I'm going home. Well, my second home, anyway. In April of next year, I will be returning to Argentina for the first time in six and a half years.Last time I was there, the country was weeks from spilling over into one of the worst economic and political crises of it's history. Last time around, my father was also alive.
It will be weird visiting my father's grave site for the very first time since he died this past July. I'm not sure what I'll feel, really. I'm not sure what I feel about Rolando, even now.
My father was without equal. A real character and a true enigma. He was the type of person you'd expect to find in a Charles Dickens novel via a Gabriel Garcia Marquez fairytale. The type of trickster you take gerat delight in hearing about, but great joy in knowing he's not your father, yet for me, he is my father.
After taking in my father's grave, I'll probably make my way to La Recoleta. Whenever I journey back to my ancestral home, Buenos Aires to more specific, I always make a trek to the city of the dead, La Recoleta. One of the most amazing and artistic enclaves of marble mausoleums in the world. In addition to housing beautiful sculptured final resting places, La Recoleta is also home to a large colony of feral cats and several Argentine luminaries, including Broadway's favorite, controversial first lady, Eva Peron.
Traveling back in time to the more tender parts of the heart is never easy. However, I like not easy. I guess that's part of my genetic inheritance - taking the road less safe. This will always be one of my strongest bonds with my Father - our ability to find trouble even in a nursery of newborns. Yet, trouble can be rewarding in the most unexpected ways.
Some pretty pictures of La Recoleta
