I was slightly concerned about the pain from the blister on my left ankle so I popped along to the chemist to get something like an antibiotic in case my foot starts to develop gangrene. Usual problem was that the immaculate white-coated middle-aged woman didn’t speak English. So she asks the other assistant if she can interpret. She can’t but another customer pipes up sorry, only French. I immediately pick up on that and this customer gets involved. There is a big discussion with the French speaker telling me I need to drain the blister with a needle. The pharmacist and the customer decide they need to see the blister. I kick off my sandal and there is a collective “yeeuck” from both of them with much grimacing. Anyway, it does the trick – the pharmacist promptly dishes out some antibiotic cream.
It strikes me that every bit of weight I have sent home from my rucksack is being replaced by medicines.
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