the occupants of the neighboring stalls as they heard a steadily intensifying stream of “nope. Nope. NOPE!” come from my stall. I ended up trading showers with a less panicked camper. There was still a frog in my new stall, but at least it was one that wouldn’t knock me over if it jumped on me.
Shortly after the aforementioned shower, I was brushing my teeth when something wet rained down on me from the tree tops. My first thought was rain. A quick peek up into the clear starry night sky above quickly disproved that theory, and I ran to the nearest camper to ask if they saw any obvious grossness (bird crap maybe?) in my recently cleaned hair. I breathed a sign of relief when they told me there was definitely not bird droppings in my hair, but that left the uncomfortable question of what did rain down on me… Someone suggested monkey pee. I stormed off to re-wash my hair, muttering angrily about jungle wildlife. The mystery substance remains a mystery.
Last night as I was sleeping I was startled awake by something large and rather heavy falling onto my chest and then quickly disappearing. At the time I was too sleepy to be concerned as to what it could be, and assumed that it was something that had dropped from the bunk above me. When I woke in the morning, I had the sickening realization that common physics ruled out the possibility of it having been something dropped from the top bunk, thus leaving the question: what in the world was it…? My favorite theory from the breakfast table was that it was one of the resident cats. I’m trying not to think about what the alternative might be, but let’s just say there are plenty insects here big enough to fit the bill.
I’ve volunteered to help clean up the common areas around camp in the mornings. Yesterday, my morning duty was to clean the sinks. Simple enough. I was even somewhat excited about the seemingly quick and straight-forward task, until I saw the sinks in daylight. I now like to refer to them as the “Hymenoptera Watering Holes”; they were covered, and I mean covered in bees and wasps of every size and shape. My favorites are the toe-sized black wasps that I’m pretty sure came straight out of hell. I’m told that none of them will sting unless provoked, and I believe it, but that fact doesn’t register when they’re all swarming around your head. The sinks got cleaned, but I think it took a year off my life expectancy.
My first night here, I went to the bathrooms at night, only to find that I had the option of sitting with a grasshopper the size of my hand (not a joke), or with a terrifying insect that I can only describe as a spider-scorpion hybrid (also the size of my hand, and again, not joking). I opted to wait until morning. I figured the bushes were equally hazardous.
The most terrifying occurrence isn’t even my own personal experience, it was a story shared with me not even an hour after I’d arrived. As the story goes, one of the campers was using the bathroom when a Tarantula crawled right past his foot. Words cannot express the pure terror I would experience should that, god-forbid, ever happen to me. I don’t even think I would even have to face the horrifying dilemma of deciding whether or not to run from the stall, pants down, because I’m pretty sure I would faint on the spot.
I have three more weeks here. I only hope I will not be adding more stories to this list, though I realize the odds are not in my favor. Stay tuned.
