San Pedro, Buenos Aires

Nuestra Señora del Socorro

Two hours outside of Capital Federal, San Pedro reminds me of the Madonna song La Isla Bonita for obvious reasons: “Last night I dreamt of San Pedro.”

Known for its fruit production, including oranges, grapefruits and peaches, this charming city and port of the province of Buenos Aires is a quiet home for 43,000 people. It was a typically subdued Sunday afternoon as I modestly navigated the uncomplicated streets taking photographs of the many historical buildings that permeate the city.

I was humbled to learn that numerous Sanpedrinos had died during the Falkands War in 1982 and that the city council had passed a resolution in 2005 to honour the fallen. Along the city you will find plaques commemorating those who gave their lives for the posterity of their nation.

Below you’ll find too many photographs that I took from my afternoon excursion. I hope that you like them.

Nuestra Señora del Socorro lies in Plaza Constitución

Beautiful monstrous dark wooden doors

The interior murals

A choir was practicing with instruments

The rule in Argentina is colourful homes!

True to character, Sunday was dead

Italian cultural centre. Spanish and Italian immigrants built this country, like countless others.

I love the colours of Argentina

Madnarinas were being sold all over San Pedro

Art or signs of protest? I can never tell.

Some houses look dirty!

Abandoned or in need of repair

Argentines love to disco!

San Pedro street art

Dead or sleeping?

A bird with a human head buried in its beak. Scary.

A closer view

A quiet Sunday

Stray dogs are all over the place. I fed this one my lunch.

Argentina is home to a lot of stray animals, with a fair number of them lying dead on the side of roads, having clearly been struck by vehicle traffic. It’s a pain in my ass that South Americans in general do not believe in neutering and spaying their cats and dogs. I have attempted on many occasions to explain the benefits to the Argentines who are willing to listen, but they often shrug their shoulders and walk away. After many months stubbornly trying, I have come to terms with the fact that they have a different relationship with their pets than North Americans. However, the difficult lives most of these beautiful animals experience from the moment of birth strikes me as cruel. I wish I could take them home with me, but obviously can’t. There are other perspectives and counter-arguments to my position on the topic, and they can be valid too. In the end, I don’t know why anyone would give up the chance to be loved by a loyal dog.

To soothe my bitterness, I’ll listen to La Isla Bonita: