Argentina hates me

So my mother, brother, his fiancé and I arrive in Buenos Aires and spend 4 days there. It was exciting and exhilarating at the same time, the continent I was looking forward to exploring my whole life. When I was a wee little man, I didn't want to be a doctor, or a lawyer, a pilot or a fireman. I (being the bizarre child I naturally was) wanted to a be a vulcanologist. Yes, you guessed it, I wanted to study volcanos (not vultures, I know you were thinking it). It was very much me in a way too. I look back at that and realised how much the volcano was a metaphor of how I was. They were dormant, and peaceful, slightly elegant and good to look from afar but give it time and it'll burst sporadically, making a scene, shaking the earth disturbing what's around it and engulfing its poor victims. (Ok, I'm not REALLY like that but there's aspects about me that's just random. I'm not a violent psycho on his path of destruction). I wanted to be a grown up who ventured into the unknown, who loved adventure and thrived on adrenaline. (This nostalgic moment actually has no significant relevance to my trip to South America. But I guess it explains a lot). My fondness for South America was matured through my History classes in highschool with such historical references such as the Aztecs and Incas. I found their civilisations compelling to say the least and I dreamt one day to go and explore that region. Unfortunately, I missed ALL those sights (believe it or not) due to the lack of time I could take off work. The priority of the holiday was moreso to meet my brother's fiancé's family who are Brazilian and live in Brazil (and explore Buenos Aires on the way). So I tried to make the most of the trip and tried to document the captivating, emotional, electric and addictive side of the mere places I got to see and considering how I enjoyed every second of my trip, I'll most likely plan a more elaborate trip to South America in the future.

This picture of a statue of an angel was taken in the Recoleta Cemetery where Eva Peron (Don't Cry for me Argentina) was buried. It's not her tomb per say but there was something haunting about this statue. The air was stagnant and still and the mood was quite somber in there (naturally).

My favourite part of the trip was listening to the musical conversation these buskers were presenting. They were charming us with their jazz repertoire and (naturally) I created a story for them. In my mind they were talented Argentinian music students who do this for a living to get them through University in hopes to become a famous musician somewhere, somehow. I was mesmerised by them once they played "Autumn Leaves" I was in love. It seemed, amidst the bumpy, busy crowd, that I was the only one in this market street that appreciated the three musicians. They enjoyed the attention as much as i enjoyed listening to them and photographing them.

This attractive tourist was holding on while we swirled around Buenos Aires like a bumble bee. He stood up to take pictures of the Caminitos and (because of my strangeness) I had a sudden urge to take a photo of his hand... don't ask me why. It just happened accidentally...