I don't care if my 11 year old homestay brother Augustin let one crawl up his bare arm a few weeks ago. Nor do I care that my Spanish school maestra Clarita subsequently informed me that it was just a harmless "alacrán" and that although its sting is painful, it definitely would not kill you.
What I do care about is that my Collins Gem spanish/english dictionary says an alacrán is a scorpion. And what I certainly did care about was that when I arrived back at my homestay this evening for my last night in San Pedro, there was one crawling along my bedroom wall.
What I do care about is that my Collins Gem spanish/english dictionary says an alacrán is a scorpion. And what I certainly did care about was that when I arrived back at my homestay this evening for my last night in San Pedro, there was one crawling along my bedroom wall.
Several swings of yesterdays Prensa Libra newspaper and a few stamps of my Merrell Goretex training shoe later, this particular alacrán/scorpion is dead and I am still alive. Unlikely to sleep tonight, but alive.
