LES CATACOMBE DE PARIS

Walking down the street it’s just like any other Parisian intersection, an ornate statue encircled by bustling traffic chaotically criss-crossing between pedestrians. It’s an hour before opening time on this beautiful summers morning and I can’t shake the feeling we are in the wrong spot. There are no obvious signs, no advertising, no fanfare at all. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a small group of inconspicuous visitors lined up at a narrow black metal door with tiny letters embossed above “Entree des catacombs”; we are here, standing on top of the world’s largest cemetery, the final resting place of over 6 million people.

At 10am on the dot the doors open and the first wave of visitors are welcomed through. The line now stretches down the street, wrapping neatly around the bend and into the park. Luckily we took the advice of friends and arrived well before opening time. From street level you would never guess what lay beneath, but it soon becomes clear that where we are going is a long way from the bustling world above. The tightly wound spiral staircase sink us deep below the ground, like we are truly transcending from the land of the living into a time capsule of the dead. Where we are heading are the dug out quarries once used to mine the stone that built Paris; now they’re filled with the bones of millions of Parisians lay to rest between the late eighteenth and mid nineteenth century.