Where to begin.... Most notorious are the lobos (sea lions) which are basically like stray dogs or cats. They are scattered all over the Malecon (the commercialized waterfront) such that you literally could step on or trip over one if you don't have your "eyes peeled" as my father used to say. The humans and lobos are friends; we swim together, share beaches, share benches, and co-habitate in peace. We both also get angry and hiss if someone tries to disturbs us while we are taking a nap.
Geckos run rampant and sometimes greet me on the wall in the morning. Endemic cockroaches have trundled under my feet; the regular breed have skittered around my room after crawling up my fan and looking me in the eye. I've gazed in awe at baby manta rays swimming in a V-formation under the moonlight. I've crawled over the edge of the Malecon to touch a bright red crab whose younger friends are still black and spotted. A hermit crab has scooted across my palm. I have been leered at by black iguanas of all sizes. I've been squawked at by lava birds nesting on the cliffs. I've swam with turtles and smiled as they poke their heads out of the water. I've watched blue footed boobies dive-bomb the water for fish (although I have yet to glimpse their vibrant feet). A crane has stood near in the water, vigilant and observant as I pass by. Galapagos and white-tipped sharks have cooly waded by me. Jelly fish have danced near and on my palms. Pelicans have lined up along the shore like soldiers. Frigate birds have soared above me. Tropical fish of all types have gleamed and glittered around me. Spiders have built their webs in my dining room. Caterpillars have blocked my walking path. Mosquitos have attacked me both night and day.
The island is alive; it is swarming with vibrant, amazing creatures. It only takes a walk out your font door to remember that you are the minority, that you are a tiny speck on this blackened rock, and that when man versus nature goes to battle---quite frankly, we're screwed.
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