Bzzzzz

All my life one insect has plagued me. One insect has stalked me to the ends of the earth. One insect, not even a penny big, has favored me over countless friends and family members.

The mosquito.

Or 'moustiques' as they're known in France, which somehow gives them a slightly sexy air, like the name of some all-girl rock band that wears ripped fishnet tights and smeared black eyeliner. Yet in reality, they're anything but. In fact, I'd go so far as to call them evil.

Once on a camping trip with an ex I was bit 50 times to his one. One! If that isn't favoritism, I don't know what is. My first introduction to these miniature vampires, was when my parents and I would go canoeing in Canada in the summer. We would have to don mosquito net hats, and dad would pay me a nickel for every one I killed, ensuing an insect blood bath that I'm sure the mosquito world holds against me to this day.

When mom and I discussed which of the two paths to St. Gilles to take, we chose the one that skirted the canals, as there was talk of a hoard of man-eating mosquitoes frequenting the water route. Well, I don't even want to imagine what the blood sucking maniacs must have looked like on that trail, as what followed on our 'lesser mosquito route' might best be referred to as a massacre of skin... a blitzkrieg... an ambush attack!

I felt assaulted on all levels, unable to relax or take in the view. I just kept lamenting the fact that in my fever to lighten my pack, I'd left my bug repellent at home. The buzzing beasts were on my head, biting through my hat. They were covering my jacket, piercing through the thick fabric like sliding a knife through room temp butter. They were even accumulating on my behind and feasting like Americans at a Sizzler buffet!

So what did mom and I do when we arrived in St. Gilles after washing our clothes in the sink, taking hot showers, checking our feet for blisters and hunting down tomorrow's breakfast and lunch? We bought the most badass insect spray repellent money could buy.

Moustiques of France, you may have won this round, but tomorrow... tomorrow's another day.






Local color in Arles.



Les Alyscamps Abbey where the Arles pilgrim route begins.


Us at the start!








The last peaceful moment before the moustiques deluge begins. I feed a piece of precious olive bread to a starving mangy dog thinking it will bring good luck...


A hopeful sign as the scallop shell leads the way.


Less rustic signage but equally helpful.


Saint-Gilles-Du-Gard where pilgrims are greeted and get their stamp. I nurse my mosquito wounds at the hotel as mom collects ours.


A fellow pilgrim no doubt turned to stone as a way to deflect moustiques bites. No blood, no bite. Smart man.

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Location:St. Gilles, France