Travels through South America

woke up this morning absolutely covered in bites! It´s taking such willpower not to scratch them – god knows why I get bitten loads and Domingo doesn´t.. maybe British blood is tastier… (let´s see how long before he reads that!)..

The itching marred an otherwise restful 12 hour sleep and we both woke up refreshed and raring to explore.

We hopped on the tube at Lima to head towards Recoleta. The subway (el subtel) here is amazing – Line A was built in 1913 and it seems remarkably well preserved with original adverts still in the panels set back in the tiled walls. The trains too are incredible – if it wasn´t for the fact they were moving you would think they were museum pieces. Wooden insides with ornate colums acting as handrails and simple lights seem a world away from the cramped Northern Line in UK.

It was surreal thinking that my Great Uncle Raymond could have sat on the same seat as me 50 odd years ago when he lived in Buenos Aires.

I know very little of my Uncle´s time here but the longer I spend in this city, the more I want to find out what he did. When he died he left all his effects to the RSPB so we don´t have any journals or diaries to turn to. I wonder what he would have made of my self-defence tactics against the pigeons yesterday… Hmm….

The main reason for heading to Recoleta was to see the much-talked about cemetery where Eva (Evita) Peron is buried. It certainly didn´t disappoint. Rows upon rows of crypts, mini-mausoleums and pantheons are crammed into the walled boundaries of the cemetery. Each crypt is different from the other – humble, disintegrating brick structures nestle between more grandiose marble giants, guarded by white angels and religious figures. Some resemble minature churches whilst others evoke the pyramids and sphinxes of Egypt. The reach of Gaudi can be seen there, as can Art Deco and modernist influences.

All share one thing in common, the musty smell of decades old sarcophogi and the sombre sense of faded majesty and history. Cats lounge on the stately tombs and the wind rushes through the narrow walkways, adding to the haunting sensation.

As we left the cemetery the heavens opened, forcing us in to the nearby art gallery of Recoleta. There was only one exhibit open as the rest of the gallery was mid re-hang. Photos of friends and families from 30 years ago were hung next to photos of the same group in a similar or the same setting today. Each current photo was missing one or more of the original group. Some were empty. The exhibition was about those who had either disappeared or were killed for disagreeing with the Argentinian regime in the 70s. It was incredibly striking.