We went up the main drive, past the war memorials of Italy, Russia, France, the US, and other allies, and walked smack into the Colombarium. We climbed down the steps and found ourselves in the middle of a series of long hallways with crypts on all sides. The ashes of Maria Callas (or her urn at least), are here, but after learning that there were at least 13,000 nooks, and that we were running out time, we respectfully decided to go look for slightly more interesting graves.
Armed with the Rick Steve map and Gina's infallible sense of direction, we inmediately went the wrong way. And by the time we realized it. we were clear accross the cemetary. So we re-strategized , re-routed, and headed to the most important grave of all, Jim Morrison's. Sigh!
We finally made it to to Jim Morrison's grave, which to be honest, was as exciting as the podiatrist's apartment. No bust of his head, no underwear strewn around, nada. We were there for a few minutes before the guard came to kick us out. It was way later than we thought, and we still had to make it to nun-dinner, so we rushed out to catch the metro.
The Bastard Family mausoleum.
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