In our many travels, we have usually visited the local cemetery as a way of trying to understand the culture. Not every place is Pere Lachaise, of course, but each has its story to tell. And so it was in Bernal. As we approached the entrance, we caught sight this pick-up truckload of men. How many men fit in the back of a truck? A lot, especially when they're standing and hanging off the side like it was a San Francisco cable car. We wondered if their proximity to the graveyard was a portent.
The portal, with an inscription bemoaning the fate of all humans.
This one was very unkempt. Hard to imagine why, since the town is so small. But then again, everyone is busy dealing with the tourists. Even so, you'd think somebody would want to put some flowers in those empty cans.
See all the weeds?
I forget why exactly I wanted el sr J to take certain photos. Maybe the juxtaposition of elaborate tombs and barely discernible plots. Maybe the hand-written details, some of which were etched in wet cement or crudely inscribed on metal crosses.
This one was a little house. With a garden.
Here we have a wooden cross in the middle and a rosary hanging from the one on the left.
Somebody important. Notice he died anyway.
The end.
No comments:
Post a Comment