Trouble in paradise

May 23, 2012

Trouble in paradise

Don’t worry too much, there aren’t isn’t any real trouble, we just wanted to be a bit dramatic (that’s Mountain Dad’s way and it seems his wee Laide is following his lead).

We’re in our last day of the sultry tropical heat and sad to farewell this turquoise paradise. It truly is my bliss to be wearing few garments, lazing around in the sea or sand and having my two precious ones alongside. The sea is so warm I can linger for a lengthy bathe as opposed to a flying dip in most other places. I’m not sure I’d want to move here (Mountain Dad kind of loses his wits in the heat), but it’s been an indulgent two weeks. It’s just so rich; the heat, the colours the people.

On the darker side of paradise, Mountain Dad in insistent that I share our brush with danger. On the last night in our tree fort at secluded Vaiula Beach Fale's, a blistery tropical storm blew up in the middle of the night. Ever the hero, Mountain Dad was the one to get up and secure the fort, dropping the tarps that were usually rolled up in the rafters. It was the first occasion we’d had to use them as we typically relished the starlit view and cool night breeze from our mosquito net. However, the gales and driving rain called for extreme measures and as Mountain Dad rolled down the tarps he inadvertently stepped on a wasp that had hunkered down on our grass-matted floor. Turning his head-light on to better see the sting, he murmured an:

“Oh no,” as he saw another by his foot. Moments later he was capering back toward me, curled happily in our mozzie net, as he saw another and then another on the floor. It all escalated into a:

“Don’t panic,” as we saw more wasps climbing all over Little Laide’s sleeping tent and then an entire swarm of them massed together in the freshly unfurled tarp. I estimated in the hundreds, Mountain Dad suggests fifty. They’d made their nest in the folds of the tarp, which I assume had not been unfolded for a while. Thankfully they were super sluggish due to the cold and dark, while we were alert and frightened due to their sheer numbers.

As Adelaide began to wake up and grumble her complaints at not being tended to, Mountain Dad cut the tarp away from the rafters and let the mass of terror fall into the rain. He then piddled over the balcony and climbed back into the mozzie net where I’d finally pulled Little Laide when the coast seemed clear. Relieved to be alive and suffering only one sting, he thought it hilarious to call out to me,

“What’s that by your foot?” as I later scuttled my way out to the loo. I swear I could see the homeless wasps swarming about in the dark looking for revenge. That extremely un-funny comment was all it took to have me flinging my head-light from my head (I thought they’d be attracted to the light) and diving back into bed.

He repented when I scathingly told him that actually, I could still see them all out there. Let’s not tell him I only saw a solitary one. It was on my flip-flop so it counts as a dozen.

And on top of all this drama, Mountain Dad asks to add that both he and I have been piddled on by rats and we got scammed by a local, (but only for a fiver, no stolen cars or drug baron’s on this trip).

Right now, though, Little Laide slumbers for her morning nap in the hut behind me. Mountain Dad snorkels out front and I sit on this shaded veranda looking forward to my first Vailima of the day.