14 August 2014

Getting Creeped Out | South America 2013

30 December 2013

We did what any newly funded pair of tourists would do; we bought umbrella drinks took a taxi to a cemetery. 

La Recoleta is obviously not just a cemetery. It's the cemetery where the crème de la recently deceased crème are buried. Eva Perón is buried there, as are former presidents, military leaders and at least one young woman whose family spared no expense immortalizing both her and her dog on a corner plot. 

I've been to a few cemeteries in my day. Honestly, La Recoleta shouldn't even share the same classification. It's a "cemetery" the way Buckingham Palace is a "house." People (and in some cases, families) are buried there. There are multi-story mausoleums lined up like row houses. Some are locked. Some are open. Some are abandoned. Some are active prayer sites. Some have very intricate designs that seem overly ostentatious for the supposed humility of meeting one's maker. La Recoleta has been declared one of the most beautiful cemeteries in the world, which is a thing people measure. Naturally, it was on our tourist checklist. 

The church.
... where I very earnestly prayed for no more hiccups.
The entrance.
Ang has a special patience for waiting for people to get out of her shot.
That, plus cemetery, plus black & white photos equals creepy.

A former president.
The stained glass cross adds just the right amount of class, IMHO.


My favorite cemetery photo.
Let's pretend we all have a favorite cemetery photo. Okay?
Just to show you we were not the only people there.
There are remains in there!
I never saw myself as the type to go into a cemetery and take pictures of final resting places. The whole cemetery-as-a-tourist-attraction thing borders on irreverence. Then again, these people did build giant monuments to themselves. If I had a larger than life-sized statue of myself built, I would also expect it to become a spectacle. So maybe it's the deceased who are having the last laugh.     

Eventually, we fell in with the other salmon, swimming toward Evita. That's where the ridiculousness of the situation really hit home for me. Throngs of people, pushing and squeezing to pay some sort of respect to Argentina's most famous activist. 


Obviously, Ang got the shot.

I don't know what happened here - her placard was in Italian.
But this one made me the saddest, possibly because it was for a daughter.

The exit.
Then, we went for ice cream. Seriously.