Stitches
El Campamento de Balsas...
...is a weekend where very many youth and otherwise gather together at the parana river with rafts that they've built and float, paddle, or by other means propel themselves upon the raft down the river.
i managed to get myself into a group with the most sofisticated balsa: it had five sets of pedals connected by chains to two propellers out the back. most of the other balsas, in comparison, were only barrels with wood or bamboo across the top, operated by makeshift paddles. we were obviously the best balsa.
however, despite the incredible design, and overall good looks, the thing we were missing was power. it would have taken about fifty horspower to operate that beast correctly, and at the desired speed. therefore, we had a rather leisurely float down the parana river.
but thats not my story.
in the wonderful leisure that we had, we often swam to cool off from the scorching sun (and to escape the balsa, because we also overlooked the fact that painting a balsa black would not improve our situation with the scorching sun) one of these times after i went swimming in the wonderful wet water, i desired to climb back out to bask in the scorching sun on the black balsa, and since we had no ladder(another small oversight) it was custom to clamber out wherever and however one wanted. i chanced to elect the worst place, however, and in the process of exiting, i quite soundly gashed a wound in my right knee upon a metal flange protruding from the balsa. upon gaining the balsa, i examined my wound, and to my utter shock (literally) i was met with a hole in my leg that permitted me a startlingly clear view of my vastus medialis (a leg muscle) and a rather large tributary of the my greater saphenous vein whose specific name escapes me at this time. (and google does not render) wherefore, i commenced to tap the knee of one of my balsa companions, and ask her where the first aid kit was. to which she turned around to see what damage i had done to myself, and nearly fell quite off the balsa. but she recovered, and we cleaned it up, and hailed a motorboat of the campamento overseers, and they whisked me off to a bigger motorboat which contained a doctor. and there on the boat, on the side of the river, he kindly sewed three stitches into my leg, rather without anaesthesia, (a might painful, i say!) and i had a faster ride the rest of that day in the motor boat. this was the first day of the campamento, november 10.
today, november 20, my friend sabri was kind enough to help me by removing the stitches, and making sure everything was ok. i am a healed, and stitch-free man again, and am again ship shape upon my knee.
following are photos, (only of after the stitch, christian felt shame to take photos as i was languishing upon the balsa at first) of my knee and the escapade.
the cleaning in the morning. to make sure i wasnt gangrenous.
a wonderful display, no?
...is a weekend where very many youth and otherwise gather together at the parana river with rafts that they've built and float, paddle, or by other means propel themselves upon the raft down the river.
i managed to get myself into a group with the most sofisticated balsa: it had five sets of pedals connected by chains to two propellers out the back. most of the other balsas, in comparison, were only barrels with wood or bamboo across the top, operated by makeshift paddles. we were obviously the best balsa.
however, despite the incredible design, and overall good looks, the thing we were missing was power. it would have taken about fifty horspower to operate that beast correctly, and at the desired speed. therefore, we had a rather leisurely float down the parana river.
but thats not my story.
in the wonderful leisure that we had, we often swam to cool off from the scorching sun (and to escape the balsa, because we also overlooked the fact that painting a balsa black would not improve our situation with the scorching sun) one of these times after i went swimming in the wonderful wet water, i desired to climb back out to bask in the scorching sun on the black balsa, and since we had no ladder(another small oversight) it was custom to clamber out wherever and however one wanted. i chanced to elect the worst place, however, and in the process of exiting, i quite soundly gashed a wound in my right knee upon a metal flange protruding from the balsa. upon gaining the balsa, i examined my wound, and to my utter shock (literally) i was met with a hole in my leg that permitted me a startlingly clear view of my vastus medialis (a leg muscle) and a rather large tributary of the my greater saphenous vein whose specific name escapes me at this time. (and google does not render) wherefore, i commenced to tap the knee of one of my balsa companions, and ask her where the first aid kit was. to which she turned around to see what damage i had done to myself, and nearly fell quite off the balsa. but she recovered, and we cleaned it up, and hailed a motorboat of the campamento overseers, and they whisked me off to a bigger motorboat which contained a doctor. and there on the boat, on the side of the river, he kindly sewed three stitches into my leg, rather without anaesthesia, (a might painful, i say!) and i had a faster ride the rest of that day in the motor boat. this was the first day of the campamento, november 10.
today, november 20, my friend sabri was kind enough to help me by removing the stitches, and making sure everything was ok. i am a healed, and stitch-free man again, and am again ship shape upon my knee.
following are photos, (only of after the stitch, christian felt shame to take photos as i was languishing upon the balsa at first) of my knee and the escapade.
the cleaning in the morning. to make sure i wasnt gangrenous.
a wonderful display, no?
posted by dey at 10:40 AM
3 Comments:
just another stunt to attract the ladies.
i agree
No, no--he's just a clumsy old fool. Can't do anything right. Always making up elaborate excuses for his extrodinary stupidity. i KNOW what happened. He managed to stab through a paper plate when spearing a particiularly delicious piece of fried pork. The "fork" was actually a hunting knife, but he didn't notice this until long long long after.
Dave! I want to improvise!
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