People all over the world are dying to get in to cemeteries, to graves, to mausoleums. Their bones are buried, their ashes encased, their lives summarised in the dash between two dates. Their epitaphs, their choice of grave marker, their obituary, all tell a story. Cemeteries are museums of life often overlooked, frequently ignored. When I travel, I travel to meet the living and to pay my respects to the dead. These are my stories.
At the end of the much-touted (and somewhat overrated) Tram 28 in Lisbon, sits Cemitério dos Prazeres. Founded in 1833 after an outbreak of cholera, the cemetery is all about…