Muerta

“Don’t take pictures of the birds!” my guide warned, waggling his finger at my phone. “You will carry home bad spirits.”

So that explained a few things. I snapped away anyway, countless photos from Lima’s largest and oldest cemetery, the Presbitero Matias Maestro.

Located in one of those neighborhoods in Lima that tourists seldom visit, the cemetery is full of history and superstition.

The cemetery began about two hundred years ago, when Peru just gained independence from Spain and the leading cause of death was tuberculosis. Lima’s chief export was guano (bird droppings) used for fertilizer and gun powder.

The War of the Noses

Needless to say, during that time, Lima was facing a war with smells. The dead from the wars, sickness and whatever were placed in the bottom of churches, the stench predating Glade plug-ins and Febreze. Someone had the idea to move the bodies to the edge of the city near farmland, an area now known as Barrios Altos.

Many people were superstitious about the idea of a cemetery, wanting the remains of the dead to stay in the safety of a church. Still the noses won the battle, the massive cemetery was born, moving with it the exhumed body of Achibishop Juan Domingo Gonzalez de la Reguera to keep order in the house.

I don’t know how many bodies are buried in the Presbitero, but if you believe in the afterlife of any sort, you’d think a cemetery would work like a hotel, an Airbnb for short-term stays, instead it houses long-term squatters.

The cemetery is massive, the layout like an octopus.

We reserved a guide to explain the layout of the Presbitero, each aisle of tombs housing a specific category of “resident”. The first wing was for the suicides, including several witches and warlocks. These tombs were marked by candles and incense still being offered by someone or something.

There were wings for infants, many of whom were born and died on the same day.

Then the supersized coffins….

Plus. an eccentric poet who wanted to be buried standing. I hope he’s wearing comfortable shoes.

There were elaborate monuments for war heroes honored for killing hundreds and the murderer who was condemned for killing one.

There are still a few vacancies at the Presbitero. A Peruvian friend of mine has two relatives buried here, recalling life before the age of vaccines. He remembers the grief of polio, the fear not being if the disease killed you, but if you lived. Not all of his family is buried here. His mother and two dogs got a burial at sea.

Before leaving the Presbitero, we had to check a mirror to ensure we could still see our reflection as well as wash our hands. Pocket sanitizer just won’t do the trick.

How to get there? You can take the train to the Presbitero or a hearse.

I recommend the train and to hire a guide. Bring water and if your superstitous, a few cloves of garlic in your pocket.