Tonga Travel Lessons: What a Mosquito Can Teach Us about Travel

Tongan kids just hanging out

My Mosquito Guru

I hate mosquitoes. Really hate them. But unfortunately, the hatred is not returned. Mosquitos LOVE me. They will often ignore those I am with to concentrate on draining me as efficiently, and ruthlessly as possible.

So I hate mosquitos. I understand that this does not make me unique by any stretch of the imagination. After all, I am certain that even nuns, teddy bears, and Santa Claus hate mosquitoes.

But the intensity of my ire often feels one-of-a-kind strong when I am forced to marinate myself in DEET (which is to say, cover myself with a sticky layer of poison) and try to ignore the buzzing in my ears as the little vampires hunt for an undefended, un-DEETed spot to chomp on.

If only they would leave me alone, I could sit around a campfire with my friends discussing the great questions of life. Such as: if Darwin was so smart, why haven't mosquitoes evolved so that their bites do not result in a welt that makes me scratch like a homeless dog? Wouldn't you think that would be an adaptive advantage?

If I ever run across a magic genie who offers me three wishes, the first would certainly be death to all mosquitoes. And I don't care if that means trout and bat populations would suffer as I wipe out a major food source. I appreciate all those creatures do for us in eating as many mosquitoes as possible, but really — if they were better at their job, I wouldn't need to waste a wish getting rid of mosquitoes anyway!

And don't even get me started on malaria and dengue.

I really, really hate mosquitoes. All mosquitoes.

So imagine my surprise one day while I was traveling in Tonga when I came to peaceful terms with one of these hated creatures. Here's what happened: a lone mosquito found its way into the bathroom of my hotel and homed in on me as I got out of the shower. I saw it coming and knew it was either it or me. I prepared myself for battle.

My opening salvo was a half-hearted swing I took at the little bugger as it approached me. I knew the swing wouldn't kill it, but I needed to distract it enough to attach my towel firmly around my waist and so I could then devote both hands to the single most deadly move in the world of mosquito combat: the death clap.

However, after my initial swing, the mosquito backed off! I could just imagine it shrugging its tiny little mosquito shoulders and saying, "OK. You don't want me to bite you? 'S all good!" In my experience, mosquitoes are like hell hounds, paparazzi, and telemarketers. Once they set you in their sights, you either have to give in or kill them. But not this mosquito. It was, by far, the most agreeable mosquito I have ever encountered.

Had it been a typical American mosquito, it would have continued to pursue me, and I would have ended up wiping its smashed little corpse off my hand and flushing it down the toilet. In Tonga, I did something I thought was impossible for me: I spared the life of a bloodsucker.

I just let it fly away.

How I Learned to Just Chill When the Ferries Won’t Run: the Tonga Travel Lesson

Several days after this encounter, the entire Tongan ferry system shut down for a couple of days. Lots of travelers, both Tongan and foreign, were left stranded wherever they were. (The country's airlines were already completely overbooked due to a very large Catholic conference being held in the capital.)

At one point, a ferry worker addressed a large group of would-be travelers and informed them that a boat many people were hoping to ride to one of the outer islands would not, in fact, be operating.

"Do you know when it will leave?" asked someone in line.

"Well, it will not leave today," answered the ferry employee.

"Will it leave tomorrow?"

"Oh yes, it should certainly be ready to go by tomorrow."

"But yesterday you said it would certainly leave today!"

The ferry employee shrugged and walked away.

All the North Americans and Europeans within earshot threw luggage, cursed, and generally expressed their discontent — exactly the way we are taught in kindergarten should be avoided at all costs.

The Tongans, on the other hand, shrugged, chatted with anyone who was willing, spontaneously produced enough food to constitute a small feast out of nowhere (all Tongans seem to have the near-mystical ability to produce food at any given time — and they are more than happy to share if you’re not the jerk swearing and throwing your suitcase around), and did their best to turn their luggage into makeshift beds.

"If the ferry goes tomorrow, it will go tomorrow," they said.

"If it goes the next day, then it will go the next day."

It makes me wonder. If we in the U.S. lived life just a little more chill, would our mosquitoes take a cue from us?

One thing is for sure — Tongan mosquitoes live longer than American mosquitoes.

Because travel lets us learn even from our enemies.