They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

-When Great Trees Fall, Maya Angelou

Forward

I think i should explain my obsession with cemeteries. They give me peace. When I walk into one to take photographs I forget everything and concentrate on the place. I forget about wars and death and cruelty and greed and poverty and hate and misery that is everywhere. Then I read the headstones and they pull me in, like the pages of a discarded paperback. What were their lives like? How long did they live? Who loved them? Sometimes these questions can be answered through historical dates, epitaphs, and simple math. Sometimes not.

Our lives are very complicated. Pandemics. Conflicts. Fear. Love. Loss. Day to day existence. Even memories. These are all stew for the anxious mind. A technicolor panoply of thought that overwhelms me sometimes, but in a cemetery my thoughts drift towards a peaceful enjoyment of the moment. In these places I find art, someone else’s memories, and color and architecture, pretty landscaping and a sense of spiritual things. The history or even the feel of a place can be found there: great men, lowly citizens, centenarians and infants, mothers, brothers, and strangers. Good and evil.

Yet, I don’t believe in burials. I don’t believe in an afterlife really, which is why I want to make the most of my present life. I’ll surrender my body to science or a hospital, I won’t need it, I will not have my own grave or my own epitaph with its list of dates and touching message. Any memories of me will be carried by my kids, my friends, and the people I have met.

My Journey through the groves of the dead

Everywhere I go now I make an effort to see the local cemetery. Some are magnificent, some are sad and depressing. I have been to them in Europe: Britain, Scotland, Spain, Portugal, Iceland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, and more. Through the southwestern United States in poor small towns of Tierra Amarilla. Central Mexico. Central America. Colombia, Peru, Argentina. And tours. I’ve gone on many tours. In Austin. In Paris. In London. I’ve seen crypts, mausoleums, ossuaries, pet cemeteries.

First Experiences

My first memories of visiting a cemetery for the sheer love of seeing the magnificent buildings, stones, and tree-lined avenues are of Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires, final resting place of Eva Duarte, Luis Firpo, Diego Sarmiento and other Argentine luminaries. It was in the early 1960s, I was nine years old, we were living in the Alvear Palace Hotel and my mom took me for walks through the grand streets and boulevards of the cemetery. It’s a magnificent, fragrant place.

I returned this year (2020) to fire up those memories again; recalling the cemetery and vivid remembrances of the neighborhood. I recalled learning to ride a bicycle across the entrance from Recoleta. It’s paved smooth now. It was cobbled stoned when I was young.

Evita Peron’s grave is actually very nondescript and uninteresting. I don’t have any good, shareable images of Recoleta. I was more taken by the Cementerio de Chacarita a few miles away where I photographed this imposing family mausoleum. Both places are grand, European-styled grounds with lots of Neo-this and Neo-that architecture. If you like grandeur and belle epoch architecture, Buenos Aires is IT!

Vienna, Austria

By far the largest and most imposing cemetery I have seen anywhere is the Vienna’s Central Cemetery. Although there are dozens of cemeteries in Vienna, this one holds more than 300,000 bodies including enough composers to fill a music library. Among them Beethoven, Brahms, Gluck, Salieri, Schubert, and Strauss.  It’s also the place where Harry Lime was buried, twice!

The image below is of the main church of the Vienna Cemetery, St. Charles Borromeo. Imposing, cold, and forbidding, its design is called Vienna Secessionist.

I made a mental note to visit this place when I first saw The Third Man, written by Graham Greene, starring Joseph Cotton and Orson Welles. There is a striking scene at the end of the film in this place that shows the elegance, loneliness, and enormity of the Vienna Cemetery. When I return it will be in the winter, this photograph is from fall.

Chichicastenango, Guatemala

Few countries rival Guatemala in terms of color and mystery of their cemeteries. The mix and syncretistic aspects of indigenous and Catholic tradition are especially in evidence at the Cementerio de Chichicastenango which NatGeo said is one of the world’s best cemeteries.

Chichicastenango, famous for its market, sits at 6500 ft. asl in the Western Highlands of Guatemala. Nearly all of the people are descendants of the Maya and their languages are heard all over. The market has been around for millennia, although the main church is nearly 500 years old. The Conquistadores burned all the records, including books, of the Mayan Empire. The only remaining written work of the Mayas (Popol Vuh) was hidden in Chichicastenango and discovered by a priest in the early 18th century. It is the story of the origin of man. 

In the 20th century Chichicastenango was the site of many killings. Indigenous populations were being eradicated by the right wing military dictatorships that had the people by the throat.

So the city, and it’s burial grounds, is leadened with ancient spiritual mysteries, conquistador oppression, and modern-day ethnic cleansing.

I spent quite a bit of time within the colorful confines of the cementerio with a guide I had hired for the day. I had been warned that it was quite dangerous as bandits hid in the alleys and streets of the graveyard preying on mourners. Crosses and mausoleums like small houses are meticulously cared for and repainted frequently in colors that have meaning. White symbolizes purity and is used for infants, mothers crosses or tombs are light blue, and the aged sunny yellow. My photograph was taken on the way out and you can appreciate the bright colors of the buildings and crosses. 

In Chichicastenago examples of syncretism, the fusing of traditions from two cultures or religions, are everywhere: in the churches, in the cathedral, and in the cemetery.

Xela (Quetzaltenango)

The Cementerio Minerva in Xela, also known as Quezaltenango, is marvelously maintained. This is evident in the photographs below where a worker sprays for pests and a lady carries out grass clippings. Xela, also in the Guatemalan western highlands, is mostly indigenous and is one of the country’s largest cities. I rather liked the place even though I was quite sick with an infection in my chest from breathing in volcano ash several nights before. I sleep with my mouth open, which is not a good thing when there is a major eruption (Volcán Fuego).

In any event, Xela’s stacked mausoleums are painted in bright colors by painters paid by families to refresh the resting places of their loved ones.  It’s a cheery and pleasant place. I really liked this graveyard. Splashy colors, aromas, people (its a gathering place for gossips) and yet it has gravitas as the final resting place for many locals. Color abounds!

Cemeteries are a glimpse into the past and local culture

There is history in the graves. When I visit them I’m often attracted to the dates and epitaphs and try to piece together relationships and construct a story line. In Texas and elsewhere there are many headstones, especially those marking children’s graves, with dates corresponding to the misnamed pandemic of the 20th Century: the Spanish Flu (1918-1920). 

As a cultural photographer I am drawn to cemeteries because they are a window into culture and reveal to us the way in which deceased are remembered or honored. . There are remarkable differences in the way the deceased are remembered in Guatemala and Vienna, for example.  And there is always chance to watch a funeral!! Some day I may be lucky enough to see this African funeral rite: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EroOICwfD3g

Humble and simple burial grounds in the Southwest US

In El Paso, a crossing for immigrants seeking better things, life is hard and so is the earth. More stone than dirt really. Most cemeteries there are modest affairs and not elaborate in any way. Perhaps that makes them places of pathos and sadness. This photographs of the camposanto in Socorro, Texas reflects that I think. What is more humble that a wooden cross?

Perhaps one of the richest areas for taphophiles is Northern New Mexico where sometimes cultures clash.  No syncretism there. Traditionally catholic and poor, many of the camposantos are very sparse, humble plots of land.  But some families seek to provide their loved ones with a sense of grandeur or dignity by constructing elaborate, but simple (if that is possible) markers such as this one in Los Llanitos. Conversely, I came across a less traditional marker depicting what I believe is the deceased on his Harley Davidson. 

The cemetery in Galisteo, NM is a melancholy place in the foothills just a bit south of the state capitol in Santa Fe. 

Ossuaries

Im a big fan of ossuaries and my trip to Portugal had to include the ossuary that is in every guide book, the Capela dos Ossos (Chapel of Bones) inside the Igreja de São Francisco in Évora. Five thousand corpses from the middle ages were exhumed by the monks and rearranged on the walls and columns of the capela. To me, fascinating. 

Heartgrabbing sites

Sometimes, if you pay attention to dates and epitaphs, you come across heartbreaking markers. This one I saw in Iceland, land of tiny towns and tinier gravesites. A cross marks the burial site of a 1-year-old boy and occupies the most prominent of locations in the grave yard. What could have happened to him? 

Simple crosses mark nearly all graves in Iceland in line with the state religion, the Church of Iceland whose houses of worship are austere and devoid of any decoration.  One exception is the tombstone marking Chess Grandmaster and World Champion Bobby Fischer, an American who renounced his citizenship and became an Icelander. Still simple, but made of stone and not wood.

Pathos and Melancholy

This epitaph is the saddest I have ever seen (translation below). I came across it in Portugal an old country steeped in nostalgia, melancholy and saudades. Just listen to some fado, the national music, and you will know what I mean.

Military Cemeteries

I get no joy walking through Arlington National Cemetery or this National Cemetery on the outskirts of Santa Fé, New Mexico. They do no fill me with peace. They sadden and sometimes anger me. While honoring those felled in battle defending our freedoms, they also are monuments to the waste of war. I start to look at the dates and do the math. Gut wrenching. Lives of brothers and lovers, of fathers and sons, ended at 18- or 20- years old.

Mexico

I am seldom disappointed when traveling through colonial Mexico. When I visited Zacatecas in spring of 2018, I took a short bus trip to Jerez, a terrific town where I took in a wedding on horseback, stumbled upon a beautiful library, and strolled through its picturesque cemetery. The striking bougainvillea particularly caught my eye: life among the dead. 

Not a particularly noteworthy cementerio, this place in Guanajuato had a marvelous view of the mountain through its entrance arch. A remarkable city, Guanajuato, with it’s own unique and macabre museum of mummies.

Cemeteries of the Baltic republics

The older cemeteries of the Baltic republics, formerly Soviet buffer states like Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, are marvelous. Poland’s too. They have been allowed to be overgrown with trees since WWII so now they are young forests with shade, shadow, and color. Outdoor galleries of art, open to all to stroll, inhale the perfumes of the seasons, sit and read a book or write a poem, or be inspired to photograph them.

I have two representative images of the Bernadine Cemetery in Lithuania that was run by the Bernadine Monks. It’s rather large, wooded, and a great place to walk and spend an hour or two. Located in the Užupis district of Vilnius, it’s not hard to find.

Above is a meandering path. I found it very inviting. It was October.

I was struck by the elegance of the grave below with its display of yellow flowers and exquisite art on the stones.

In Conclusion

I have many more images to add. My experiences in the some of the old cemeteries of Eastern Europe, particularly the Jewish Cemeteries, did fill me with dread and I haven’t really worked at those photographs. Warsaw and Riga in particular are incredibly difficult sometimes to look at. But I will get around it.

In the meantime I am looking forward to seeing more of these in my travels.

I leave you with this lovely building, a storage shed for the workers at the cemetery in Óbidos, Portugal.

Appendix: Cemeteries in Chile

A recent trip to Chile took me to some of the most intriguing and interesting cemeteries. I’ll start with the Cemetery of Punta Arenas: Cementerio Municipal Sara Braun. The residents of this town which sits on the Strait of Magellan in Southern Chile are proud to call the place the world’s most beautiful cemetery. Perhaps it is. It is meticulously maintained every day by gardeners with sunburnt eastern European faces who cut, clip, water, and admire their results. Long avenues of carefully coiffed Chilean evergreens cover acres and acres of the parklike atmosphere. It’s a major attraction in the town of Punta Arenas, almost 6000 miles from Austin, Texas. It’s a shorter trip (by 1000 miles) from Austin to London!

On the Chiloé Archipelago I found the most interesting cemetery I have ever seen. In Teupa, one of the many charming towns that dot Isla Grande, many graves have houses on top. These are not crypts, but models of the home owned by the deceased. Some have model furniture inside them, along with flowers.

Thank you to a gentleman who observed me photographing old buildings in nearby Chonchi. He approached me, we chatted, and he recommended this place which he felt would interest a cultural photographer.

In the port city of Valparaíso there exists a Cementerio de Disidentes, or the dissidents cemetery. Not a graveyard for revolutionaries or anyone rebelling against the government, dissidents in this context includes foreigners and non-Catholics. There are a lot of German, French, English, and Croatian graves here. But most interesting, to me, was this tomb pictured. It contains the remains of American sailors who were aboard the Frigate USS Essex, defeated in the Battle of Valparaíso against the British in 1814, at the tail end of the War of 1812 (The American War of 1812).

It’s remarkable that these sailors, memorialized in the Cementerio de Disidentes, were 20,000 nautical miles from Boston. Consider that the circumference of the earth is 22,000 miles they were almost a full world away.

A word to other photographers and cemetery fans, it was just outside the doors of this place that I was mugged and stripped of some valuables. No threats, aggression, or injuries except to my ego.