The attack of the Spanish mosquito

I never saw it, I never heard it.
Then the spots appeared and the swelling down my right side, including my foot, this being a problem when I am hiking 6 hours per day.
I limp off to the pharmacist who confirms that it is an allergic reaction to a mosquito bite and is so impressed she calls her colleagues and encourages me to take off my shirt so they can peer and all agree it is a mosquito.
I had suspected a food allergy or maybe the industrial waste looking soap I had used at the last albergue, so this is actually a relief diagnosis.
I am given medication with strict instructions to stay out of the sun and to avoid alcohol.
I am walking the Camino in early summer and have no chance of keeping out of the sun; Tuesday onwards is the meseta and forecast high twenties every day with no shade.
And no alcohol? I compromised and had only one glass for the next two days.
Anyway, I have made it to Burgos, have met lovely people and have only a first world mozzie bite to complain about.
Such is life.
I only wish I had a photo of the mozzie who did it, splattered on a wall.

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