City of Death

Buenos Aires came alive today, so naturally I spent most of the day with the dead. The cemetery in Recoleta is renowned mostly for the presence of Eva Peron's tomb. If, however, you couldn't really give a stuff about Evita this is still most definitely impressive, especially if you just want to look at creepy statues and keep repeating “Don't Blink” to yourself.

The 'English Tower' opposite the station

I had toyed with a trip to La Boca today, but the guidebook says don't walk there or you'll be eaten by Maradonna-shaped goblins, or something, and I can barely work out how to order food let alone understand the city's bus system. So instead I headed north to Retiro and Recoleta, both of which are apparently goblin-free as long as you don't go behind the British-built railway station (it must be a bit like Somers Town). Early in my holidays I always take these warnings seriously. By the time I leave I'll probably be wandering around like an idiot, just like I did when I started hopping Sri Lankan buses at the height of the LTTE terrorist campaign. Sorry, mum, I forgot, all right? So La Boca can wait for an understanding of buses or a general ennui about life to kick in, and I walked from the station to the cemetery, taking in all that Retiro and North Barrio have to offer.

Which was mostly people. If Sunday was a day to appreciate the loveliness of BA's architecture and greenery, today was a day to be struck by the sheer busyness of the place. Also almost literally struck by the rather combative walking techniques of the locals. If you ever thought the pavement politics of London were a bit tricky, try BA, where everyone down to and including little old grannies will hold their path determinedly, except when they choose to wobble directly into your recalibrated path as you try to avoid them. Stranded as I was in polite Englishman mode I think I walked an extra mile or two as I dodged and weaved and generally subjugated all pride and dignity in this pavemental pissing contest. I will have to toughen up.

In my fear of getting soaked – a thunderstorm threatened through much of the morning, but ended up a little more than a passing shower – I did get a little lost, but BA is (delightfully) almost impossible to get lost in, at least when they remember to provide roadsigns (about 75% of the time). The quasi-grid system works here just as well as it does anywhere else, and only gets confused when the presence of parks and plazas bends the grid out of shape, like some sort of road-based theory of relativity. I got back on track and, my feet beginning to hurt just a little, found myself on the edges of the Recoleta Cemetery.

The city has not missed a trick in exploiting the popularity of the mausoleums. Unpromisingly, there are three McDonald's outlets right outside (a cafe, and ice-cream vendor and traditional variety) and behind them a shiny shopping mall, the only redeeming feature of which was a bookshop where every shelf was topped with globes of various sizes and colours. Along another of the cemetery walls is a strand of slightly suspect restaurants of the kind often found on tourist thoroughfares (the kind that has illuminated pictures of food outside). Most odd was the presence of a red, panelled telephone box. Perhaps it is used to reassure tourists of the safety of the area, the glass panels being resolutely un-kicked-in.

Desperate for some energy before I plunged into the jungle of slabs and statues I skimmed past the various outlets until I came to the final one, a branch of Freddo's. An elderly tour party, consisting of a San Fransiscan lady and two Aussie gents, helped me navigate the unfamiliar process of buying a Freddo's ice-cream (choose and pay first, then go to collect your ice-cream from a woman who doesn't know what you just chose and paid for), and I rewarded them by helping out with the traditional change-crisis and donating a peso. So it was, sated, sticky, but at least having actually spoken to humans for the first time in a couple of days, that I plunged revitalised into the City of Death.

Laser Angel

Cemetery does not really describe it at all. Although the elaborate constructions mourning the dead have a Victorian indulgence about them, this is not the leafy wilderness of a classic British cemetery. It really is a town of the dead: tightly packed streets stretch on their own grid system, different architectural styles compete or compliment and the skyline is studded with brooding hooded figures. After a while you start to recognise certain statue archetypes: there is the angel poised to drop some sort of grape on your head; there are angels with what look like laser guns; there are several burdened Christs, crowned in thorns, looking bug-eyed at passers-by; there are angels pointing at the sky, either indicating the destination of their dead people, or disco dancing (I like to think maybe both); there are representations of the dead, nearly always wearing humorous moustaches and preserving ill-suited fashion trends for all eternity – the richer of these structures often show the dead as a dominating figure surrounded by supplicant angelic forms bowing, kneeling or pawing at the majestic deceased, like a frame of a 19^th century rap video. But even if some of the shapes on show are funny, there's a quiet majesty to others.

Hello, would you like one of these? Open wide!

It is also staggeringly hot. Apart from a pleasant central plaza with monkey puzzles and a water fountain, there is very little greenery in this graveyard. Walking around the necropolis in the heat of the early afternoon, the tombs radiate the heat back out and with the sun high in the sky provide no shelter unless you press yourself right against the hot stone to escape the sun for a moment, which to me sounds too much like a recipe for horror movie disaster.

Scattered amongst the cartoonery of the dead are some far more traditional, Buffyish tombs, with chains and broken windows and dark shadowy interiors. I liked them. At least at 1 o'clock in the afternoon.

Early concept art for Lord of the Rings? El Ateneo fresco

At this point I really had broken my feet. Finding Eva's tomb by searching for the gaggle of tourists and dash of floral colour of her tributes, I excused myself of Buenos Aires' great and dead, and went in search of food. It's very easy to find veggie food in BA, as long as you don't mind walking. This time I crossed over in Palermo again to try about Natural Deli. I will say that only the crumbliest, flakiest veggie-burger tastes like burger never tasted before; alas not in a good way. But points for trying, and the juices were lovely, once I worked out how to order them. 

--> On the way I stopped at the magnificent El Ateneo, possibly the only bookshop in the world where the venue is more striking than the contents. They do a lot of things right in BA.