The incessant rain would stop at nothing. We arrived at Pere Lachaise already travel worn. We walked silently side by side underneath an umbrella much too small for the both of us along the fortress like wall of Pere Lachaise. The gothic roofs of the mausoleums rose above the delapidated walls like quiet sentinels. They had stood here for two hundred years and would stand for two hundred more.

We entered through a side gate and made our way up one of the many cobble-stoned arteries of the extensive cemetery. Pere Lachaise inspired in us awe and reverence. It rose out of the ground like a seemingly disordered and unplanned city; a necropolis where the dead come to rest. Every hill, every turn yields something wonderful and unexpected; a moss covered grave, a statue in rapture, the collapsed floor of a mausoleum, a broken stone cross, fragments of stained glass peeking out from rusted gates, a familar name on a grave. Time stands still here and the tombs accept both rain and sun gracefully. They accepted us on that rainy day as we walked alone through its passageways impervious to the passage of time. We stayed until nightfall.

I will not go into the history of Pere Lachaise as there are many other sites that accuarately tell its tale. I seek only to show you our own experience of this beutiful place through the photographs we took. They speak for themselves.