The two sisters, the daughter and a cousin took me out to lunch and on a tour of Jujuy. It was delightful. I was part of the family after just a few hours.  It was a quick dunk into a very warm and friendly culture. And a great way to start my adventures in Argentina. The first night I made it to the town of Jujuy. (Say hoo hooey. Say it again: HOOO HOOOOEY. Once more now, like an overly optimistic owl: WHOO WHOOOEY!)  How could you take yourself seriously if you were from there? Hi, I'm Mark and I'm from Hoo Hoooey.

Jujuy turned out to be a great introduction to the country. I smelled burning rubber my first morning in Argentina. Piles of tires burning in the street. I approached the scene with trepidation. I wanted to get up close for some photos. What was this all about? It wasn’t violent. It seemed like a casual gathering. Almost friendly.

I got some photos. No one paid much attention to me. I relaxed a little bit and started asking questions. I talked to the fire tender. He had a truck full of old tires. When one of the three blazes got low, he would toss another log’ on the fire. I watched the apparent leader of the group get interviewed by Channel Two, the local TV station. 

It was about Argentina's current financial crisis. Everyone is broke. The protest was organized by a local political group trying to get their message heard nationally. The fires were in the middle of an intersection. Police had closed the streets all around, about a block away on each side. It seemed to be business as usual, nobody getting too excited.

On the way back to my hotel I made a new friend. She was sitting in front of her shop enjoying the morning sun and a cup of mate. With a bright green iguana on her shoulder, she was obviously not shy nor avoiding attention. Moments later I met her sister and her sisters' 5 year daughter. Very soon I was part of the fabric of daily life on the streets of Jujuy, being introduced to all of their friends and customers as if I was an old pal. 

The two sisters, Sylvana and Valerie, are the proprietors of a small lingerie shop. Victoria’s Secret with their own distinct style and personality. The shop is called 'Gala' named after Salvador Dali's famous model and mistress. The management of their business couldn't be much more casual. Sylvana spent most of her time greeting and chatting with passersby on the sidewalk. Once in while, one would inquire about a product; she would direct them inside. They open at bout nine and would shut down for a couple of hours midday for lunch and a nap. They close around dark or "...whenever friends and customers would go home."

Valerie was only slightly more businesslike than Sylvana. She seemed to be the managing partner, if you could call her that. An enjoyable lifestyle seemed to take precedence over maximizing profit. It was very refreshing. Valerie and I spent time talking about poetry and publishing. She is a published author of three books of poetry and a teacher at a nearby college.

The two sisters, the daughter and a cousin took me out to lunch and on a tour of Jujuy. It was delightful. I was part of the family after just a few hours.  It was a quick dunk into a very warm and friendly culture. And a great way to start my adventures in Argentina. 

It took two more days on the highway to get to Buenos Aires. It was every thing I had heard. The Paris of South America. Having never been to Paris I would personally call it a cross between San Francisco and New York City. It's huge. It's beautiful. It stays up all night. You can't buy a bad meal there.

I had some time to wander the streets and read up on the history of Buenos Aires. Like any big city is has its down side. Intertwined with its financial floundering is some history that is much, much sadder. And the remnants of this chapter are very creepy. As you sit in a cafe you can't help but wonder who could possibly be sitting on your right and conversely (and perversely) who could be sitting on your left. 

I am referring to Argentina's Dirty War of the late 70's. It was the 'ethnic cleansing' of the reigning regime. It was political rather than ethnic, but you get the point. Between 20,000 and 30,000 people were 'disappeared'. Many were tortured; many were drugged and dumped from airplanes into the sea while still alive. Pregnant mothers were abducted and murdered after giving birth. The babies were then 'adopted' by the perpetrators. Think about the consequences of a 12 year old discovering his diabolical family history. 

Some of the architects of the cleansing campaign were convicted then later PARDONED! All of the underlings who carried out the deadly details were never tried based on the fact that they were only following orders. To this day, the murderers walk the same streets of Buenos Aires as the families of their victims!! Perhaps on my right, maybe on my left...

I am staying at the apartment of a friend in the Recoleta District in Buenos Aires. It is the ritziest neighborhood in town. It is also the home of the ritziest cemetery in all of Argentina.   This is very important to Argentineans. I have a little cemetery fetish. (Link: cemtery gallery) I like to wander around and take pictures. Argentineans on the other hand, are full scale perverted about them.  The eternal home of your corpse is much more important than where you rest your weary bones in life. Recoleta Cemetery is a necropolis with maps and addresses. The streets are lined with miniature cathedrals. The sculptures decorating the crypts are immense and all of museum quality. You can peer into windows of crypt/cathedrals to see the coffins of the countries forefathers and wealthy elite. 

The only specific site I wanted to visit was that of Eva 'Evita' Peron. This leads us to that part of her history that was not covered in the Broadway Musical: Her afterlife adventures. You see, she did quite a bit of traveling after her death. An opposing political party eventually took power that did not want her gravesite becoming a shrine. They took the body into hiding. She was then kidnapped by her supporters and housed discretely in various attics throughout the city. She was later shipped secretly overseas and buried in Rome. Eventually she made another trans-Atlantic journey back to Buenos Aires and was finally laid to rest in Ritzy Ricoleta, much to the chagrin of the wealthy elite and her political enemies.  In life Evita rallied for the poor and very hard against the rich. They were not in the least bit fond of her and it was the ultimate insult for her to be resting among their ancestors.

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