I first said these words to my friend as I dried off in our private room, mid-allergic reaction. Unbeknownst to me, the hostel restaurant garnished nearly every dish with a fresh sprig of rosemary, my arch nemesis. Since we were among the first to have a meal, the insidious scent took a while to make its way to my nostrils. But as the dinner hour stretched onward, the aerosolized fragrance began to mask the smells of sweaty hiking boots and muddy rucksacks, filling my lungs and swelling my throat. So then, 20 minutes after I bolted out of the restaurant, my medicine just kicking in, I made the joke; “If I don’t make it, bury me at Recoleta.”
 |
| new life surrounded us in many forms |
That became our running joke throughout the rest of our Argentine adventure, but some greater part of me meant it.
Our first day in Buenos Aires was the fifth into our two-week itinerary in November 2023. We began with a 48-hr stopover in Santiago, immediately followed by a day trip to Iguazu Falls. So when we finally had a free day in Argentina’s capitol, we did what anyone would do; we slept in.
 |
| the narrowest alley we found |
After a leisurely (and massive) brunch, we strolled from our little San Diego Apartment half a mile to the famed Cementerio de la Recoleta, the final resting place of some of Argentina’s greatest heroes. “There’s more architecture here than in our whole city,” my friend remarked after about five minutes into our self-guided tour. And with nearly 5000 mausoleums, he was right. Some say the 14-acre public cemetery feels eerie, or that it’s haunted, but on that Saturday, I was completely at ease. While the pained visage of grief had been carved into the marble tombs by expert stonemasons over the centuries, there’s hope and life in the city-like alleys among the dead.
 | ||
| stained glass filled numerous tombs |
Naturally, we visited Eva Perón. Shuffling through between two tour groups, we had about 11 seconds to see the Duarte family mausoleum, cluttered with flowers and gifts left for Argentina’s most beloved First Lady. If it weren’t for the mounds of offerings, the Duarte mausoleum would blend in with the dozens of others in their row. While Evita loved her people, particularly the working-class, I wondered if she would be more at peace if she had fewer visitors.
We stayed but a couple hours at the cementerio, and while there was no way we could have seen each tomb, we did find the oldest ones, and we may have spotted the home of Recoleta’s newest resident, who had come to rest there only a week before our visit and whose inscription had not been finished. There is no space for any more mausoleums to be built on the property, nor is there room to expand into the neighborhood, but there was a comfort in knowing that there are still porteños who can make Recoleta their final resting place.
As for me, I don’t think I could afford it.
