The cemetery takes up four city blocks and looks easy enough to find on the map, however, only a small section of those four blocks gives any indication of the burial grounds behind the facade. We walked in a circle for a good 20 minutes before finally getting a glimpse of something that looked sacred. I'll admit, I may have been a little distracted by the nearby store fronts.
Once inside it was easy to find Peron's resting place, just follow the crowd. The tree lined streets were jammed with stunning crypts; some telling
stories, some protected by hand-carved angels and saints, some unkempt and others
immaculate.
Evita's famous, family tomb is not near as grandiose as I was expecting, tucked in a narrow passage. After taking the obligatory photos and checking in on the proper social media networks, I wandered aimlessly, amazed at the architecture, curious as to the stories of those souls housed inside each structure. That is when I felt it, a chill that went up my spine, causing me to stop in my tracks; I literally shuddered.
No, I had not consumed any wine or other liquid spirits yet. I was sadly dehydrated as the morning sun beat down on me. Perhaps that is why I attracted this particular spirit, to push me along and into a quaint cafe for respite with a glass of Malbec, or something stronger. I continued to feel his presence that day, an uninvited hitchhiker. I even felt him when I looked at the photos of the cemetery, sitting on my couch in the US.
I'm not sure why the guy stowed away with me, but I was sure I needed to send him on to his next destination. My crude method must have worked because as I looked at these photos today, I did not feel him next to me. I Hope he has found peace and his soul is finally at rest.
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