Spiders and Scorpions
Sunday, December 17th, 2006Lago Atitlan is beautiful. Sarah´s pictures do not do it justice. The volcanoes are imposing towers of green overlooking the clearest water I have had the privilege to swim in. We spent a wonderful weekend eating at different restaurants around town, sipping Chilean wine while watching the sunset, and sleeping in a room with an impossible view (and the best shower and bed combo we´ve encountered in Guatemala). Paradise.
However, all the beauty and relaxation comes at a price.
I was warned about the first hidden cost of Lago beauty, and was therefore somewhat prepared. The spiders were weirdly flat creatures, so they sometimes seemed to blend into the wall. This made coming across them that much more frightening. Also, they stand still for days on end, until, for some unknown reason, they disappear. WHERE DO THEY GO? They´re absence is much more frightening than their presence, since one never knows where they might be lurking.
We had prepped for the spider eventuality, however, and Sarah was even brave enough to shoo a particularly large flat one out of our window last night. Bravo, Sarah, bravo.
This morning, for some reason, neither of us were prepared to face down the beast. A HUGE spider was waiting for us on our chair when we returned from the shower. Sarah said “oh look, it´s a spider.” I screamed. Then I looked at it and saw that it had 6 legs. What kind of spider has 6 legs? A fucking tough spider, that´s what kind. It had obviously survived several previous human attacks and had been left bitter and hungry for human blood.
We had to get Zil to come shoo it out the door for us. She is so tough. In the process, it lost ANOTHER leg. The severed leg is still on the door stop to the room, slowly decomposing.
We were both still coming down from our spider adrenaline rush while trying to pack our bags. Sarah was shaking out our clothes, God bless her. She approached the infamous chair, upon which our quick-dry towels were draped. She reached for the towel. She screamed. I screamed louder. She ran to the bed clutching her right hand. “Something stung me,” she cried.
I decided to be tough. “It was a bee,” I said. “I know because I heard it buzzing.”
A little white lie in a crisis never hurt anyone.
We took a few deep breaths huddled together on the bed. Everything was fine. I got Sarah some sting relief and started packing. I was now in charge of the quick-dry towels. I gingerly threw the top towel to the floor. Then I stomped on it. A lot. Nothing was crushed. I moved to the bottom towel and threw it to the ground. Before I could stomp on it,
A HUGE BLACK SCORPION WITH TWO PINCHERS SCURRIED BEHIND THE TRASH CAN.
I was done being tough. We both lost it. In fact, we lost it so hard core that two Mayan women who worked for the hotel came running to our door to see what was the matter. In the back of my head, I was thinking that if the scorpion had been dangerous, it´s sting would have hurt more. But that was far, far in the back of my head. The front of my head was inconsolable. Thankfully, the Mayan women were much calmer. They assured us that the scorpions on the lake were not dangerous and that the sting would hurt for only about 1/2 an hour. I was so glad we spoke Spanish in that moment. Sarah was quite fluent as well, repeating the phrase: “In the U.S. they’re really dangerous, really.” We were both trying to find an excuse for the fact that we were screaming like children. Then they scoured the room for the beast, matter of factly looking in every nook and cranny. They never found it. WHERE ON EARTH DO THEY GO!?
One of the women brought Sarah some alcohol (to help soothe the sting) and some sugar to eat (we’re not really sure why). The rest of the packing was done very carefully. I did a lot more shaking and a lot more stomping.
Anyway, to make a long story short (too late for that, eh?), we survived. We’re in Antigua, where man-eating spiders and scorpions would not dare rear their heads.
-Megan (with help from Sarah, who shooed a spider and was stung by a scorpion. What a gal.)
admin