In this column, we look at places which are "inside out" - where Europe suddenly pops up in a non-European country, or where we find ourselves in a corner of Europe which feels more like China or India. In the fifth instalment, Susanne Kruza finds Paris hidden in Buenos Aires.

Photo: Susanne Kruza

A statue in the cemetery of Recoleta, Buenos Aires

It's a Sunday afternoon. The craft fair in Recoleta, a barrio of Buenos Aires, is well underway. Street merchants knot their unfinished bracelets. A smell of sugured almonds lies in the air and from a distance comes the sound of tango music. The Design Center nearby, even open on Sundays, is the stage for tourists and locals who compete in shopping for decorative articles.

Aside from the hustle and bustle, the cemetery of Recoleta sits timidly and silently, reminding me of a closed casket from past times full of hidden secrets. My curiosity leads me to the small entrance. I pass the guard and as I do so I feel like Alice in Lewis Carroll's fairy-tale. Just like the little girl I step into a completely different world.

But there is no white rabbit to welcome me, nor a ticking clock to pressure me - only a lot of stray cats. Beyond the thick walls lies a small village of tiny little stone houses, or I probably should say more correctly: mausoleums.

The marble sarcophagi, the grey crypts with rooftops that cover angelic statues and crosses... all that reminds me of something and it seems as if I've been here before, though I know that I haven't. And it makes me wonder. Then suddenly, it comes to my mind: the Wonderland I've entered bears an astonishing similiarity to the cemetery of Montmartre. And all at once I feel as if I'm in Paris.

But in the background of this necropolis scenery, tower blocks claim their interest in the modern metropolis of Buenos Aires. What a bizarre contrast!

Photo: Susanne Kruza

Mausoleums and tower blocks: a bizarre contrast

Nevertheless the narrow alleys, the sneaking cats, the plants which struggle for a place in this sparse landscape of cement and the crumbliing mortar of the stone frontages, relieve this burial place from the fast pace and the liveliness of its neighbourhood.

In the cemetery of Recoleta time stands still. Filled with melancholy and admiration I walk reverently and appropriately to the graveyard's unspoken rule, slowly and carefully over the graves (all in all six hectares, the size of about six football stadiums). This is Argentina's meeting point for past presidents, military heroes, influential politicians (e.g. Evita), in brief: the rich and the famous. (And of course it's also a meeting point for tourists from all over the world). Funerals still take place here nowadays.

The travel guide that I slipped into my pocket when I left my apartment, just to be sure not to get lost in a city where nearly 17 million people live, says: "There's a saying that goes: It's cheaper to live extravagantly all your life than to be buried in Recoleta." I take a closer look at the marble, and I can see what they mean.

After a while I feel a bit strange and slightly crazy, visiting a cemetery in my free time and taking pictures of tombs. But this Paris-feeling fascinates me. No wonder that I feel like I'm in Montmartre, because a Frenchman had his finger in the pie. My city guide tells me that it was planned in 1822 by the French engineer Próspero Catelin.

Interestingly, only the date of death and not the date of birth is chiseled in the stone of the mausoleums. The aesthetics of slow fading, aging, suffering and the remaining emptiness and coldness after the loss of someone dear sticks to the walls and murals.

My fascination with this Paris-like cemetery might seem over-enthusiastic, since there is another Paris-styled and even more bigger cemetery in Chacarita, another barrio of Buenos Aires, which is a less touristy and celebrated spot but where the famous tango singer Carlos Gardel rests, for instance. But the thing about Recoleta's cemetery is that one can compare it to the cherry on the cake. It is a mousy eyecatcher that you have to see in relation to its surroundings. The architecture of the whole neighbourhood is French-influenced: the villas where rich families once settled down, the Palais de Glace, the neo-gothic Engineering School, luxury apartments, mansions, grand monuments, wide avenues and expensive boutiques such as Cartier and Louis Vuitton.

Certainly, neoclassical buildings with fanciful balconies pop up all over Buenos Aires but they are nowhere as concentrated than in Recoleta, with its French charm and its nickname "little Paris of South America". After all I was correct: I am in Paris, a second Paris, miles away from what I knew before. It's not altogether surprising that the French embassy is situated in Recoleta. Taking a stroll through Recoleta is like buying a plane ticket to France's capital letting oneself be surprise oneself by every little architectural detail. And that's so very typical of Buenos Aires: its European influence, its openness and diversity and in particular, its ability to astound.

Susanne Kruza is a student at the University of Constance, Germany, taking part in the Masters programme "Studies in European Culture."