Buenos Aires to San Ignacio

I will reflect on the sights of San Martin in the cathedral on Plaza de Mayo square in central Buones Aires the culture of the Baroque the inside of the cathedral was heavily decorated with ornate decorations, oil paintings, domed roof areas, wood carvings and most importantly it held the crypt of General Jose de san Martin, a place of prayer. The pomp and circumstance of this cathedral hosts a changing of the guard, soldiers in highly decorative uniform reminding me of the Napoleonic era. I walked down the aisle of the right hand side of the church repeating "Father forgive me for I have sinned," reminiscent of my school days at Mosta in Malta GC.

On the back of the high alter was a crucifix a black cross with a silver Jesus and a solitary woman knelt in prayer. The cathedral was under reconstruction. Katy Damian and myself were intrigued with wood carvings a representation of the last supper, the film "the passion" was in my mind and also a poem that many people have read of mine focusing on Mary at the foot of the cross (published Forward Press).

The ornate cathedral was the opposite to the Jesuit villages we would visit at San Ignacio .

The bus journey was also a little different to the previous bus journey it was called "Expresso de valle" and it travelled along the "Region of the Flores". It s engine coughed and spluttered all the way to San Ignacio the air conditioning was also not working and the diesel fumes made me feel a little sick. But we saw the terrain change as it travelled past plantations of yerb mate, citrus groves, timber yards and yerb mate factories. It remained humid but the jungle was less dense. The highways were interrupted by toll points and the closeness of the three borders Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay found guards entering the bus with sniffer dogs looking for contraband and looking at passports.

The people of Argentina were now represented by the indigenous people who were more apparent and the hunger on children's faces were present. I sat and wrote poetry..
On the bus we chatted to some of the locals and one particular lady was helpful she was a local teacher and she advised of a good hotel/hostel "Portal del sol". We got of at the bus stop at the junction on the highway with San Ignacio Mini as a place to visit. The teacher had instructed a friend to lead us to the road that we bring us to the road where the hotel stood.

It was hot and dusty and I was learning to use the large rucksack lent to me by Zoe by the time we reached the hotel we were hot and sticky and needing a drink. San Ignacio still respects siestas and so the place was deserted. Penny and I ordered a cold drink each and Jon made the arrangements for the room which included breakfast..

We settled into a room which provided us with comfort running hot water, a dining area and living room external to the room. It was ideal with a view over the ruins of the Jesuit village.
The following day we ate breakfast and watched the village life passing us by. A multitude of children marching past in white robes carrying the Argentinian flag we wondered what they were celebrating.. the previous Monday had been a National holiday and we did not realise that the government in Argentina was in the middle of a leadership change.

We walked down tranquil lanes peaceful still and humid...lined boulevards of citrus fruits, camellias, hibiscus and large bees with busy collecting nectar..locals carving wooden animals for tourists as momentous, children begging, pleading eyes dark brown, dark skin dark hair the indigenous people the guanici people. Dogs roamed the streets whilst other dogs guarded the homes of the more affluent.

Shopping locally tuna, goats cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, chives, garlic, onions, pimentos and red wine. We decided the purpose of these three days would be to relax and visit the Jesuit sites. We made a salad followed by a mixed fruit salad of local fruits...

Siesta were obligatory and became a necessity- a wind howled, a soft warm breeze. At night time the nocturnal noises as well as my snoring was the cockerel crowing on the hour every hour three times, wolves howling, dogs barking, the crickets and birds singing a jungle beat.
Poetry writing and visiting Jesuits sites we walked to the Jesuit museum the melodies where the blending of two cultures...the Jesuits brought European instruments as religious men and the indigenous population "Guarani"..added their interpretation of sound, language crossed all barriers.

San Ignacio mini was founded in 1696 a 100 square metres of plaza an area of emerald green grass and it was surrounded by sandstone red walls and roofless buildings alongside, buildings with red tiled roof tops, tropical palms enclosed the museum. The rocks were imported from the River Pirana (the River that is fed by the Ignacio Falls, which also hosts the Piranha fish)...Passages of time ecclesiastical ruins, carpets of emerald green shamrock, red termite mounds, towering cacti as large as oak trees, aqua blue skies. Where the Idapoi trees have set there roots between and on top of these buildings. The noises were the constant call of a variety of birds and in the distance the music of children playing..the indigenous culture influenced by the baroque ruins a time gone by... arid dry surrounds where wells were fed by irrigation gulley's which were dry from the lack of rain.

Soft winds warm breezes, emerald green glades were seen to encourage others futures. An arboretum within the 16th century setting now protected by the World Heritage UNESCO.. We all agreed this tranquil setting was fully appreciated.

Later we walked into the village centre we d noticed a ice cream parlour we sat sitting watching a sunset I d chosen sky blue ice and cherry topped with a syrup..

The card school continued and the normal behaviour was cheating bad, language and laughter as later disturbed Penny and Jon s crib game...

The funniest thing that happened over the three days were that Jon decided we would eat supper not at the hotel but he had noticed a good menu on the opposite side of the road- I commented you can´ t do that. But after considerable discussion, who said we couldn't; we sat eating our suppers, taking in the view of the ruins and out the corner of my eye I was looking at the hotel.

We discussed heavily "Money" -"you can not buy happiness".. and "we can t all be happy but money helps". These statements were the basis of how we found the environment and culture which we felt is heavily influenced by the collapse of the Argentinian economy (the waitress at the kiosk raised smiles, she had a dead pan expression, no smile just a very blank look).

I will continue with another blog based on San Ana and the author Quirego.