Exotic living is exotic–birds, fruit, plants, insects, all of it. Ants have been part of daily life since embarking on this adventure. (I’m so petty I won’t even bother with a blood-sucker nod here.) In Ubud (Bali) ants ruled the bathroom: they’d come out to play at night and be all over everything in the morning. Some little flying shits were attracted to the bedroom light in Bedugul (also Bali), so my sarong (Thanks, Bridget!) was shoved into the crack in the middle of the door. This was the first of the “bug barricades”. The second followed a morning in Kep when upon waking we met a “bazillionapede” with a coat of armor that might have protected it from a squish by scooter were one to try (this has since been a subject of much debate). Neither of these bug barricaded rooms hosted mosquito nets. Our room on Phu Quoc not only had this extra layer of protection, but also luxurious air conditioning! Despite this, I really wanted the windows open when the temperature went down the first night. I learned my lesson quickly when that turned out to be an invitation for everybody to hang out in our room. This also marks the creation of the “bug catchin’ cups”, because no one wants to murder unnecessarily. (Except mosquitoes, who can get it any time. I’m counting bodies.) So, the windows were closed, aircon turned on, and our third bug barricade erected.

Rainy season is fast approaching in Vietnam. This was evidenced in powerful storms that would literally ebb and flow throughout nighttimes. One storm began during dinner. There were frog-filled lotus ponds in the yard that had overflowed, and our normally shy amphibian neighbors were now inhabiting the walkway home. Of course I stopped to say hello to every one of them, happily ignorant of their having received the secret invite to our room that evening. Perhaps I was handing it out, come to think of it.

Bug barricade up and mosquito net down, we readied for bed while the rain pounded and pulsed against our home. I heard a scratching at the barricade and delightedly announced to Dave that it was effective! So of course he peeked to see who was trying to get in. A wee frog, attracted to the cool tile in our air conditioned room, was surely seeking respite from the muggy wet outside. The barricade withstood its advances, maybe at first. Maybe this was already the second frog. Because as soon as our lights were off we heard the hopping around. Not just hopping, either–lightly jumping headfirst into stuff by diminutive bodies! These bitty thumps encouraged a discussion about what to do. They couldn’t really bother us, though they might leap into the mosquito net a few times. What if they got into our luggage and peed or something? Frogs always pee, I remember fondly from my country upbringing. In the end, naked and giggling, we chased down–holy hell could they leap!–and caught two little frogs in our bug catchin cups. We then rummaged through everything they’d had access to, satisfying ourselves that we wouldn’t be transporting live animals through Vietnam.

Then came the question of how to relocate these two tiny party crashers. As they sat under their traps, still against the cool tile they’d so bravely reached, it occurred to us that more may be waiting beyond the bug-cum-frog-barricade. The rain had waxedand waned in this time, but hadn’t ever fully abated. When we finally broke down the wall and opened the door, me tittering in anticipation, there were no frogs impatiently awaiting entry. I wouldn’t call it disappointment but I’d absolutely had a more impressive sight in mind. And so, without ceremony, our slightly unwelcome houseguests were gently returned to their home, and the bug barricade re-erected.