Cementerio del Este, Caracas, Venezuela, October 2025

Just a week before All Saints’ Day—my favourite celebration back in Poland—I found myself wandering through the quiet paths of Cementerio del Este in Caracas. Perhaps it is that Polish reverence for 1 November, with its glowing cemeteries lit by candlelight, that instilled in me a love for these places of rest. Over the years, I’ve made it a quiet tradition to visit cemeteries whenever I travel—whether in Lisbon, Kraków, Luanda or Bangkok. Each one whispers its own story.

Cementerio del Este surprised me. Spread across the rolling hills of La Trinidad, it feels modern, almost minimalist. The flat stones, neatly mown grass, and geometric layout reminded me more of how I imagined North American cemeteries might look—open, ordered, facing the sky rather than enclosed by shadow. There are no gothic tombs here, no moss-covered angels or iron fences—just light, space, and a stunning view of Caracas, stretching out like a living mosaic in the valley below.

I walked slowly, letting the names, dates, and faces on the gravestones speak. Some offered smiles from old black-and-white portraits; others left only carved names to the sun. I paused often. These visits never feel like meditations on death—rather, they feel like celebrations of life. And this one was no different.

When my friend and I left the cemetery, neither of us felt heavy. Quite the opposite. We followed the day into a nearby restaurant and were gifted with an unexpected moment of joy: a group of dancers performing traditional Venezuelan folk routines, their music full of rhythm and colour. We stayed for a while, clapping, smiling, soaking in the joy of it all.

It was the perfect way to honour life—a quiet morning among the resting, followed by music, dance, and laughter among the living.

Click here to visit the album: 🕯️ Cementerio del Este: Life Reflected in Stone and Sky