Père Lachaise – March 2026

I have never been here, despite my 30 years of travel to Paris, and despite owning an apartment in Paris.  How could it compare to the beauty of the other sites in Paris?  And, besides, cemeteries are all the same, aren’t they?  Sad, depressing and full of death.  How wrong I was – my first visit was today and I was completely enchanted.  Perhaps enchanted is the wrong word here, but that was exactly how I felt.  It was a perfect spring day, brilliant sun, crisp blue skies, no wind.  Trees just waiting to burst into bud.  Spring flowers bursting through the warming dirt to seek the sun.  The winter rains have made all the moss bright green, adding to the ambiance.  The setting of this site is exceptional, on a hillside overlooking Paris, the Eiffel Tower hazy in the distance.

I prepped for my visit, downloading a map and highlighting the graves I wanted to visit.  I had a plan, but that went out the door once I stepped through the entrance gates.  From the first moment, I felt I was stepping back in time, as if falling through a portal.  This was living history, except everyone was dead.

I did not know funerary art was a thing, to my detriment.  The beauty of the crypts left me breathless.  Sometimes the beauty stopped me strolling and made me stop and stare.  There are more than 70,000 burial plots here.

Having toured Egypt and felt their reverence for their dead and presumed afterlife,  I thought I was prepared.  I was not.  The tombs and monuments to the dead in this place must surely leave other cemeteries for dead (pun intended).  I wandered to the right after the entrance, which ended up being my favourite part of the whole cemetery.   Ancient tombs built to honour entire families captivated me.  Some were well maintained, some were dilapidating.  The funerary art was extraordinary, highlighted by vivid moss, clinging ivy and sometimes full of broken glass.  Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows I could glimpse through broken metal doors.  The styles of the crypts varied with historical times, some gothic, some art nouveau.  Christians and Jews lined up, side by side, solidarity in death.  Some tilted at impossible angles, some had broken pieces, some were covered in vines and green growth, symbolising rebirth.  Bright green moss covered most of the stone roofs or tombs not in the sun.  Etchings in stone were barely discernible on some stone tombs.  Some were still clear as day, with blank spaces for future inhabitants.  Long established families who were ancient had their crypts well laid out, others not so fortunate.  I could not help but wonder what happened to some families? Did they all cease to exist, die in wars or plagues, move away, lose interest?  Is it a pity their crypts have fallen into disrepair or is it a natural cycle of life?

I duly followed my plan, eventually, and saw graves of famous names I recognized.  Artists, singers, engineers and designers, explorers and more are buried in this hallowed ground.  Some were masterful, some were underwhelming.  Mostly I was surprised at the unknown graves that stopped me in my tracks and made me pause.  Their beauty, their extravagance, their fear or acceptance of death made me stop and take a breath and acknowledge their beauty.  Beauty seems an inappropriate word to use in conjunction with death and yet that is what struck me, repeatedly.  The powerful sculptures that exemplified grief hit hard, and one could feel the sadness of those left behind to live without their beloved. 

One of the oldest monuments in the whole area is of Heloise and Abelard, their space one of the most striking in the entire cemetery.  They were famous 12^th century lovers, having a passionate, intellectual relationship as well as a secret marriage, and finally a tragic love story.  How has Netflix not discovered this drama filled relationship?  To be interred together in such a serene and beautiful seat, inspired me to delve further into their great historical love story.  Nothing in death is more inspiring than love.  They seemed so serene lying next to each other, not hinting at the trauma that surrounded their lives.  Their medieval love letters are now on my “to be read” list.  Their love produced a son named Astrolabe, and I could not help but wonder what happened to him?

Death may be the great leveller, and I have no idea of the people’s lives who are interred in Père Lachaise, but I could guess at some.  Some were a monument to wealth and, by inference, their importance, imagined or otherwise.  Some struck me by their grief.  The sculptures were so intense and so meaningful, even after hundreds of years that they made me photograph them in respect so I could remember their poignance.  The talent of the sculptor, the readiness of the family to create such a graveside moment -how could I not appreciate such an effort?

The tombs are not all historical – it is a current burial place.  I respectfully walked past a couple siting vigil beside a recent grave from 2026.  I have no idea how one comes to be buried here but I assume it takes some effort and planning.  It is a huge space, over 100 acres, and I presume if the grave is not perpetual, a space can be reused, eventually. 

The top of the site seems to be relatively newer and less decorative, but it also contains poignant monuments to mass losses in wars and concentration camps.  The art is beautiful and striking and a strong tribute to those lost. 

The wander through the gravesites was far more emotive than I ever anticipated and I would be keen to return and explore new sites to make me feel other emotions.  The place is quiet, contemplative and well worth a visit or a return visit.  It is also an otherworldly beautiful place to lie in eternal repose. 

I know Père Lachaise is a tourist stop on many people’s journey to Paris, but to me it felt less like an Eiffel tower stop and more like a real Parisian place, as well as a place to respect and pay tribute to history.  Life cannot exist without death, and a place to explore feelings about death is perfectly Père Lachaise.  My day exploring there was a timely reminder that there is beauty even in death.