Leapin' Lizards

 The Lizard that was Too Afraid to Leap and Refused to Deviate from its Path didn't roll off the tongue quite as easily, despite it being a more accurate title for the following story, so I went with something catchier.

Yesterday, some friends invited me to a barbecue in nice, wooded area near Vitoria-Gasteiz.  While walking the trail from where we parked the car to the place where the barbecue was going to take place I was attacked by several butterflies. When I say attacked,  I mean that the butterflies crossed my path at a distance of less than 18 inches.  I had never seen so many wild butterflies in my life. Every single time it happened, I jumped, flinched, and squeaked, much to the amusement of the others, who then proceeded to tease me endlessly about the attacking butterflies. "Butterflies don't bite," they told me. "Maybe not," I replied, "but they are big and fly right at me and I don't like it."

As the afternoon went on, I grew more accustomed to the butterflies, and no longer flinched every time they fluttered by gracefully.  I even got to the point where I almost wished one would land near me so I could get a closer look at it.  Little did I know that it wouldn't be a butterfly that I would be getting up close and personal with.

After eating the deliciously barbecued lunch, in true Spanish fashion, we decided to take a siesta.  We took our positions in the shade of one of the nearby trees and prepared for a good nap. Unfortunately, the place I had chosen was the first to lose its shade. Not wanting to suffer a terrible sunburn, I decided to move and take my nap on a low wall a short distance from the others that had no chance of being in the sun.

We didn't end up taking real naps because there were a few of us and we decided that talking and trying to avoid the water being thrown on us by another friend were a better use of our time than taking a nap. Not wanting to lose my perfect perch in the shade atop the wall, I participated in the conversation from there.  During the conversation, I noticed a small (five to six inch long) lizard walking along the ledge towards me.  I wasn't afraid of or bothered by the lizard in any way. In fact, I was rather keen on watching the lizard.

Now, I know you're thinking "Rita, you're not afraid of a lizard walking towards you, but you flinch at a butterfly. These things don't make sense."  Actually, they do. You see, butterflies fearlessly fly at you with no regards for your feelings, but lizards, on the other hand, run away at the slightest movement, making them notoriously difficult to take pictures of.  I was afraid of the butterflies because they weren't afraid of me, but I wasn't afraid of the lizard because it was afraid of me. You can't be afraid of something if that thing is afraid of you, it's just that simple.

So there I was, watching the lizard inch closer to me, skittering back to its starting point on the ledge with each little movement of mine.  Eventually, the slight gestures and movements no longer bothered the lizard and it got closer than ever.  One of my friends said something, and I turned my head to respond, sending the lizard back once again to its starting point.  It was then that I realized that the lizard wanted to walk precisely where I was sitting.  The lizard could have gone behind me, or it could have climbed to the vertical part of the wall and gone around me, but no, it was determined to walk in a straight line without deviating from its path.  Being as accustomed as I am to getting lost, I completely understood the lizard's sentiment of not wanting to deviate, but it would have been easier for everyone involved if it had just gone around.

After a standoff with the lizard of more than 20 minutes, I decided to take the high road and let the lizard walk in the place where I was sitting.  Plus, I was curious to see if my theory was correct.  I jumped off the wall and joined the others, keeping an eye on my little friend to see what it would do.  Lo and behold, I was right. After just a few seconds, I watched, amused, as the lizard scurried directly over the place in which I had been sitting and continue on its merry way.  Why was it necessary that the lizard walk exactly where I was sitting? I'm sure I'll never know.

This is not the lizard in question, but it is the only picture I have of a lizard of the same species.

Do you Know the Muffin Man?

The muffin man? The muffin man! Do you know the muffin man, who lives in a small town in Spain?

I do not personally know the muffin man, but I have met him once.  For spring break, I went with my friend J to stay at his family's house in a small town in rural Zamora, Spain.  When  I say small town, I mean a town with a population  slightly larger than my graduating class in high school. Knowing I'm a city-slicker, J was concerned that I wouldn't enjoy my stay in a such tiny town surrounded by nature. I, on the other hand, was looking forward to relaxing in the country, taking walks and reading books.

The town

The first evening, we took a walk to the nearby train station and some of the surrounding countryside.  Looking at the fields and flowers was worth the freezing cold we had to deal with.

Don't worry. This section of track was no longer in use.

The next morning, as I was trying to force myself out of the warmth of the pile of blankets on my bed and into the cold air to start the day, I heard a long, low whistle. Knowing that we were relatively close to the train station I assumed that it was the morning train alerting us of its presence.  When my friend awoke, I excitedly told him that I could hear the train whistle.

"No, you didn't," he replied.

"Yes. Listen, there it is again."

"That's not the train," he said. "That's the baker."

"The baker?" I asked, unsure if he was telling the truth or just pulling my leg. "What, does the baker have an alarm that goes off that tells the town when there is fresh bread or something?"

"Not exactly. That's the sound of the car horn telling you that the baker has arrived in town with his van full of bread. If you want bread, you just go outside and buy it from him. Or, you can go to his house and buy the bread from there."

Now, the concept of buying bread from the van of a roving baker was completely foreign to me, but is an everyday occurrence in small Spanish towns, so you can imagine the look of both disbelief and enthusiasm that crossed my face at that point.  Excitedly, I asked if we could buy bread from the van at least once during our stay.  J smiled and said that if I wanted some, all I had to do was go outside and buy it.

For breakfast that morning, and for the next several mornings, we had some of the most delicious muffins I had ever eaten. With only one muffin remaining, I asked J where we could get more. He told me that if I wanted more, I could either go to the baker's house or wait for the van to come around the following day.  Despite the town having only two main streets, I knew that with my sense of direction I probably wouldn't be able to find the baker's house and make my way back to his house without losing a couple of hours, so I decided that waiting for the van was the best option.  Nervous about taking on this endeavor, I asked J where the van would be and at approximately what time it would arrive so I would be ready and we wouldn't have to go a day without the muffins.  He told me that the baker usually arrived before 11am and that I should first go left upon exiting the house and if he wasn't there, to go to the right.

The following morning, I woke up early to make sure that I didn't miss the arrival of the muffin man.  As I was getting dressed, I heard the sound of the car horn. I hastily threw on the rest of my clothes, grabbed my wallet and ran out the door. I looked to the left and there was no van. Then I looked to the right. Still no van. Worried that I may have missed the van and therefore my chance to eat more delicious muffins, I decided to walk a little further up the street to see if I could find it. When I reached the intersection at the end of the street and still didn't see the van, I felt a bit discouraged, so I decided to return home, grab my camera and take a walk around town.  Not wanting to go back down the same street because I didn't want the old man sitting outside to think I was stupid, I took a different route.  I just had to keep telling myself that if I turned left three more times, I would make it.

Upon arriving at the house, my friend asked where I had gone. I told him that I had gone to get muffins, but that I couldn't find the van. He laughed and told me that the baker was probably still a ways away and that I would know it when he arrived. I decided to chance it and go on with my walk as planned and hoped that I would find the muffin man while out exploring. As I left the house, I saw a white van parked up the street and suddenly heard a long, loud blast of a car horn.  One by one, the residents of the town began leaving their houses and walking towards the van. I joined the procession nervously. As the people were congregating around the van, I felt uncomfortable as I  could feel all of their eyes looking at the giant foreigner. Not only was I not from there, but I was dressed as a tourist with my university sweatshirt, backpack, and camera and I was at least a full head taller than everyone else.  Then, I asked for two bags of muffins, which seemed to surprise everyone, but especially the baker.  I quickly left and took my treasure to the house so I could get on with my exploration of the town.

Could I be more of a tourist?