We Came with High Hopes and Dreams and Left with Fleas

You get what you deserve when you ignore the gospel of Tripadvisor

Ahhh spring break. You twinkle in the distance — a glimmering star full of beach-side cat naps, frolicking children and colorful, umbrella-adorned elixirs.

You charm us with your promises of rest and relaxation under swaying palm trees and gently, lapping azure waters. Warm beachside service and bountiful swim-up bars litter our dreams and stoke our imaginations.

We made it — to a beautiful, remote island of the Bahamas that took three flights to get to, but looks like the beach from The Beach, which should have signaled to us to set it ablaze and hijack a boat to escape like proper adults.

But we were not that smart.

There we were, just my family, our dear friends, the warm sun kissing — rather frying our shoulders, the dazzling Caribbean sea — and hordes of hungry, buzzing, biting, flying, jumping bugs.

The reviews warned us. The people writing them articulated their plight about the undeniable terror they experienced. We laughed at their inexperience. We live in Texas. We are not strangers to biting bugs of all shapes and sizes. Ever hear the slogan ‘Texas tough’? Bring it on.

But nothing could have prepared us for the ferocity of the Bahamian sand fly. Or sand flea. We’re not entirely sure which and both are equally horrifying in different ways.

According to CNN: sand flies are like mini mosquitos on steroids. They transmit a super cute parasite called leishmaniasis (let the record show that ‘mania’ is part of the word) and can leave disfiguring lesions that last months. So lovely!

Then there’s the charming sand flea: According to the Cleveland Clinic:the sand flea is actually a tiny blood-sucking crustacean, not a bug! These minuscule dickwads bore holes into your skin where the females deposit eggs and enjoy a bottomless buffet of platelets and plasma.

They remain rent-free epidermal residents for roughly six weeks and then as a parting gift, their sweet little larvae hatch and fall out of the holes their mama made in your skin! How’s that for your next party trick?

For some reason my friend and I were the flea/fly’s food of choice. Maybe our blood is sublimely saccharine just like our personalities — or maybe our spouses had built-in protection thanks to their bounty of voluminous body hair, or the fact that they were in the water with the children the entire time.

Hey, someone had to keep watch from the beach and ensure everyone was adequately hydrated with rum punches. Life is hard!

We’ll never fully understand why we were the flea/fly’s meal of choice day-after-day — all we know is that scratching at our blazing skin while googling our way down a dark rabbit hole of parasitic skin diseases was not a fun way to spend six nights.

Shaving our legs went out the window on day two due to an unnavigable obstacle course of bites. Any accidental brush with a blade would recreate the shower scene from Psycho — and that seemed like a cruel thing to do to the cleaning staff. Perhaps a layer of hair was just what we needed for protection — so we embraced our inner sasquatch with open arms, or legs.

We raided the hotel’s gift shop, consulted with the ladies who worked there, and came out with armfuls of lotions and potions including military-grade bug spray. ’Twas not the time for natural remedies.

We salvaged what we could of the trip despite our sleepless nights and burning skin. We watched our kids and husbands splash around in the crystal waters of the Caribbean Sea. After ensuring everyone was adequately hydrated, we made our way into the water — not to snorkel and frolic — but to ease the sting of the bites. It offered temporary relief.

No part of my body was spared — from the tops of my ears to the bottoms of my toes — these blood-thirsty critters had it out for me, whatever the flying crustacean they were.

If the bites were from sand flies (see Shithead above) — as long as I don’t develop leishmaniasis (fun as it would be to tell my friends), I should go on to live a relatively normal life.

If they are in fact from sand fleas (see Dickwad), then in five short weeks I may get to witness the miracle of life when the eggs hatch and the babies jump out of my skin, along with my dignity and whatever I ate for lunch.

Am I a delicate little snowflake who doesn’t handle discomfort very well? Obviously. Did I learn a valuable lesson? You bet your flea-ridden ass I did.

Next time you read a review on Tripadvisor that warns of biting bugs — do not dismiss it and bring a scuba suit to wear day and night. It will make for some badass photo opps.

I think for the next spring break we’ll take to the snow, so I can write about snow diseases.