Coming back to my small Tennessee town after months in Spain has been a lot of things, but the most unexpected? The sheer audacity of the local wildlife. Ants crash my yoga sessions, mosquitoes treat me like a buffet, and I’ve developed a new skill set in snake awareness. It’s not that I didn’t have nature in Spain, it’s just that over there, it seemed perfectly content to keep a respectful distance.
The bugs here? Relentless. Unapologetic. Bullies. They don’t just exist; they seek you out. I roll out my yoga mat on the porch, ready to channel my inner Zen goddess… and within two minutes, ants have decided to join my flow. By “join,” I mean invade. At this point, I don’t know if I’m doing downward dog or an impromptu bug rescue mission.
And it’s not just the ants. In my small town, you’re always on edge, scanning for snakes in the grass, dodging dive-bombing wasps, and praying the mosquito that just landed on your arm doesn’t have friends nearby. Bugs will literally fly into your mouth mid-sentence because they’re curious. About what, exactly? My lunch? My will to live?
In Spain, it’s… different. I don’t see nearly as much wildlife, and that’s probably because I’m usually in cities where it’s all cobblestones and cafés, not exactly prime real estate for a snake den. Even when I’ve gone hiking there, we never had to worry about what creatures were following us. The lizard sunbathing on a rock? Cute. The occasional cockroach in the kitchen? Annoying, yes, but at least it’s not trying to wrestle me for my yoga mat.
It’s funny, though, moving abroad gave me all these romanticized ideas about “connecting with nature,” but being home has reminded me: I like my nature curated. Give me the sound of cicadas in the distance, not a mosquito in my ear. Let me look at a butterfly, not accidentally inhale it.
Honestly, in Spain, I’d joke that I’d rather have a pet cockroach who doesn’t pay rent but at least cleans up crumbs. Here? I’ve got a full cast of uninvited roommates, and none of them contribute anything except anxiety. Y’all, the bugs here are so bad that we actually have a bug truck that drives by and sprays the streets. I wish I were exaggerating. And the worst part? It’s not like the ice cream truck with the cute little bells, it’s this big, loud truck that buzzes past like it’s on a mission to gas a mosquito army.
Reverse culture shock lesson of the day? Home might be where the heart is… but it’s also where the bugs are, and they’re running the place like they own it.
Love always,
American Girl Meets World
