“Captain?” I tried to make my whisper heard above the ocean’s many sighs and groans. He stirred, his eyes finally opening. He was seasick, too. When the captain’s seasick, you know it’s bad. “I think we’ve changed speeds.”
He came on deck to check the dials.
“Yes, we did, thank you for waking me,” he yawned once, stretching his arms out over his head. “We’re just sailing into a squall.”
Do you know what they say about people who love the colour red? They’re impulsive, outgoing, aggressive at times. They have a strong zest for life. They tend to be extremely optimistic, but hate monotony and crave change. They are passionate and strong, full of vigour. They are restless. They can be too quick in their decision-making; one might call them rash, hasty. They are determined to get all they can out of life.
In reading up on things to do in Porto, I kept stumbling across the same tips: port tasting, climb the Torre dos Clérigos, visit Livraria Lello (a bookstore), walk along the Ribeira. And, other than Portugal’s famous bacalhau (cod), one food kept popping up on Porto’s “must do” lists: Francesinha. Vegetarians and vegans, look away now.
Last autumn, I had the pleasure of returning to one of my favourite European cities, Berlin. There are many things to love about Berlin: its nightlife, its history, its fashion, and, perhaps one of my favourite reasons for visiting, its street art. I’ve written about how I’m huge fan of street art before, and I think that it can be a beautiful contribution to a city, adding art, politics, culture, and social perspective to otherwise bare walls.
The last time I saw you, you were waving, grinning, the vision of you on a motorbike disappearing over one last hill. We had spent a week on a motorbike together, sharing the road with rusty trucks and elephants. I’d grip your waist, squeeze on one side or the other to direct you. We got lost, every day, and I had never had so much fun doing so.
I met you on one of my first days on the island, under the thatched roof of a bar that served alcohol in buckets. You were ten years older than me, your laugh lines defined, your smile the kind that lit up your face, lit up mine. My hair was so long I could almost sit on it, and you placed one flower behind my ear, my left ear.
“No, no,” I laughed, taking the flower from my left and placing it behind my right. “I’m single. Single women wear flowers behind their right ears.”
There are probably a lot of you who are not going to click this link, and that’s okay. I understand that not everybody else shares my sick fascination with all of the weird and wonderful bugs we encounter along our travels. And while the following stories come from faraway lands, I have just as many stories from home. Hell, I just found a giant spider in my room in London last night.
Other creepy crawlies (I feel like my kindergarten teacher saying that) like snakes, rats, mice, leeches, frogs, and so on, will be saved for later stories (and yes, I do have stories about all of them, sadly). If you are offended by the killing of bugs, I suggest you stop reading now.
Here are, in no particular order and not necessarily with accompanying photographs, some of the grossest, weirdest, cutest (they exist), scariest, most annoying bugs I have ever encountered… Part One.