In a way you could call this part three of our adventure into the Parisian necropolis. Sure, its not technically in Paris. Or France, but Belgium is kind of close, isn’t it?
After spending almost half an hour trying to work out how to tackle the cemetery wall we felt like complete idiots when we turned a corner to find the front gate wide open. Our only obstacle, a funeral precession. We found ourselves surrounded by men, women and children dressed in black, sad faces and tears were plentiful and in a way I felt incredibly guilty. Dressed in combats and hoodies, carrying rucksacks covered in god knows what we casually strolled past the mourners and through the main gates.
It was impossible to ignore the difference between this cemetery and any I had visited in England. Decorations and objects littered the graves, everything from medals, watches and rings all the way down to small pictures of the deceased occupant. If this was the UK the chavs would have smashed everything possible to break and the scum would have stolen everything of value, melted down the picture frames for scrap and used the photos inside to insulate their caravans, but alas I digress.
Due the catacombs stretching under most of the cemetery access was not hard to find. Several sets of stairs curved down to a small fence which to be honest a seven year old could climb, a far cry from the catacombs of london. Much like the cemetery above the catacombs were decked out with all sought’s of grievance tokens, small sections unenclosed by the fence still containing freshly laid flowers. However there was not a single exposed coffin to be seen, each being sealed behind a stone or marble tombstone.
Every step or sound you made echoed down the long empty corridors, with footsteps above sounding like stomping animals. It really was difficult to work out if people were walking inside or above. At one point it got so bad we considered giving ourselves up, thinking there were people at the end of the corridor waiting for us to make a sound before they brought down the hammertime.
As we walked to the south end of the catacombs the passage opened up into a large chamber into which all the other passages connected. It was here the main collection of the personal and family crypts were situated. Some looking like the entrance to an aztec kingdom, while others looking like they were plucked from a Tim Burton movie.
After almost filling a memory card walking the different passages and crypts we decided we had best leave. So up we went, over the fence and casually walked out, a small nod to the gatekeeper our last goodbye. He knew what we had been up too but as he sat in his chair basking in the sun, you got the feeling he just didn’t care.
