:: Need a tattoo? Diego´s your man ::
I decided on my second day in Buenos Aires that I was going to get my first tattoo. My Austrian travelling companion, Markus, and I stumbled upon a tattoo parlour in San Telmo, just next to Calle Defensa on the corner of Independencia. The owner Diego, a slim chap sporting a goatie and covered in tattoos and piercings, was charming and kind, so despite the language barrier, on a whim, Markus and I both got new piercings. What would one do without Google translate?
I played it safe, getting two in my ears; Markus got his neck pierced and insisted I film the whole thing. The experience was definitely worse for me than for him. My mother was sure I would die of blood poisoning from my new piercings, but, one week later and still very much alive, I decided that I could chance it getting a tattoo as well.
I’m sure I’m not alone in having always wanted to get a tattoo but having never known what to get, and I have been keen to make sure its not something too random because, obviously, its there for a pretty long time. An odd looking symbol from a scrapbook wasn’t going to cut it for me. But, just before I arrived in BA, I discovered my perfect image: the ’88’ butterfly, or mariposa, found at the Iguazu falls.
Beautiful, simple, and the year of my birth – it seemed fitting.
Having asked Diego to design it exactly the way I wanted, I returned alone a week later to get the tattoo on my left foot. Typically, I wasn’t in the best of states to begin with, nursing a particularly horrendous hangover from the night before having gone to bed at 8am the same morning, so I was feeling sick enough as it was before the procedure had even begun. Nevertheless, from Diego’s reassurances, I was sure it wouldn’t hurt too much.
I had brought a bottle of gin with me just in case, partly for the pain if there was to be any, partly for the hangover.
IT HURT. LOADS.
There is simply no way to overemphasise the pain of getting a tattoo onto your foot. It is 40 minutes of sheer hell. I hadn’t realised that drilling a needle directly onto BONE actually is quite painful. Plus, the tattoo was black and white, and getting white ink injected into your skin is supposed to be the most painful colour you can get! Splendid.
The gin was needed.
I’m sure Diego was quite amused as I intermittently took large swigs to take my mind off what was happening, and swore loudly at the ceiling until my throat stung. It didn’t get any better throughout the process, each new line felt like a teeny tiny chainsaw was cutting its way into my foot very slowly for maximum effect. But Diego did a fine job, even though I don’t think you’re supposed to drink while getting a tattoo due to the alcohol thinning your blood…oops.
After an eternity of never ending hurt, it was over. Hobbling out of the parlour into the sun, feeling a little hazy and with a throbbing foot, I felt like I’d undergone a spiritual experience. It was probably all the adrenaline running through my body from the loss of blood. Delirium, for sure.
It was all completely worth it. Excruciating pain, definitely a gain. Once you have the end result you instantly forget about all the hell you went through to get there.
A little like getting a degree, or what I imagine labour to be like.
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