In Nicaragua, there are all sorts of critters and creatures that hang around, make noise, and will venture into your cabana to have a friendly conversation.
Over my stay, I got very comfortable seeing fireflies, crabs, toads, and exotic birds hanging about. I didn’t really mind the chirping, croaking, or singing. It was pretty; the melodic hum of nature surrounded us.
However, there was one creature that kept me up every night.
I remember hearing it squawk consistently throughout the evening of our first night’s stay. Just as I would start to drift off to dreamland, it would cry to its neighbor. After being jolted back to consciousness once again, I flung a pillow over my head and said to no-one in particular, “I’m going to shoot that bird.”
Katie laughed and replied, “That’s no bird. That’s a gecko.”
Say what?! Yeah, I just used double punctuation; that’s how shocked I was.
Maybe this was just my naiveté of being a Vegas girl, or maybe it was my thinking that a bird-like sound should belong to a bird. Second grade logic had failed me again.
You would probably think (like I did), that geckos are quiet little creatures who wear bow-ties and speak in Australian accents. I felt misled and duped by Geico. 15 minutes may save you 15% or more on car insurance, but it certainly doesn’t adequately prepare you for gecko encounters.
This was the best I could do as far as finding an example for what I heard every night.
I remember seeing the little guy the next morning perched on the wall above my bed. I swear he winked at me as he skittered away.
Don’t get me wrong, they are adorable. But after that, I wasn’t opposed to letting the cat in to chase the reptiles.
And I’m pretty sure no geckos were harmed in the writing of this post, but you’d have to talk to the feline himself to be sure.