Day 8

They have blistered over my legs, my back, my arms, my neck, and my face. At first, it was from the ants, they came at night, and with acidity, they sprayed my legs as I stirred in half sleep. A whole army it may have been, with me blocking their nighttime walkways, for now, I have hundreds of bright red bumps dalmatian-dotted across my body.

Then came the mosquitoes. I thought they’d gone for Wiggy at first, as for the first few days I’d had no symptoms. But then, it was in Damazan, sitting in the baking hot night in my white bikini top and still sweating all over. There they were and they took to my flesh to feast. These bites were awful last night. As I lay and listened to the endless floor of crickets, the flowing river, and Wiggy dropping off to sleep, the itch came. With satisfaction and guilty thoughts of Wiggy reprimanding me, I scratched my dry skin and drew blood. The bites feel like a new layer covering my skin with a lumpy laminate texture. It’s horrible but lovely to scratch them. Yet, this is not how to deal with insect bites. Sat at our dinner bench, I’m now armed with Anthisan cream and rub it in rather than scratch. 

With mountains showing on the horizon for the first time since entering France, and a low orange sun bouncing off our visors, we arrived in the early evening. Our camp is set next to a river that cuts between low-lying mountains covered in evergreen pines, beech, birch, and poplar. So, perfect moso climate and we’ve had the mosquito burning coils out while cooking tonight. 

When we arrived I was drenched in sweat that had nothing to do with the heat. I knew the low blood sugar was coming as we approached, but we were so close that I wanted to arrive before correcting it. Getting off my bike, I was already hazy and exhausted. I lay down on the grass in the shade of a big maple tree and stared up at the vast canopy of leaves, while Wiggy got me Kendal mint cake and water. As I rested, he met our host and booked us in. Our host is fascinating and very sweet. Slim and aged, the hair on his head looks like a soft and fluffy beard. Wiggy described him as eccentric, I found that he was gentle and unusual. He wanted to know the fine details of our trip with enthusiasm and rapt attention, despite us mainly communicating in two different languages and sign language. 

It’s now time to pack up and get ready for bed. Fingers crossed that the ants and mosquitoes are elsewhere preoccupied tonight.