The woman who runs the place we stay in was talking with us this morning and then looked over on the floor and said, "SPITFIRE!" and walked over to pick up a bug in a napkin. She threw it in the trash and I looked at Krista with wide eyes and mouthed, "Spitfire?" I could just imagine some bug that shot fire out of its snout or something.
Then the lady came back into the room and said, "It's spitfire season, you know. They're everywhere and they're quite hot."
"Hot?" I asked.
"Yeh. They're furry little guys but they sting. If you see a furry little bug, don't touch it."
Okay. You've got a deal.
Being in a new culture always makes you feel like a child. You don't even know if you can pick up a caterpillar, you're always looking the wrong way before you cross the street and you have to ask simple questions like, "What is vegamite, exactly?"