Our seasons are upside down in Montevideo, Uruguay. The palo borracho trees lining the avenues splash into impressionistic rosy bloom in mid-February, summoning sun-parched holidaymakers back to the city from the beach resorts. The days are getting shorter, deserted offices and stores open up again, and stationers’ shops buzz with mums and kids buying the latest fad in schoolbags and felt tips. A week after the schools open, the clocks go back, and yet another hour of sunshine is lost.

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And those prone to allergies begin to sneeze. Their eyes ooze and their eyelashes stick together. They have difficulty breathing, and although it is still warm, they stay indoors, their doors and windows closed.

The palo borracho (literally ‘drunken pole’ in Spanish, botanic name ceiba speciosa) is related to the kapok and baobab trees, and is native to southern Paraguay and Brazil, and northern Argentina. Surprisingly, it’s not the fibre content of the palo borracho which causes so much grief, but the flower.

In English, its name is far more genteel: the floss silk tree. There are various theories about its Spanish name: some say that it resembles a drunkard because when it reaches up to its full height of 75 feet, it can’t stand up straight, and the top of the trunk bends. Another is the ‘broad in the beam’ theory: its girth can extend to six feet. It is also known as the palo barrigudo (pot-bellied pole) or palo botella (bottle pole).

The swollen trunk and dangerously pointed thick spikes covering it and spreading along the smaller branches store water to feed the tree when rain is scarce.

In winter the palo borracho looks menacing: bare and studded. In early spring – September – the first leaves begin to bud. By November it bears fruit, and huge round pods like cotton bolls dangle from its branches, eventually rupturing to release a soft silky fibre swaddling shiny dark seeds. By midsummer the massive trees are ready to burst into bloom, but they hold back for several weeks until suddenly, within the space of a few days, they are covered with huge hibiscus-like flowers which last until late autumn.

And when the blossom fades, so do the allergies. Maybe the Uruguayans should have a proverb: ‘Floss silk summons snuffles.’