I was just reading back through my Thailand writing, and I don’t remember why I never posted this. I might add in more random Thailand posts as I remember things. There are a few things I purposely didn’t blog about at the time because the readership was too broad. I might fix that now.
(5/6/07): I remember the sheep with the black faces in Ireland. My mom was obsessed with those sheep. I’m not sure how many fields we stopped at to take pictures of sheep. A lot. We stopped at a lot of fields. It was one of those novelty things, we didn’t have any sheep nearly that adorable in America. The white sheep with the black faces were so cute, and so quaint standing there grazing on the bright green hillsides. So Irish.
Well, that’s sort of how I felt about the geckos here. You may not know this, but geckos are really cute. The little ones are at least. The first time I looked up at the ceiling and saw a collection of little baby geckos sticking to the ceiling, I squealed and whipped out my camera. Little geckos. With sticky little gecko feet. And tiny black gecko eyes. Adorable. How tropical and exotic.
I’m not sure my mom ever got sick of the sheep, but I have to say, I am over the geckos.
First of all, I like my showers to be free of all skittery creatures. There should not be tails sticking out from behind the sink in the bathroom. When I open the mosquito netting around my bed, teeny tiny baby geckos should not fall out. That gecko got what it deserved when blaine accidentally knocked its tail off.
Then there is the time between dusk and just after sunset when the geckos eat their fill of mosquito swarms. These aren’t the cute little geckos, these are their parents, or maybe their gigantic mutant cousins. These are real reptiles. Did you know that geckos are loud? It’s true. They were named for the noise they make- GEK-ko. It sounds a bit like a bird call, maybe with a touch of frog croak thrown in. Whatever it is, it is not a normal animal sound. There is a hallway I have to walk through to get to the stairs up to my room. At this gecko witching hour, the hallway is filled with a fog of mosquitoes. Geckos line the walls, snapping at the bugs, getting fatter by the second. So every night I dash through the hall, eyes shut, running madly through the storm of mosquitoes and snappy geckos. When I make it to the common area upstairs, I am greeted by the little skittery baby geckos, and that one big gecko that likes to hide out behind the painting next to my door.
Then there are the geckos on a death mission. Little geckos who drop from the ceiling and plop onto the floor with a frightening little thud. My favorite was the gecko that threw itself against the window above my head in its frantic attempt to catch a mosquito. There was the clunk as it hit the window, and then a vacuum seal pop as its little feet suctioned onto the glass.
Gecko poop also has a frightening tendency to look like mouse poop. Gecko feet skittering across the ceiling sound not unlike a colony of small rodents crawling above my head at night. Let’s just say I’m not a fan of rodents. I am so much not a fan that it’s possible I spent my first night here curled up in a ball on my bed crying real tears over “the mice!!!” Blaine was not amused. Give me swooping bugs, beetles that drop onto my laptop keyboard, and spiders the size of my palm, but I am done with geckos.