| Celebrity Death Tourism |
| Written by Brendon Green |
| Friday, 29 January 2010 06:27 |
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I’m not convinced about Celebrity Death Tourism, the “Hey, they were famous, now they’re dead, let’s check it out” attitude that fuels so much fascination. I imagine it to be at best tacky, at worst sacrilegious.
I just visited Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise, the proclaimed most visited cemetery in the world (which I hope is just a stated fact, and not a boast to impress), home of Oscar Wilde, Chopin, Proust, Edith Piaf and Jim Morrison, and I have mixed emotions about the whole thing.
I like to visit cemeteries. Not in a weird way, but in a way that does give me a special feeling. I get uncharacteristically reverent when I walk through a cemetery. I’m too respectful for my own good. I get grossly upset when I see someone has tagged or vandalised a gravestone. I take it as a personal attack on the person buried there. I think of the person who died, how they survived and struggled through their life in this God-forsaken world in whatever way they could, and now the least we can do is let them rest in peace. I’m telling you, I get riled up and just plain apocalyptical in these most sacred of places. So maybe that’s why I get irked by “Hey, they were famous, now they’re dead, let’s take a photo.”
The Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise is something to behold, though. It is enormous and hauntingly beautiful. I arrived close to closing time, so there weren’t too many other people around, and the middle of winter really is the perfect time to visit. I found myself walking down the cobblestone paths, weaving between huge family plot monuments, wrapped up tight in jacket and scarf, steaming breath coming with every exhale. Leafless dark trees looming over me filled with black crows swooping and crying out as I passed all the names and dates representing people who used to exist and are now just remembered.
After 30 minutes of wandering around, I stumbled across Oscar Wilde’s grave. There was 7 other people there, some taking pictures, a couple sitting in thought, all reacting to being in the presence of a great man. The grave marker was covered in lipstick kisses and loving messages, despite a plaque asking people to leave it alone. I just stood there, dumb, in an audience of strangers who had come to look at some stone. It was nice. I don’t want to say my heart did a Grinch and grew 3 sizes, but I wasn’t filled with hellfire and wrath, so that’s something.
So I have had my go at Celebrity Death Tourism, and it wasn’t as horrible as I had imagined. I do understand the fascination, like when I stood on the bridge where they filmed that scene from Sex And The City. While it is a bit tacky, and can be embarrassing, as long as it’s respectful, I will be ok. |
