Suenos y Suertes

Sculpture in the Cemetario - Buenos Aires

Dreams and Fortunes - I am dreaming again.  After a long drought of months and months of furtive, forgotten or blurry dreams I am waking from labyrinthine epics. This morning, one about Evan and his newly discovered love of horse-riding (Marsie, Don et al also in the cast) – In the event Evan is a sexy, pre-pubescent Bieber-like star because of his good looks – pin straight hair draped casually ‘a la rideau’ over his smouldering dark eyes.  Most of the dream was spent looking for a nice large space for him and his friends to enjoy riding.  Is it the sudden presence of gauchos in my subconscious? In any case I love to dream so it’s a welcome change. I’ve always felt that my dreams are evidence of my wonting creativity – ‘if only I had ready access to the huge trove of imagery and storytelling that resides in my unconscious’ I opine.

Just before we set out to Argentina I had a dream. As follows: in a ruined transept of an ancient stone cathedral; I gaze into a small room on the right side of the nave and watch as a pair of dusty legs clambered down from a sun-spiked hole in the ceiling.  The nave is filled with a glacis of broken stone and plaster, bits of wood . The figure continues to climb down – sandals, legs, heavy woven robe, revealing, eventually, none other than Saint Christopher (patron saint of travelers I think).  I just ‘knew’ it was him, no introductions.  The upshot of it was that in that half-awake moment I realized that THERE IS A GOD! (because, in dream-logic it follows that if there is a Saint there is a God).  In any case I woke up sobbing – the emotions were that strong for this lapsed Cat-lick.  I can’t say that it led to any Tarsus-like conversion (it was a dream after all). I mention this only because it was the first or one of the first dreams that occurred after my long drought.  My interpretation was that on some level I was mentally preparing for this trip - and certain people have expressed concern that it might be too early for me to take on the challenges of a sustained voyage.  I took the dream to mean that all would be well (if dreams have predictive capability). I sincerely believe that I am attended by several ‘good spirits’ who look out for me and deflect bad things from my path. Among those in the pantheon of my protective spirits I believe are our two Grandmothers: Rie and Ket, those three-lettered angels who so profoundly loved we Gillies children – our first experiences of unconditional love. For the record, I also believe that there are brujas in the world who one is better avoiding. I’ve met some of those and gotten into a few scrapes. New Age nonsense?

A happy Cemetario cat

The famous Cemetario in Buenos Aires is unlike anything I have ever seen in Canada.  Unlike Paris’ Montmartre in that it is entirely comprised of crypts in perfect array, hardly a centimeter of space between one and the next.  This wee Pueblo de los Muertos hosts generations of prominent Buenos Aires families’ dusty ancestors. The dessicatantes reside in tidy little bloques arranged on a slightly eccentric grid - the whole site is only a city block in area.  The ‘residences’ of the deceased are maintained exquisitely or left to crumble in genteel desuetude; likely a reflection of the fortunes or lack thereof of the families who are the occupants. In the latter case dessicated ferns and stringy shrubs are permitted to sprout optimistically from tiny cracks and crevices in untended doorways and walls.  Occasionally a bland-faced attendant will pop out of a hidden gap, Jeeves-like, armed with broom or cloth to attend to this structure or that. Some of the crypts have windows that reveal inky staircases leading to the personal underworld of the occupant family. Stone sculptures have limbs missing, tiny, ancient caskets are nearly tumbling out of fractured windows. There is a subtle but pervasive smell of mildew and must. Doom and decay are everywhere despite the imposition of order and care. Cemetery cats wander, stretch, preen and loll – they will welcome a little skritch behind the ear then saunter off.  They look content enough with their employment. You know what they say: If you love your job you will never work a day in your life. One doesn’t really want to think too hard about the food chain that links to their sleek, healthy appearance.

Tomb of Eva Peron

The tomb of Eva Peron is here and is easily the most famous feature.  She is still fiercely revered by many Argentines.  Her crypt has the family name Duarte.  It is a fine crypt though her family roots are quite humble.  How is it that newcomers find a residence in this finite space.  Did some family fail to keep up with the rent or do lesser families get the boot in favour of the more recent notables? There are fresh carnations and roses twined into the fine, wrought iron gate of her crypt. All the guided tours wend towards that one crypt, the walkways seem almost concave from the wear of pedestrians.

There is another crypt nearby that has a notorious history.  Apparently a young woman was buried alive – her later exhumation revealed scratch marks on the interior lid of her coffin.  Taphophobia is the word for fear of being buried alive.  I couldn’t find a word for the event of it rather than the fear thereof. There are several contrivances that have been devised to prevent premature internment from being a fatal experience. I suggest a little bell and a generous flue. Make sure you have a strong wifi connection if you have such a concern.  The door of the unfortunate lady’s crypt features the bas-relief sculpture of a young woman pulling at the door – far more pleasing I think than an authentic depiction of someone clawing wildly at the lid. I was reminded of that wonderful wake scene in The Shipping News by Annie Proulx.  Not so fortunate this woman.

Another nearby crypt has a sculpture of a young woman standing beside her loyal dog (top picture in this blog).  Strangely, the cats seemed to like hanging around just thereabouts. The bronze nose of the dog has been polished to a bright sheen by the touch of many passers-by.  Perhaps it is a talisman of fortune to the locals. Here in the Cemetario, unique in a public place in Buenos Aires, there is not a trace of graffiti.  The walkways are pristine and true.  Ok Colin, we get the picture...

A couple of days later we visited the Evita Peron Museum. I confess I knew very little about her. I had assumed in my ignorance that she was a beautiful gold-digger that had attached herself to a powerful political figure for personal gain. I am not certain what the attraction was between her and Juan was – they had profoundly different values before they met - but she achieved remarkable things and worked assiduously for the poor – especially single mothers - during the few years she lived with him before she died tragically young.  I was profoundly moved by her history as narrated in the museum. There is a terribly affecting bronze bust of her near the exit.  It was bashed and beaten by some thug after her demise – like the barbaric defacement of a ruler or god by a conquering enemy. Have you noticed how many times Western leaders have used the word ‘barbaric’ when referring to ISIS/ISIL? Smacks of ancient, biblical stuff – rape, pillage and the like.  Shorthand access to our fears and prejudices. After all, barbaric just means ‘foreign’.

The Evita Museum is a short distance from the MALBA – a small but beautiful private art museum featuring 20^th century Argentine art.  The displays are wonderful, the ambience is delicious – a sunnier version of the Guggenheim perhaps. The return trip home, through the Japanese Gardens and then the Botanical Gardens was less impressive – or maybe I was just too tired and footsore.  In any case I would recommend giving the Japanese gardens a pass - especially if you have ever been to Japan – it comes off as a shabby notion both aesthetically and structurally. The Japanese hold in reverence water, stone and wood – this garden demonstrates none of that quality of thought or spirit.

All these sites are within walking distance if you stay in Palermo.  I haven’t visited all of BA but my impression so far is that it is the best barrio for travelers to reside. It is urban but not as polluted and relentlessly concrete as San Telmo.  It has an abundance of street life – cafes, restaurants and nightclubs. It seems quite safe even at night, and is central to much of what BA has to offer.  A quick trip on the Subte (subway) along the Santa Fe line takes one downtown to the center, Puerto Madero and to San Telmo which all have notable sites to visit. Wear comfortable walking shoes. Taxis are cheap, buses and subway are very inexpensive – buy a SUBE card at a lottery shop (they are everywhere) and charge it up with 50 or so pesos so you don’t need to deposit money to travel.