The real question is not if life exists after death, the real question is whether you are alive before death.

Each day, on my way to work, I travel past a huge cemetery. It's always busy. Filled with people selling flowers and balloons, and grieving families paying their respects to their loved ones. The place fascinates me because for one; I've always been drawn to them and two; it's nothing like the cemeteries we have at home. So, when you find something intriguing the only thing to do is go check it out, right?

Now to some of you this may sound morbid or creepy …. and maybe it is. But in my experience, sometimes it's the cemetery that's the most captivating part of a town. If it makes you uncomfortable however, then certainly feel free to not read any further, or look at the photos in this blog entry.

Cemetery-wandering runs in my family; my sister likes doing it too. I don't know why I find it relaxing and interesting. Maybe it comes from having to face death a lot in my life. I have a healthy reverence for it, but it has also become so familiar to me that I don't feel afraid of it, nor the accessories that come with it.

Maybe cemeteries captivate me because, as a child, whenever we travelled through small town NZ, one of my parents would inevitably say in an attempt at a witty play on words, 'Oh, there's the dead centre of '. That's the way childhood memories go I guess; a little ridiculous, but cherished. Perhaps as a child it subconsciously instilled in me a focus on these places.

Or maybe, at the end of the day … I'm just a little weird.

Whatever the reason, I was looking forward to a relaxing and intriguing afternoon wandering around this huge place. It didn't take much to rope in a couple of friends, they were pretty keen on the experience too ….

We arrive around 4pm on a Sunday afternoon and the place is a hive of activity. People walking in with everything from large bunches of flowers, to a single poetic stem. Individuals were leaving looking solemn and thoughtful. Others are leisurely wandering, enjoying the sunshine and feeling good they have paid their respects this week. Some are striding through the gates with a determined and purposeful step.

Dogs wander around, as they do on the streets of this city, but here they are unaware that they are in a special and revered place. Two elderly blind men with little tin cups ask for money. Rather smart really to position yourself in a place where, with a bit of luck after some quiet reflection time, people realise what's important in life and reassess their values, giving generously to those in need.

The place is eerily still as I stand at the entrance to a row of graves, staring at the apartment style building in front of me. People stacked on top of each other in their own cubicle, like a wall in a mortuary or those hotels you read about in Japan. The walls in-between the plaques are painted a pretty shade of pale blue, no doubt to promote a calm and relaxing environment. Suddenly, just like in the movies, there is a clap and flutter of wings as a lone bird takes off. Breaking the silence and refocusing my attention for a minute.

The design seems effective and astute, yet sad at the same time. Row after row lay in front of me, hundreds and hundreds of people slid into a hole in the wall, then cemented over. As if to provide some relief to the eyes of the viewer, the endless rows are interspersed by graves of the other extreme …. huge and ostentatious family tombs.

Some of these are old-fashioned looking; some are modern and minimalistic; some have a creative architectural design; some could pass as todays trend in 'tiny houses'; some were highly religious; others displayed no devout tendencies at all; and some were just plain strange. All had one thing in common though …. when you looked through the window or the door, you could clearly see each family members coffin on proud display. Yes, the actual coffin. Even for me, a person very accustomed to seeing coffins, I found this a little startling and confronting at first.

As we wander further afield we discover a very old family crypt belonging to the 'Familia Costas' (the Costas family). It dated back to the 1800's and was exactly the kind of place I am mesmerised by when I go to cemeteries. The old gothic style tomb had been through its fair share of earthquakes by the looks and had been abandoned by the extended family for many years. Inside the walls covering the coffins themselves were falling down, and 3 of the 6 were exposed. It was an unnerving and yet fascinating feeling. The date on one of the coffins said 1884 and I wondered who were these people? What was their story? How old were they when they passed? How were they related? Who were they in the community to have such an affluent tomb? How did they die?

While most of these questions will remain unanswered, I did manage to enlarge one of the photos I had taken and uncover a name 'Dolores Urbina Costas'. After a bit of digging around on the internet, it turns out she was married to Manuel Costas who was the Prime Minister of Arequipa, for all of 2 months, back in 1864. I bet this family was interesting.

As we moved around we came across a walled in section off to the side that held an open, traditional type of cemetery. Something more like what we have at home. It held hundreds of graves with multicoloured headstones, 90% of which were crosses. This felt more normal, for all of about 3 mins ….

As I was viewing the masses of graves in front of me, my friend pointed out the graffiti styled message on the wall at the entrance, which I'd missed in my eagerness to check out the graves themselves. The sign read 'ojo prohibido ingreso las brujas'. This translates to a simple warning …. watch out, witches are not allowed here.

Witches??

Yes. Witches.

Apparently, there are active ones to this day in the area. They are known for digging up graves to retrieve human bones for their rituals. The warnings were in multiple places in this part of the cemetery. Maybe there is more to this walled-stacked-on-top-of-each-other-then-cemented-in design than just space saving!

As we move around further, we uncover an Egyptian style crypt. One side displays a sphinx and the other side has a statue of a woman. It belongs to the 'Familia Lira' (the Lira family) and contains only 1 body. The daughter.

It turns out she was an active practicing witch who was heavily involved in black magic and considered a disgrace to her family. She died fairly young and her parents purposely buried her in a pyramid in the belief that she could not escape to haunt and terrorise the living. This was the only tomb we found with no windows and a heavy-set impenetrable door. The sphinx protects the entrance on one side with its eyes fully focused on the lady. In ancient Egyptian culture, pointed fingers where believed to avert evil and the one hand pointing upwards symbolised the hope of heaven, while the other hand pointing downward represented the Gods reaching down for the soul of the deceased. As you will be able to see in the photo, interestingly in the years after her death her fellow witches broke the fingers off the statue and gouged its eyes out. This was done in an attempt to release the shackles that bound the Lira daughter to her final resting place.

The next day, following a chat with a colleague about what we did on the weekend, my friend was told about a local urban legend related to that cemetery. All the info we could find online about it was in Spanish but this is what we have been able to make out about the Legend of Monica;

One night, in the 1960's, a young man was heading home after a night out and saw this beautiful young woman in a simple white dress walking along the street. He stopped and asked if she was OK and would she like a ride home. She was very cold, so he gave her his jacket. They talked for a while and eventually she agreed to let him take her home. He dropped her off at her parents' house and said goodnight. The next day he returned to retrieve his jacket and to see her again. Monica's father answered the door and was shocked to hear the young man asking about her. He invited him inside and showed him the memorial to their daughter, who had died 2 years earlier. The young man was terrified and ran out of the house. He drove his motorbike to the cemetery where he found Monica's grave … and his jacket was hanging on it. In the days that followed, the young man went crazy and was admitted to a psychiatric hospital by his family. Days after that, he committed suicide to be with the beautiful girl named Monica that he'd fallen in love with that night.

As I said, cemeteries can hold captivating insights into the town and the world before our existence.

What's next update: So, last we spoke I had decided to end my time in Peru when my visa runs out in May. As that decision has settled in my mind over the last month, I have mixed feeling about it. I will miss so much here. The people, the city, the weather, the food, my colleagues, one or two of my students, and in some deranged way …. I will miss the cold showers!

However life moves on and my first 6 weeks after finishing work is all organised ….. well, somewhat organised. I'll finish classes on the 28th April and head straight to Cusco where I'll spend a few days acclimatising to the higher altitude, before making my way to Machu Pichu.

Not to take anything away from the ancient Incan ruins, but the more exciting news is that … my lovely friend Emma Cox (which some of you will know) is coming to visit! Since I must leave Peru by the 5th May, we are planning to travel around South America together. Can't wait!! Neither of us were brave enough to do it on our own but together, look out! Actually, we are both still a bit nervous but hey, how hard can it be??? ….. she says, after spending 6 months struggling with the language and multiple bouts of bacterial infections!!

What's that kiwi saying; she'll be right mate ....

Following that adventure, I will try my hand at getting back into the country. Based on everything I have read online and heard from fellow travellers, it appears its luck of the draw. Technically I should not be allowed back in as you are only permitted 6 months in a 12 month period. But it depends who you get at the border and how normal you look and act (which could be tricky for me; especially after spending 6 weeks with Emma! ). So this is where the 'trust' word for the year really kicks in ….. I'll be leaving it up to the universe. If I'm meant to come back to Peru, it will happen. And if not, then it's a clear sign there is an adventure elsewhere that I need to get to .....