A Bug's Life

Life in the tropics means insects.

I knew that. And it bubbled up vaguely from memories of a summer study abroad in Puerto Rico and Barbados. But it was largely just a concept until I started researching what might be causing my outbreak when I first got here.

Of course there were the usual potential villains: mosquitoes, ants, spiders.

• Mosquitoes. No fear factor here, but I would consider them a significant nemesis because I have a reaction to their bites. In Germany they sprayed for them. Here, they are unhampered and have cousins who like to bite no matter the time of day. I'm quickly adjusting to having bug spray handy.

• Ah, ants. Yes, they're a nuisance, but as long as they're not of the fire variety, I'm happy to just manage crumbs and wipe down the scent trail from these occasional invaders.

• Spiders. These are the only things that can really get me going. After running across this website about species endemic to Hawaii (on top of the "usual" spider species), thankfully I've only seen the daddy long-legs variety in the house. And they're insubstantial enough not to bother me too much.

But even after I'd uncovered the source of my bite discomfort, I kept exploring. My mistake.

This photo is from one of the "bugs in Hawaii"
sites. Nope. Don't know what this guy is thinking.

Most of the websites I visited talked about the centipedes here. One in particular was talking about their stubbornness when they bite.

I had no idea centipedes bite people. But the idea remained a distant concept until we saw one in the driveway, partially crushed by a neighbor's scooter.

It was around the same length of the one in the photo, but a bit wider. And since we are sleeping on a mattress on the floor until our stuff arrives, for the two nights after I saw that thing, it took a long time for me to relax enough to sleep.

Then there was the incident a few weeks ago. While in the shower, I noticed a blob on top of the drain. Without my glasses I couldn't make out exactly what it was. Afterwards, with glasses on and every intention of cleaning up hairball or sand ball or whatever it may be, I pulled back the shower curtain.

And just as quickly (and much more violently) pulled it shut.

What I could see in my brief look was a sizable dark form, upside down, with an indeterminate number of legs in the air. All day I was haunted by the thought there was a wolf spider or other massive arachnid playing dead in my bathroom. I worked at convincing myself it was a small crab, just to find some peace of mind.

Call it non-feminist or wussy or whatever, but I waited, and when Larry got home I made him investigate. He promptly disposed of a dead cockroach of, well, tropical proportions.

We were walking home one evening and saw this
guy crawling across the top of a low garden wall.
(That's Larry's thumb for reference.) Our friend 
in the shower was half-again as big.

In a prior life I would have been appalled at the thought of bugs in my house. It's still not a happy concept, but since we only have canned cat food and things you can cook on a grill, it's not a reflection on how we live, but where we live.

And as I enter week seven of living in paradise, I accept that when I stop worrying about the little things I might see at my feet, I can spend more time looking out and appreciating why humans and bugs alike thrive here...

At the Risk of Being a Potty Mouth...

I noticed the phenomenon when I first arrived here. I went to the airport restroom before waiting for my bag, and the toilet was noticeably lower than what I was used to. I figured I was either more tired than I thought, or it was an odd quirk.

At my new home, no issues. But the next time I went out, the same thing. And the time after that. I wondered if this was how it was for taller people all the time, sitting down and having your knees jut skyward at an awkward angle?

Then we went someplace--a restaurant, I think--and no issue. Was I just imagining the whole thing?

The plus side of my online searching is
I now know of toilet museums to add
to my bucket list. ;)

I did an Internet search and came up with nothing. Well, I came up with a lot of articles about "low-flow" toilets and standard- vs. ADA-height toilets, but nothing on whether the toilets in Maui's beach/public, restaurant and retail/mall restrooms were shorter than normal.

It's not a normal thing to obsesses over, I know. But let me explain a bit. When I was younger and started traveling on my own, I would document the "facilities" wherever I went.

African outhouse, antique water closet, castle commode, whatever it may be. The amateur sociologist in me was always fascinated by how different societies viewed our necessary if unglamorous bodily functions.

Eventually I stopped actively capturing these experiences. (It gets harder to explain a photo collection of privies if it's not related to research on an active project.) But the curiosity remains.

Earlier this week, I was walking home for a couple of miles along the beach and stopped to use a restroom. Again, I plunked down unexpectedly.

So I conducted the very unscientific test of measuring the height of the bowl against my leg and doing the same when I got home. There definitely seemed to be a difference!

Is this it? Are they using child-height toilets
in most of the public restrooms??

Even though I'm no closer to an answer, I'm not desperate enough to start carrying around a tape measure to confirm my suspicion, or to bring it up in conversation with Larry's co-workers or the people I meet.

Yet.

It's also not likely there's an island-wide conspiracy to gaslight me. But if you have some insight into what the @%!$ is going on here, please share!