No matter what soup we had it vaguely tasted like chicken and had similar hue. We all ended up with bites. A German called them fleas, we said flies. No matter what insect repellent we used we got nabbed. They had a penchant for elbows to wrists, under watch and wedding ring, knees to ankles. Anne had a call of nature en route down from the Sun Gate and in twenty seconds had nineteen bites on her nether region, we took her word for the number, but no reason to doubt witnessing her discomfiture. We soon learned to judge how long anyone had been in the town by their bite marks. These little creatures would appear with no noise and the first you knew was a tiny pin prick of blood. Over twenty four hours the bite would take on a life of its own, the itching phenomenal. I itched on a daily basis two weeks later.