(or in Spanish, Gira de los Muertos)

11 February 2023, Buenos Aires, Argentina –

You could be forgiven for thinking that we’ve developed a morbid fascination with death.  Today we ventured north to one of BA’s biggest drawcards – Recoleta Cemetery. The closer we got, the more Parisian our surrounds became, as Recoleta is one of the more well-to-do areas.  Seeking the entrance, we followed the high red brick walls until we found the tour buses, spilling out dazed looking passengers from airconditioned comfort into the dry heat of mid morning.

If it weren’t for Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice, tourists would never visit.  Of course, they all come to see the burial place of Argentina’s most famous personality, Eva Peron, or Evita.  The other must-see attraction is the Casa Rosada (Pink Palace), whose balcony was the setting for the song “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina”. 

Picking up a small but remarkably accurate map, our first thought was “what a place this would be for a sprint race” (though I don’t believe that cemeteries should ever be used for orienteering).  With a series of narrow corridors radiating from a central square, it would be oh so easy to lose map contact. 

Rather than sprinting, we wandered slowly, absorbing the effort, and money, that has gone into making each mausoleum a unique and personal memorial to one’s dear departed, each competing to be the most impressive.  There is an incredible variety of grand statuary, elaborately decorated doors, ornate plaques, and architectural styles, from a rock cave, to Roman brick, to Greco-Roman classical marble and concrete.  There is even a pyramid; anything to differentiate one from another. It is quite fascinating.

The map helpfully pinpoints Evita’s tomb, but you only need look for the crowd as they queue up to shuffle past and take a photo.  Hers is one of the more unassuming mausoleums, just a simple black door surrounded by several plaques, with withered bouquets of flowers stuck through the grilles.  She is buried with her family rather than with her husband, Juan Peron, who outlived her by many decades.

I liked the simple but graceful statue of a lady draped in a shawl, her hand resting gently on the head of her faithful dog.

Across the road is the Recoleta Mall. On a Saturday morning we expected this to be full of shoppers, but there were only a handful of tourists like us, seeking respite from the heat, and a bathroom (which I must say was the cleanest public bathroom I have ever been in). They weren’t spending money there, and it was far more lifeless than the cemetery. Just goes to show that “build it and they will come” is not always so.

Hugging the shaded side of the street, we called in at the Gout Café, totally gluten free and full of all sorts of cakes and tarts.  Buenos Aires is not a bad place to be a coeliac.

Our final stop for the day was a bookstore which goes by the marvellous title of “El Ateneo Grand Splendid”. And splendid it is.  Formerly a theatre, it is now full of shelves and shelves of books (all Spanish).  It has three levels of galleries, and an elaborate painted ceiling.  You can relax in an armchair in one of the boxes while you have a leisurely read; or you can sit at a table on the stage, next to the grand piano, and have a coffee and cake.  Spectacular!

It was only lunchtime but three hours of walking in the heat had defeated us and we were wilting.  We are resting up for another foray tomorrow.