It happens every time I visit San Miguel de Allende. And the fact that I have been here for three weeks without it happening was a bit -- well, unnerving.
When you travel, there are experiences you can predict with confidence. The rabbit risotto at Enoteca Pinchiorri will be superb. There will be a car waiting for me at the airport if I stay at the St. James Club. It will rain in Dublin.
I have already told you about the various attractions that draw immense crowds of tourists to San Miguel de Allende. There is something for everyone here.
I, of course, anticipate the chamber music festival, some moderately good food, and a month of relaxation.
Last night I cooked up a pork loin with snow peas, basil, serrano chiles, onion, and pine nuts with a balsamic reduction. All of this was going to be served on a bed of whole wheat spaghetti. But, in my morning haste, I had grabbed a packet of gluten-free whole grain spaghetti. Because the spaghetti was as bad as it sounds, it made a quick trip to the garbage pail.
That left quite a pile of dishes to wash. By the time I had finished, I left them in the drainer to air dry and headed off to bed.
This morning, while cooking up my oatmeal, I began the small task of emptying the drainer. I picked up one bowl -- and there it was. What I had been expecting for the past three weeks.
A scorpion. Napping on the colander. Probably, resting after a night of eating cockroaches and other delectable insects. At least, the scorpion was making better use of the colander than I did last night.
On each of my visits to San Miguel de Allende I have seen scorpions. August is in the midst of the rainy season here. That brings out insects that attract the scorpions.
On one visit, I found nine scorpions in the casita. That was the trip where I first discovered scorpions can deliver the equivalent of a wasp sting with that tail they flail about when confronted.
I admire scorpions. They are wondrously-made killing machines. Everything about them works in their favor when seeking a feast.
But, as wondrously-made as they are, I do not need them lurking about in the casita. So, back to its maker it was sent.
Having seen my first scorpion, I will now revert to my usual techniques of avoiding another sting. Double-checking my shoes. Looking under the covers and sheets before I slip into bed. Shaking my clothes to knock off any unwanted hitchhikers.
Every time I write about scorpions, some people react as if IS terrorists are hiding in my house. They are just scorpions. For some reason, people never fear living places with yellow jackets. Or hornets. Or spiders. Or maybe they do.
The delights of living in Mexico far outweigh any perceived downside from scorpions, snakes, or giant huntsman spiders. For me, they are part of the fascinating mural that is now my home.
After all, they are merely inevitable.
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