Goat Gate Cemetery, Bratislava

Worn down from jet lag, we had just arrived in the capital of Slovakia. Jenelle wanted to rest for a couple hours at our hotel so I took advantage of the time to hunt down a cemetery.

My first impressions of Bratislava came during the 10-minute walk to the cemetery. The streets were lined with dingy four-story apartment buildings, probably relics of the Communist era. There was a smattering of graffiti, as well as occasional strips of grass. Away from the historical center, the ambiance here was a peaceful one, with only a handful of pedestrians.

When I arrived at the cemetery on Palisády Street, I found the graveyard locked behind an iron fence. I could see the canary-colored farewell chapel with its rose window, but couldn't find a way to get inside.

Farewell chapel within the walls of Goat Gate Cemetery.

Discouraged, I began to walk around the cemetery in a clockwise manner, first along Bradlianska Street. On my left were more apartment buildings, while on my right, the drab cemetery wall. My mind considered what it might have looked like during the late 1700's when this cemetery likely stood alone, beyond the walls of Pressburg. From time to time I found a gap or hole in the wall and peered inside to see the jumble of tombs.

When I had nearly completed the loop and had already given up hope of entering the cemetery, I arrived at the true entrance on Šulekova Street. What a relief!

I entered a world filled with trees of all varieties, and old tombstones taller than myself. In spite of the motorized roads around the cemetery, the world within its walls was peaceful and quiet.

Giant tombstones.

Interesting statue and headstone.  Notice the little skull. 

Youth making a peaceful walk through Goat Gate Cemetery.

I wandered among the graves, which appeared to be laid out in random patterns. Headstones came in a variety of designs, with different styles and motifs. Some were in the shape of a cross, while many came accompanied with statues. Some appeared to contain the carving of a skull.

Although I am not an expert in all languages, the headstones appeared to have writing in Slovak, German, and probably Hungarian, likely representing the different people and rulers over the last couple centuries. Within this burial ground were artists, inventors, architects, lawyers, historians, merchants, clergymen, soldiers, and politicians.

Dr. Cyril Daxner: Nationalist, lawyer, Slovak officer and church official, hero of the Little War, participant in the resistance against German Nazism.

Cintorín Kozia Brána, or literally translated from Slovak as “Goat Gate Cemetery,” was established in 1783. Originally, the growing Lutheran population of Pressburg (the old name of Bratislava) built a cemetery just outside the city walls. Emperor Joseph Ⅱ made a declaration that all cemeteries would have to be further away from the population centers for hygienic reasons. As a result, the Lutherans purchased land at the current location for a new cemetery. It received its name because it was built along the road that led from the Goat Gate (of the old city walls) toward the hills of the Little Carpathian Mountains.

Several expansions have been made over the years, leading to some of the chaos in the layout of the graves. The cemetery was officially closed in 1950, although there have been burials since then by those who already owned plots. There are 4,000 graves in the cemetery, but taking into consideration that several of the graves have been used several times over, some estimates put the number of deceased at 20,000.

I found it interesting that many graves abutted the outer wall. Many of these outer graves used the wall as a headstone, each with their own design, thus creating a tapestry of styles.

Inner wall of cemetery used as headstones. 

Who knew that Freddy Kruger was buried here?

Example of a German headstone.

For being an older cemetery, the grounds and graves were very well-kept and clean. Although I didn't see many people, there were some who came in for a stroll to enjoy the peaceful spirit.

As could be expected when walking through a foreign cemetery, I didn't know any of the people buried there. Although there was one who was later brought to my attention.

Grave of Janos Jeszenak.

A wing of the mausoleum for the Jeszenak family. 

Russian Orthodox Cross inside of a cross.

On the south side of the cemetery is a mausoleum dedicated to the family of Baron János Jeszenák. János was a former governor and a participant in the Hungarian resistance during 1848 and '49. As a result, he was executed in Budapest on October 10, 1849. It wasn't until 1867 that his remains were exhumed and brought to his homeland, where this former traitor became a national hero.

As I finished walking through the old burial ground, I wondered how many more stories were entombed below the ground, never to resurface in this lifetime. I thought not only of the noble, but also of the common people concealed beneath the lush, green ground of the cemetery. What kind of stories did they have? ♠

Example of a rare modern statue and grave in cemetery.

Another statue with a skull. 

Isla Mujeres

We boarded the ferry at Playa Caracol, and far across the turquoise water we could see the strip of land known as Island of the Women. Certainly, there were many women on the ferry on their way to this seductive island, most of them dressed in beach attire. Of course, men were on their way there, too.

Forty minutes later we pulled up to the port and locked up with the dock. With the exception of a few who brought their suitcases, most of the droves were, like ourselves, on a day trip from Cancún.

Corner of Avenida Juarez and Calle Abasolo.

Avenida Rueda Medina, the first street we encountered when off the ferry, was a thriving hub where everyone seemed to be. Hustlers thrust laminated brochures at our faces, trying to sell us tours. Every business along the far side of the street seemed to be renting golf carts. Surprisingly, two random Mexicans who just happened to work at the hotel where we were staying in Cancún recognized us! (We believed the first guy, but when the second one stopped us, we knew it was a ploy.)

We walked inland on a narrow street with shops opened up, all the owners trying to entice with their wonderful deals. Already annoyed, we kept our heads forward and pushed on.

The east coast of Isla Mujeres.

Isla Mujeres is not a big island. At this point it was only about 1,000 feet wide and soon we would come out on the other side before a beautiful blue panorama of Caribbean Sea and rocky coastline.

By now the hawkers had faded away and we were able to enjoy the serene vista. On this eastern coast we had a long view which stretched far to the south. 

First on our agenda, however, was to find a place to eat. For the moment we found ourselves in a quiet part of town. That played to our advantage.

I saw a sign on the outside of a wall advertising tacos for 35 pesos. We stepped inside to what looked like a family operation. Behind the counter a man and woman cooked the food. Four tables, all fairly close together, served as the dining area. A teenage boy, probably their son, came in with a bag of groceries.

We weren't terribly hungry. I ordered two tacos, a birria and barbacoa. A bottle of Coke on the side hit the spot. The birria taco was fall-apart tender and very flavorful.

A bottle of Coke and tacos.

A small taco shop on Isla Mujeres. 

Now it was time to rent those golf carts. I was worried about this because some of the hawkers we ran into earlier gave us quotes of 85 USD for two hours. From what I learned on the internet, it should have been much lower. There's nothing more irritable than getting swindled in Mexico!

We returned to Avenida Rueda Medina and the first two companies we encountered were currently out of carts. At that moment we lost hope and thought that perhaps we had waited too long. A lesson learned.

But then we came across a cranny of a building with a golf cart parked out by the sidewalk. I went inside and inquired and learned they still had one left. We rented it for two hours for 1,000 pesos, or roughly 50 USD. We were on our way!

A golf cart is the arguably the best option for the tourist to see the island. There are also taxis, scooters, and a rickety old bus. But the golf carts seem most practical.

I drove for the first half, getting used to our new means of conveyance. I had to watch out for the speed bumps. Dang speed bumps! Every time I it hit one too fast, Jenelle would let me know.

The golf carts didn't go as fast as the cars or scooters. I tried staying to the right so they could pass. Even while driving, the hawkers on the street tried soliciting us, usually offering beer. I'm sure they knew it  was strictly forbidden on our carts.

We took to the island in a counter-clockwise direction, making very few stops until we arrived at the southern point. Being good stewards, we shut off our carts and locked them up with a cable lock that wrapped around a bar and steering wheel.

Punta Sur.

Punta Sur was, in my opinion, was the most picturesque place on the island. Like a finger, it jutted into the ocean with steep jagged cliffs on both sides. The slender strip on top had a beautiful stretch of green growth, cactus and an array of statues.

What caught my attention were all the iguanas. They crawled everywhere, but mostly on the rocky ledges near the cliffs. They mostly stood still, but would sometimes move to the next rock and strut their head. Although I saw dozens of them, I took way too many pictures because they were such a novelty. I felt as if I had just discovered a lost species of dinosaur that was an ancestor to our modern lizards. Very fascinating.

One of many iguanas.

Now, to be sure, we weren't quite at the southern point. It cost 100 pesos per person to gain access to walk the additional half mile to the very end. I would have loved to, but we didn't have the time. We had to return the golf cart.

Isla Mujeres was given its name by the Spainards, who landed in 1517. They found figurines of females scattered throughout the island. At one time it had a temple dedicated to Ixchel, the Mayan goddess of the moon, love and fertility. Many women would make a pilgrimage to the island, which was symbolic of their transition into womanhood, hence the name.

Jenelle's turn to drive the golf cart.

Now it was Jenelle's turn to drive. She promised I wouldn't even feel the bumps! Now I was able to sit back and enjoy the scenery.

We made two stops. The first was at another overlook of the rocky eastern coast. This one had even more iguanas than Punta Sur. It was kind of creepy to see so many reptiles in one place. The place was infested with iguanas.

The second stop was for me. It was a cemetery. Although there was nothing of note or historical about this cemetery, its location was all it needed.⸺Next to the Caribbean Sea!

Iguanas everywhere!

Cemetery just off the coast.

A typical road on our circuit of the island. 

Our time with the golf cart now drew to an end.  After returning our cart we walked northwest on Avenida Rueda Medina, along an array of shops. Soon the main road petered out and then we came to a sandy one-car lane. We emerged onto a pristine beach with hundreds of people.

This beach, I believe, was public, but all the shaded lawn chairs belonged to the hotels. The white sand was smooth and perfect. No rocks. The water was the color of larimar. Friends, families and strangers all cooled off in the same shallow water.

I couldn't wait to change into my swimming suit and have my own adventure. With shirt off and bright red chest and thighs now exposed, I waded into the water, the fine white sand beneath my feet like a fluffy pillow. Once my swimming trunks were submerged I dove like a fish into the refreshing fluid. I swam underwater for several strokes before coming up for air. Everything was perfect.

For the next half hour I enjoyed the water. The waves were never too big and not once did I feel even a pebble beneath my feet. With goggles on I floated across the top, watching the murky green water and sand. The world beneath the surface was a dreamy one.

Playa El Cocal. 

On our way back to the ferry I walked barefoot and shirtless until I was dry. We stopped to buy Jenelle a sweatshirt, then at a 7-Eleven to get a drink. We both needed fluids.

Our last stop was at another cemetery. This one was only a couple blocks from the northern beaches. Jenelle even came in with me. Like a typical Mexican cemetery, the monuments were built above-ground. We saw an assortment of statues and crosses.

Cemetery #2 on Isla Mujeres.

Without much time to spare we hurried to the ferry terminal. We hoped to catch the 5:30 boat, the second-to-last one for the day. It was a madhouse, everyone trying to get back to their hotel.

When they scanned our tickets, the ticket lady admitted our entrance, but blocked the people behind us. We were the last ones allowed on the boat! The others must have been forced to take the 7 pm boat. What a sigh of relief for us!

Jenelle and I sat with hundreds of others on the ferry, listening to a stocky Mexican man serenade us with Cielito Lindo. We relished the moment. We couldn't have asked for a better day. We saw a heavenly landscape, ate at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, had an adventure on a golf cart, and swam in the greenish-blue beauty of the Caribbean Sea! ♠

Dennehotso

Lonely hogan in Dennehotso. 

“I was born at Dennehotso, near a red, round rock. The winter was over, and it was the beginning of summer. My father was of the [Within His Cover People] clan, but I never knew him and do not know his name because he passed away when I was very small. As time went on, my maternal grandmother, [Woman with the Four Horns]; my mother, [Mourning Dove Woman]; and the rest of the family roamed the Dennehotso area. My mother used to live near Comb Ridge, and there was a small box canyon that had a spring and a lot of mourning doves . . . We did not have many sheep, but we did have a lot of goats, and many of the rams had four big horns. This is how my grandmother got the name Woman with the Four Horns.”

These are the words of Navajo Oshley, spoken through an interpreter, describing the place of his birth. No one knows for sure the date he was born, but it was likely in the 1880's. From my youth, I vaguely remember Navajo as he walked on Main Street in Blanding. He has been described as having a “slim, tall frame bent with age; large black hat, and steady gait.” Little did I know at the time that many of the Navajos in Blanding had originally migrated from Dennehotso.

I have always been curious about Dennehotso. The word comes from Navajo, meaning “Yellow meadow extending up.” Usually I only drive past it when we drive through the Navajo Reservation between Mexican Water and Kayenta. Once I stopped at the Boarding School when I was a coach for the Middle School wrestling team. There were other dirt roads that took off from the main highway. I knew there was more to see.

But there's also a taboo associated with the reservation. I never know what is allowed and what isn't. The Hopi Reservation, for example, doesn't allow any photography. Although when I talked to a local Navajo, she told me that as long as I didn't do any hikes or pass through any areas with no trespassing signs, I should be alright.

With that in mind, I decided it was time to peel beneath the surface and see what Dennehotso looked like beyond the highway. As luck would have it, we would be passing by on our way to Blanding.

Baby Rocks, near Dennehotso, Arizona.

Traveling north on Highway 160, just a few miles south of Dennehotso, we came to one of the many iconic land formations in the area: Baby Rocks. These are fairy-like structures that have eroded over millions of years to look like baby hoodoos atop a sandstone ridge. There are also other “figurines” that can take on a mythical aura, especially back in a time with no electricity and only moonlight.

John Holliday, a Navajo Medicine Man and relative to Oshley, recounts a story of their common grandmother: “During the time of local conflicts, [Woman with the Four Horns'] husband wanted to join in and fight. One day he got ready and left on his horse, but his young wife decided to go with him. They were newlyweds, and she was a little girl. She got dressed up in all her turquoise jewelry and ran after her husband. After she caught up to him, they both got on the horse and traveled as far as Baby Rocks when the enemy captured them. They took her and her husband to Texas. During this time, her family back home held special ceremonies and sings for her return. With that she escaped and walked to Fort Sumner, where other Navajos were being held captive. Somehow my great grandmother managed to survive and return home to Baby Rocks near Dennehotso. She owned nothing but four horned sheep when she was released from Fort Sumner.”

As we pulled to the side of the highway to look at the Baby Rock formations, we beheld a snow-white horse emerge from behind a small sand dune. Then we saw a second white horse. They both moved along slowly, not at all worried that we were watching them. They were busy foraging for food, of which there wasn't much; just a tuft of wild grass here and there.

Then a gray horse came into view. Perhaps this looked like the horse that Oshley's grandparents rode before they were captured at Baby Rocks.

Snow-white horses emerging at Baby Rocks.

Back on the highway we drove north toward Dennehotso, then turned off on a washboard road toward the cemetery. We passed what appeared to be an old abandoned rodeo arena. I've visited a couple cemeteries on the reservation and always attempt to be cautious and respectful. Visiting a local cemetery is something I try to do anywhere in the world I travel.

The Dennehotso Community Cemetery is located one mile off the main highway and is surrounded by low rolling dirt hills. In the distance you can vaguely make out the rocky spine of Comb Ridge.

The cemetery consisted of mounds of dirt heaped upon each grave. Some of the graves had a conventional headstone, while others only a wooden cross. Some were finely decorated with flowers and personal items, while others appeared obliterated and maintained by no one.

Dennehotso Community Cemetery.

We then drove into the main part of town and took the “Dennehotso Loop Road,” which circumvented the core of the town.—It wasn't at all what I expected. I thought for sure that the main portion near the chapter house and school would be paved, but they weren't. We drove the sandy and sometimes sideways rocky road, attempting to get a feel of “village” life on the reservation.

After the first section of road that paralleled the highway, the road made a turn toward the west and onto a bridge that crossed Laguna Creek, nothing more than a drizzling rivulet. Before the days when Dennehotso was an established community, families lived near Laguna Creek where water was sufficient to use for irrigation to water their crops. After harvest they moved a few miles to the northwest along Comb Ridge where they dwelt the rest of the year, raising livestock. This was the same pattern depicted by Oshley in his autobiography.

Beginning the Dennehotso Loop Road.

Comb Ridge is a geological uplift, creating a spine in the desert that stretches seventy miles from Blue Mountain in the north to Kayenta in the south. The northern third is more prominent, and is what I'm familiar with because it is close to my home town. The southern portion, however, is more obscure, mostly hidden within the depths of the Navajo Reservation. I was hoping we would catch a glimpse of it during our tour of Dennehotso, but that didn't happen. The prominent side of the ridge faced the other direction.

On our drive we passed modern, but simple houses, with no grass, usually old cars, and sometimes a basketball hoop over dirt. Some houses had a horse trailer and livestock near the home. Only once did I see a hogan.

On the backside of the loop is a sandstone hill with a “D” painted on it. There weren't too many houses here. I saw one gentleman with a shovel in-hand, working on his garden. He gave me a distrustful look.

"D" for Dennehotso.

By the time we were three-fourths around the loop, we were back at Laguna Creek, but this time with no bridge. The dirt road ran directly through the water, which included a quagmire of mud. I slipped my vehicle into 4WD, just to be sure. Without serious issue, we made it through.

Upon completing the loop we passed a stray dog, then returned to the highway. There was nothing “village-like” or quaint about the Dennehotso loop road, but instead it was dotted with homes of normal Navajo people attempting to survive in a vary harsh landscape.

Stray dog.

My final stop was at the Dennehotso Market. Inside was a small grocery store and a fast food restaurant. Nothing caught my eye as particularly unique. We each bought an ice cream sandwich.

On the west-facing wall of the building was a beautiful mural. It was a painting of a mother with her baby in a cradleboard. I couldn't help but to envision Mourning Dove Woman carrying her precious little baby, Navajo Oshley, on her back. ♠

Beautiful mural at Dennehotso Market. 

Source for supplemental information: The Journey of Navajo Oshley, An Autobiography and Life History.  Edited by Robert S. McPherson. 

California's City of the Dead

Several years ago I was considering a trip to Egypt when I discovered that Cairo had a mammoth cemetery that stretched four miles long! As someone who loves cemeteries, I couldn't help but to look into this ancient necropolis. It is nearly 1,500 years old and is so vast that squatters live among the tombs. Common people were buried here as well as historical figures and elites. The huge burial ground has been called “City of the Dead.”

I still hope to visit Cairo someday, but for now our trip to Egypt didn't pan out. But imagine my delight when I learned that California had its own “City of the Dead.” And it happened to be near San Francisco, which is where we were headed for our next vacation!

The story begins in 1848 with the California Gold Rush. The discovery of gold at Sutter's Mill brought thousands of people to the area around San Francisco. The city grew, albeit in a chaotic manner.

As people moved in, many inevitably died, creating the need for cemeteries. In the 1850's four large cemeteries were built near Lone Mountain: Laurel Hill, Odd Fellows, Calvary and Masonic. By the 1880's there were 26 cemeteries within city limits.

Lone Mountain in modern-day San Francisco. In the 1800's there were four cemeteries around this hill.

In the latter part of the 1800's some people in the United States began to be wary of having residential areas so close to cemeteries. They feared that disease would be transmitted by wind, or that it could seep into the ground and contaminate the water supply. As a result, many places began building graveyards beyond the city limits.

This suited San Francisco well, as they also had the issue of cemeteries reaching capacity. In 1887 the archbishop of the Catholic church purchased 300 acres a few miles south of San Francisco in what is now Colma. This would become the Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery, which is now the largest in Colma.

Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery in Colma, California.

This area was thought to be unsuitable for a residential area and no one foresaw that someday the city might expand out that far. Some of the area was used for farming, but much of land around San Francisco, and especially near the ocean, was filled with sand dunes.

But the area worked well for a cemetery. The rail line to San Jose went by there, which made it a convenient trip. One could hold a service in the city and then travel on a train or street car to the cemetery for burial.

The cemetery issue in San Francisco grew worse and in 1900 the city created a new law that banned all new burials. Without public funding many of the cemeteries fell into disrepair. Tombstones and statues were toppled and in some cases people saw skeletons protruding from the ground. New cemeteries began to pop up near the Catholic cemetery in Colma.

Statue in Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery.

In 1912 things got interesting when San Francisco decided to eliminate all cemeteries in the city. Yes, this meant moving them! This was a long process. When exhuming bodies, if the casket was still in good shape then both the body and casket were moved. If not, the bodies were thrown into boxes and moved that way. The family could purchase the headstone for $10. Headstones left behind were used for public projects or dumped in the bay. Colma became the new home to rebury San Francisco's dead.

By the 1940's an estimated 150,000 graves had been moved. As you might imagine, hundreds of graves were unintentionally (or intentionally) left behind. To this day graves still show up during construction projects and other works. It truly is a Poltergeist-like scenario where neighborhoods have been built atop abandoned graveyards.

Entrance to Russian and Chinese cemeteries. 

Russian Sectarian Cemetery.

Hoy Sung Ning Yung Chinese Cemetery.

Offerings at headstone in Hoy Sung Ning Yung Cemetery.

Today there are only two cemeteries within San Francisco city limits: Mission Dolores Cemetery and San Francisco National Cemetery. The area around Lone Mountain where the “Big Four” used to reside has become filled with residential neighborhoods and the University of San Francisco.

Colma has a living population of 1,500 people, but an estimated 1.5 million dead. A drive down El Camino Real furnishes views of expansive green graveyards on both sides of the road.

Persian graves at Cypress Lawn Memorial Park.

Serbian Cemetery. Notice the Russian Orthodox crosses. 

Our visits to the cemeteries in Colma were peripheral. Our hotel was in Colma, but most of our days were spent in San Francisco. If I had time in the morning I would take a quick drive through some of the burial grounds.

Several famous people are buried here, including Joe DiMaggio, Willie McCovey, Levi Strauss and Wyatt Earp. I enjoyed seeing the different styles of headstones that correlated with different nationalities or religions. Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery had several stone statues and crosses. I was surprised to see so many Russian Orthodox crosses at the Serbian Cemetery, surely a relic from Soviet occupation or their Slavic roots. Chinese headstones were etched with Hanzi characters, often with offerings at the base. Headstones at the Jewish cemetery, with their Hebrew letters, appeared to be crammed very close together, similar to photos of other Jewish cemeteries I've seen from around the world.

Grave of Joltin' Joe DiMaggio at Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery.

By the time we had to leave for our next destination I had just scratched the surface of what the cemeteries in Colma had to offer. As a taphophile, I could have spent days here wandering through the different cemeteries, exploring in depth the variety and history this place had to offer.

The stories beneath the surface would be fascinating to uncover. Not only did San Francisco attract those from the eastern United States, but also immigrants from all around the world, and especially Asia. The collection of cemeteries in Colma represent the melting pot of San Francisco, and indeed, all of America. ♠

Salem Memorial Park and Garden (Jewish Cemetery).