Mar Del Plata is a juxtaposition of almost-paradise and public not-giving-a-fuckness. They have plenty of beaches that would be wonderful if not for the layers of rubbish almost completely covering the sand. They have streets that would be pleasant to walk down if it wasn't for the holes and shittily kept public spaces. And they have waterfront buildings that look like they were designed well and then completely misinterpreted by the public. The MDQ waterfront could be really nice, but years of use as an open air urinal and grafitti practice ground have turned it into a largely deserted concrete disappointment.
That said, it's perfect for parkour, so that's what I did.
About three days into my stay with Anna I decided to go check out the parkour scene at the aforementioned waterfront. I was having one of those training sessions where everything falls into place and you manage to progress ever so slightly, but still quite satisfactorily. I was feeling good. At one point I got a large precision gap and a bunch of schoolgirls went 'oooo' which tickled my inner pedophile to no end. Then as I was considering heading back I spotted a nice cat grab I thought I could get.
The problem with the cat grab was that I could get it. Easily. So I didn't make an effort.
I was standing on the rail of a balcony, facing a bare, badly finished concrete pillar (of the aforementioned open-air urinal composure), with about two meters between it and I. A simple jump and I grabbed the rim of the pillar and swung my knee firmly against the jagged corner of bare concrete with a wet sickening thud.
This was one of those wounds that takes a second to register, but that you're fiercely conscious of.
I remember looking down at my leg and thinking 'that's really going to hurt' about a second before the pain hit me. And it fucken hurt. It started as a dull heat in my knee and then, as I attempted to walk, quickly shot up my leg into my diaphragm and caused me to stop breathing. I dropped my ass onto a nearby ledge and stuggled to maintain control of my bowels.
When vision returned I rolled up my pant leg to have a look at the damage, and was pleased to see that I had used the piss soaked bare concrete pillar to tear a hole about an inch long in my kneecap, down to the bone. It steadily produced blood at more than a dribble, less than a stream.
It's about this point where I immediately lose all faith in my cheaply-bought travel insurance. I'm one of those people who will find the cheapest entry-level insurance to get my ass across a border. For this trip I found World Nomads. This is by no means a plug, but it was cheap and covered the stuff I was most likely to kill myself by so I got it. I'm pretty sure they don't cover Parkour.So I sucked it up to an extent and started the trek home, it felt better already, maybe it wasn't as bad as all that.
On the way back I passed two dudes practicing precision jumps with horrible form - they must have just been starting. Not being one to pass up an opportunity to talk parkour, I joined in. Ignoring my new wound I jumped the precision gap that they were practicing and immediately regretted it. It was as bad as all that. I threw some broken spanish at them between winces of brain pain and beat a weak retreat.
When I got back to the apartment, Anna was teaching her maths kid maths so I made my way out of sight and tended to my knee. It defiantly wouldn't stop bleeding. I tried packing it with gauze, raising it on the bed and lying on the floor, even holding a flame close to it in an attempt to coagulate the blood somehow. After about three hours of continual slow seepage I was out of ideas.
Then some friends came around to say hi and conveniently found me lying on the floor, knee propped against the kitchen table and blood dribbling towards my crotch. And they suggested sugar.
Apparently this is an old trick used a lot in Argentina and (according to google) other parts of the world ie South Africa and Cameroon. You pack an open wound full of sugar and it draws the fluids out, presumably preventing bacteria from getting a foothold, preventing infection and reducing heal time. Incidentally it leaves a nasty scar but it's pretty reliable.
So I spent the next two weeks routinely packing my wound with sugar from the kitchen and then rewrapping it. And holy fuck if it didnt work! Within two weeks I was looking at the final stages of scarring and had no sign of infection. Unfortunately it took me the remainder of a month to get the use of my leg back again - I think I must have seriously injured the ligaments behind the kneecap because I couldn't walk on the leg for at least two weeks, and then spent two more limping quite heavily.
And it was because of this silly jump that my three or four day stay in MDQ turned into a month long saga. Fucken lazy.
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