I realized as a teenager that every new city’s cemetery is an adventure. It hit me when I found myself alone in Vienna during Christmas. I was 14, sent on an exchange program, and on the first day, our entire group came down with chickenpox. Except for me and one classmate—we’d already had it as kids. So, for two weeks straight, we were free to roam the city. Alone. Every day. We spent our time wandering through record stores and underground parties, which is how we ended up at Vienna’s Central Cemetery.
Vienna’s Central Cemetery – A Walk with Musical Legends
We got the idea at a punk show. It was me, my classmate, and a group of local punks—proper ones with green and blue mohawks. We trudged through snowy Vienna, following tram tracks, freezing half to death, but the punks were well-prepared and had brought plenty of liquid warmth. Climbing over the old cemetery fence was easy (don’t do this, by the way), and soon, we were walking down the main avenue, eventually finding Mozart’s “grave.”
Back then, we didn’t know it was just a monument—his real burial site is in St. Marx Cemetery. But the graves of Beethoven, Schubert, the Strauss family, and Brahms? Those are real.
Famous Rock Star Graves: Morrison, Hendrix, and Lee
When it comes to rock legends, I’ve had my moments too. Like many others, I once belted out Light My Fire with the ever-present hippie crowd at Jim Morrison’s grave in Père Lachaise, Paris. This was after his tombstone was stolen in the ’70s but before they put up security because vandals kept defacing the bust of Jim. Honestly, dying in Paris doesn’t seem like the best idea.
Jimi Hendrix, on the other hand, rests peacefully outside Seattle—his grave is always surrounded by colorful lipstick prints, and no one’s ever stolen or defaced his statue. Plus, the view of the mountains is spectacular.
Take note: if you must die, Washington State isn’t a bad option. Just ask Bruce Lee—he’s buried in Seattle’s Lake View Cemetery next to his son, Brandon. It’s a serene place, always quiet, and visitors are respectful. Perfect for meditation.
The Vibrant Cemeteries of Mexico – Día de los Muertos
For the most vibrant cemeteries (if that’s not an oxymoron), you have to go to Mexico—specifically during the Día de los Muertos. The festival lasts three days, but don’t expect to get much sleep. Days are filled with cemetery processions, rituals in stunning churches, and endless street carnivals. Fire-eaters, acrobats, people in elaborate costumes—everyone paints sugar skulls on their faces. Kids wear calaca outfits, glowing skeleton costumes that light up at night.
Pátzcuaro – A Magical Town’s Celebration of the Dead
I was lucky enough to celebrate Día de los Muertos in Mexico three times. Once in Oaxaca, famous for its traditional carnival and children’s parade.
Another time in Mexico City, where every street turns into a circus—fun fact: Mexico banned animals in circuses in 2014. Skeletons dangle from every balcony, massive skulls stand against Mexican flags, and stilt walkers roam everywhere.
But if we’re talking pure reverence for the dead, nothing compares to Día de los Muertos in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán.
Yes, you’ve probably heard the name Michoacán in Narcos. Don’t worry—only the coast is dangerous. The state capital, Morelia, and its surrounding villages are perfectly safe. Mexico has a term for places like Pátzcuaro: pueblo mágico, or “magic town.” These are places where traditions thrive, and in Mexico, all traditions are magical. And, of course, most revolve around the dead.
The Scariest Cemetery – Guanajuato’s Mummies
The scariest cemetery? That’s in Mexico too—Guanajuato, my favorite city and the birthplace of the Mexican Revolution. In the 19th century, the government imposed a burial tax so high that poor families had to dig up their dead, mummify them, and store them in a special building at the cemetery.
Today, they’re on display at the Museum of the Mummies. Walking through that place, you suddenly understand Mexico in a whole new way. The locals stroll past mummified infants while happily munching on massive clouds of cotton candy. Death isn’t a tragedy here—it’s an ally. Don Juan was right.
Caribbean Cemeteries – A Colorful Celebration of Life
And then there are the Caribbean cemeteries, tucked under swaying palms with skies that feel impossibly close. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I’ve always felt the sky in the Caribbean is lower than anywhere else. Regardless, I love it. Caribbean funeral traditions are unique—lots of bright red hearts and graffiti on crypts.
I’ll never forget my first days in Jamaica when I came across a giant building with Peace, Love, Hope, Faith, Charity tiled onto its wall. Turned out, it was Kingston’s central crematorium. That told me a lot about Jamaica—how a country treats death says everything about its people.
The Open-Air Museum of Faith – Lapeyrouse Cemetery, Trinidad and Tobago
And then there’s Lapeyrouse Cemetery in Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago—a place forever in my heart. Unlike other Caribbean islands, Trinidad has a large Chinese and Indian population, reflected in the cemetery’s layout. There are sections of neatly arranged graves with Chinese characters and Hindi inscriptions.
Thanks to its proximity to Venezuela and its oil reserves, the island has a strong Latin American presence. They decorate graves with bright ceramic tiles, while the old-money elite build grand mausoleums, resembling mini castles. White aristocrats favor elaborate faux-classical statues and angels.
But my favorite graves belong to the poor—simple painted slabs of concrete, sometimes with a hand-painted quote or a glued-on crucifix in the same color as the stone. It’s a kind of pop art.
And all of this—Chinese tombstones, Hindu gods, Christian angels—exists in one place. People of all races and religions come here. Some burn incense, others light frankincense. Prayers are whispered in Latin, while mantras hum in the background. It feels like an open-air museum of faith.
Yet just beyond the cemetery walls, the bustling city roars, where colonial grandeur meets slums and shimmering skyscrapers.
No peace, no equality—except here.
Maybe the only ones who can unite the living are the dead. But only on their own turf.
