Apropos of Nothing

Back when I was thin and Blogreader Joe’s hair was almost dark (okay it was only 7 years ago) we journeyed to Punta del Este, Urguay and Buenos Aires, Argentina for a little tango and hormone-free beef.

On our first day in Buenos Aires, we took a city tour which briefly stopped at the Nuestra Senora del Pilar Church (no, I didn’t remember the name−I just Googled it−built in the early 1700’s, in case you're interested) and the adjoining La Recoleta Cemetery.

Oh. My. God. I thought I’d seen some pretty good cemeteries in my life. (My fave is the Westwood Village Memorial Park−or as I call it−The Field of Tragedy ‘cuz its cast includes Marilyn Monroe, Natalie Wood, Minnie Ripperton, Dorothy Stratton, Bob Crane and not one but TWO young stars of Poltergeist--click here for the full list of unfortunate ends. Hidden behind a cluster of high rises in downtown Westwood, you wouldn't know this place existed unless you were looking for it. Which you should.)

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. Buenos Aires. Recoleta Cemetery. So during the brief stop, the tour director informed us that somewhere in the vast maze of mausoleums and tombstones, Eva Peron had finally been laid to rest. (And I say finally, because after being on display for a couple years−embalmed, of course−poor Eva went on world tour, first being buried in Italy for 16 years, then Spain for another three, then back to Buenos Aires. I didn’t know the details at the time; but I knew I wanted to see where Madonna, I mean, Eva Peron had landed.)

So Blogreader Joe and I went back on another day to hunt her up. Only guess what? Locating ONE person among hundreds (thousands?) in what amounts to a small city of dead people, ain’t easy. I mean, check out the street above. Those are TOMBS, folks. And there are rows and rows and rows of 'em. And rows. (Did I mention there's a lot?)

I resorted to my meager Spanish vocabulary and flagged a passing workman. Donde esta Eva? Well, you’d have thought I’d asked, donde esta Hitler from the looks I got. (Turns out the poor people still hold a grudge against Eva for that whole fleecing of the masses thing.) Pretty soon I worried Blogreader Joe might be tiring of the search, so I got frantic. Donde esta Eva, donde esta Eva. I felt like I was on The Amazing Race and that my next clue could be found at the tomb of the wife of a dictator but that if I reached it too late, I’d be eliminated.

Along the way, we saw all the sights of La Recoleta Cemetery. The cool thing about living in Buenos Aires apparently, is that if you fall on hard times, you can always move in with a dead relative. I mean, I’ve seen condos smaller than this resting place.

And then, there it was.

Kinda disappointing, huh? Anticlimactic. But fitting. Not ostentatious, not humongous, not even a place of her own like the rest of the rich people.

Okay…all together now…Don’t cry for me, Argentina………

Evita...eterna en el alma...forever in our hearts.