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Hola a todos!
Hmmm, it has been a while; my apologies. This week has been full of fun and games, the culmination of which was temporary heart-failure at the prospect of a broken camera (I did nothing wrong, I swear). Thankfully, said camera, and heart, are in much better shape these days, albeit at the loss of the opportunity to take any photos of the famous Boca area of BA - I shall simply have to return there at some point this week...
My blog is presently current up to last Saturday. Nothing of much excitement happened this week anyway but, I definitely want to talk about last Sunday so here we go. On Sunday I finally made it to Recoleta on foot, with a swift return to the house when part-way, having mercifully realised that my beloved camera was not with me. The top sightseeing spot in Recoleta is undoubtedly the cemetary. Eerie as it sounds, I have seen some cemetaries in my time but, this was something special. Recoleta cemetary brings true meaning to the term 'necropolis' - this is a veritable city of the dead. Grand houses line the shaded, peaceful walkways, joustling one another for space, for dominance in death as in life for their inhabitants. Some houses are little more than one-room structures yet others arch gracefully, majestically skywards, towering over we living visitors scuttling below - even the streets are signposted! That very morning, in the early hours, the clocks went back one hour in Argentina, a recent seasonal time-saving vestige of the present government. In that extra hour, it often felt like I had the city of the dead to myself as I wandered askance through the slumbering streets. The buildings are a hotch-potch of designs, sizes, shapes and colours but, all are eye-catching in their way. Among my personal favourites were the classically-influenced structures, including more than one reconstruction of a classic temple, complete with smooth, Doric column-bodies, rising to intricate Corinthian capitals; plain, austere architraves pointing heavenwards, the way beyond. Naturally, I was in my - subdued - element, reminded at every turn of Pompeii especially; both locations share that curious air of abandoned cities, picked over by living, though alien, visitors. Before visiting the cemetary myself, I had blanched slightly at a friend, who confined in me that she often takes a book, or work, to the place due to its easy peace and quiet. Now, though, I can heartily agree, and approve. If the cemetary, which is free to enter, was closer to home, I too would have returned by now. As it is, a thirty minute walk, and in the opposite direction to the part of the city remaining for me to explore, has thus-far deterred me sufficiently.
After an hour wandering lazily down deserted by-ways, stalking through intriguing side-streets, I made an effort and sought out the most important and most visited grave-house in the cemetary, that of the family Duerte and, specifically, of Evita. Strangely, Evita's is not one of the signposted mausoleums but, it was not terribly difficult to seek out. True, it lies off the main throughfare for the southern section of the cemetary, down a calm side-route but, being liberally peppered with eye-catching, fresh flowers - a number of which were roses when I visited - it certainly stands out from its neighbours. I had a couple of blissful, tranquil minutes outside the tomb before a garrulous horde of American tourists arrived upon the scene, at which point I slunk off to seek out the next hidden treasure the dead city saw fit to yield. I confess that my knowledge of Argentina and in particular its history is lamentably slight and so Evita's grave elicited little emotion from me. What did elicit some emotion, however, was seeing the numerous flowers decorating her grave still today and the obvious regularity with which these flowers are bestowed. Clearly, Evita is well-loved by the visitors, native as well as foreign, to the cemetary in Recoleta. Indeed, Argentines have much to be proud of within the walls of their famous cemetary, yielding as it does many movers and shapers of its current state. Its buildings are fabulous, although quite thought-provoking in a city where many living souls are hard-pressed to find adequate shelter that would fall far short of those edifices on display in the cemetary: indeed, many tombs showed obvious signs of deterrent, the most popular being padlocked doors - clearly the living momentos to many a famous Argentine succeed in arousing passion and covetousness among some, offering contentment, however shortlived, to the living as well as to a select few of the dead.
Later that day I left the cemetary and explored Recoleta at large, including a cool, restful church retaining vestiges of the barrio's past as a home to some of the earliest monks to seek residence in the city and a glorious, open-air market complete with remarkable paintings, crafts, indigenous as well as European-flavoured arts displayed in twisting, winding, covered pathways through a cramped, crowded park. The highlight of the day, however, was undoubtedly the cemetary and my brush with the proud, embellished and often-times luxurious past that BA continues to play host to in its buildings, language and culture. Classically-influenced the place most certainly is, and it is important to bear in mind the heavy influence of Europe in its midst, yet some houses - a few of which are most certainly quite modern in style and construction date - serve to remind visitors that Argentina is a proud and distinctive country, moving to its own, Tango-esque rhythm.
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