Ergo, the most exclusive cemetery is in the dead centre of town, surrounded by upscale beautiful apartment blocks, dating back a century or more. Here in Recoleta is the most expensive urban real estate, whether it concerns a dwelling for the living, or a family crypt for the dead.
A detailed map, marked with sectors, crypt numbers, aand main and secondary 'streets' greets the visitor. To the left of the map, is a detailed list - with crypt number - of the "Who is Who" in Paradise.
Of course - all tourists have to head first to the Duarte Crypt. They are lining up patiently around a block of crypts, to finally arrive at the most famous of them all, gaze a few seconds, take a photo and proceed under guidance to the next crypt of - albeit lesser - interest.
The reason for the intense interest is the fact, that Eva Peron, of the Duarte Family and wife of President Juan Peron, is buried here, deep underground on the very bottom of the multi-story subterranean part of the monument. She died at thirty of Ovarian Cancer, a fashion icon, a social reformer, a b-class movie actress, a national saint (or devil depending on one's political stripe).
After her corpse was spirited away and travelled furtively - carefully embalmed like a female Lenin - 26 years around the globe, in the company of about five wax copies of her body, she finally returned home and made it to Recoleta, despite her supposed lack of 'class'. Quite a number of people died trying to steal her, or trying to protect her from theft - all terribly clandestine and mysterious.
Why all the fuss about a corpse? For decades after her death, fanatic Peronistas wanted to possess her perfectly preserved body as a relic to feed the idolatry and political gullibility of the masses. Some attributed miraculous healing powers to her remains.
Now, not just 6 feet, but 6 floors under, robbery of her cadaver, which would in this era be designated toxic waste with all the chemicals it harbours within, is remotely possible, but unlikely.
Her husband, Juan Peron (the actual then President of Argentina a couple of times over), did not make the cut - he is buried in the Cemeterio de la Chacarita, where lesser mortals not belonging to the social elite have their own City of the Dead, with just as much pomp and circumstance as this one.
After the touristy must do, one walks around and discovers the parts of Recoleta Cemetery, which are less in your face, and more contemplative. This statue is one of my favourites - so much resignation...
Angelitos in every corner, marble wings stilled for eternity...
Maria Anglica Fernandez Vidal (nicknamed Cuca) died at the age of twenty.
Bronzed Jesus holding fresh Bougainvillae
Paved street after street, and alley after alley lead the way through a labyrinth of tightly packed ornate crypts and monuments..
Look from ground level of a crypt towards the 'first basement' lined with square boxes holding the dead. A grate, sufficiently large to admit bearers and their weighty loads, at the bottom of the stairs gives access to the next level down. How far down - who knows...
Modest 'ground floor' of a crypt , with a few smallish coffins under the sideboard. If one looks very close, a cemetery cat (lots of them around) is sleeping squeezed under the top of the altar and the top of the box underneath it at left. Cool spot for a siesta. The wrought iron door to the crypt had lost its glass insert...welcome to my parlor.
Dead and definitely long forgotten
Portals to one family's exclusive heaven...
Some are laid to rest in traditional carved wooden coffins, embellished with hammered metal adornments - and these things are NOT empty.
Some take advantage of economies of space, and just line up matched boxes containing ashes of their dear departed.
A plaque dedicated by friends to the dead Cesar A. Diana Lavallee - 1928
Enrique L Martines de Hoz 1901 -1944
And the Virgincita (little virgin) watching over all...
Not too many stone benches around, one searches for a convenient crypt step or marble top to sit for a while in the shade..
The Argentinian's Love of poetry is immortalized in many bronze plaques...here a poem to a girl called Maria Luz who died before her time and left ' on a ray of sunshine'.
And here she is - beloved Maria Luz in white marble...
One can walk for hours through this 'city' and find crypts with well known names - names of streets, avenues, monuments, parks, buildings, palaces, museums, subway stations, railway stations...and one finds many of the dead bearers of these names in this cemetery. A rather concentrated history lesson about personalities in Argentinian History and Culture.
Loved, and definitely not forgotten. Not a speck of dust, red velvet upholstered prayer bench, fresh flowers, candles, polished metal...the man in this photo is still alive for the person who loved him.
If not eternal, then temporary rest in peace for this feral cemetery cat. There are less of them now than there were a few years ago. Locals still take dry cat food into their lairs, fill little plastic dishes with fresh water - so they all look pretty fat.
However, their personal hygiene suffers somewhat, their fur looks as if they have slept in cobwebs and dust amongst coffins and urns all their lives. Maybe there is a funny taste to it, as they do not seem to clean themselves to often..
Room for more in the lower basements of the ghostly tenements...lovely gleaming stainless steel buggies on silent rubber wheels await the coffins of the next lucky dead...
