Category: fun things

Pandas are cute, furry, and of course masters of the martial arts. They’re also a threatened species. We’re lucky to have two of them at the nearby San Diego Zoo, but if you’re not close enough to visit pandas in person today, you can check out the Panda Cam!

Image credit: J. Patrick Fischer [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Insects as food

Having lived the majority of my life in the northern latitudes, I have rarely had to deal with the everyday aspects of life in a tropical climate. Despite this fact, on those occasions when I have visited countries to the south, I have been able to endure the usual tropical conditions, chiefly high heat and humidity, without too much difficulty. However, there is one aspect of tropical life I find particularly hard to handle: coming face to face with insects of gigantic proportions.

While there are insects I find annoying in my part of the world (such as mosquitoes and ants), their relatively small size makes them seem less threatening than their tropical cousins. I realize that many people are used to seeing such creatures every day and and therefore don’t find them unnerving. However, this knowledge didn’t help me much when I was Indonesia, and we found two enormous water bugs hiding out in the mosquito netting above our bed. After some comically desperate maneuvers, we finally succeeded in banishing the bugs from the room. Perhaps if we had known that water bugs make a tasty condiment (ground up with chilies to make a spicy Thai paste), we might have welcomed them instead.

A Plate of Locusts

Although in Western cultures there is a general aversion to being around insects, let alone eating them, in many parts of the world (and also increasingly in the West) the insect kingdom is seen as an important and coveted source of food. The practice of eating bugs as food is known as entomophagy, and has been part of the human experience throughout history.

There is evidence that ancient cultures in Mexico, Spain, China, and what is now the United States included insects in their diets. The biblical book of Leviticus mentions locusts, bald locusts, beetles, and grasshoppers as acceptable food for the Israelites, and in the book of Matthew, John the Baptist is said to have subsisted on locusts and wild honey. The ancient Romans also reputedly practiced entomophagy, consuming locusts, cicadas, and stag beetle larvae at their lavish feasts.

Today, insect-eating is popular in parts of Africa, Australia, Central and South America, and Asia, including Thailand, Indonesia, China, and Japan. In some places, such as among Aboriginal peoples in Australia, insects are part of the traditional diet, being a readily available source of protein. In other places, insects are considered delicacies, and are prepared in numerous ways meant to tempt the palate—including roasting, frying, and grilling. In Colombia, for example, Hormigas culonas, or fried giant ants, are a regional specialty. Hachi-no-ko, or boiled wasp larvae, can be found in some restaurants in Japan, along with fried cicadas (Semi), rice-field grasshoppers (Inago), and silk moth pupae (Sangi).

It’s now possible to obtain edible insects prepared in lots of ways from online vendors, including candied insects, savory canned insects, and even insect alcohol infusions. A quick search of “edible insects” on Amazon currently brings up nearly 400 results of products an aspiring entomophage could sink their teeth into.

How to Eat Fried Crickets

Despite Western societal taboos against human consumption of insects, a growing number of enthusiasts believe there are economic, environmental, and health benefits to the practice of entomophagy. They argue that it is cheaper and more efficient to raise insects as a protein source than it is to rely on other animal products, and that it is less damaging to the environment. In addition, they claim that insects provide more nutritive value, while being lower in fat than other types of protein.

These benefits make entomophagy seem like the answer to some pressing problems, but there are a few barriers to it becoming more socially acceptable. Besides the obvious reluctance to eat creatures that many people find repulsive, there is debate about what effect the large-scale practice of entomophagy might have on the environment, with some voicing concern that certain species could be eradicated entirely. Also, some people have adverse reactions to eating insects, whether from allergies or pesticide contamination, making it necessary to educate the public about these dangers.

Despite these issues, as a former vegetarian I understand and applaud people’s efforts to eat lower on the food chain, for both health and environmental reasons. However, I don’t think I’d ever be able to switch to a bug-eating lifestyle, no matter how tasty or nutritious they might be. I’ll leave that to those with more adventurous palates and stronger stomachs.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on February 21, 2007.

Image credit: Thomas Schoch [CC BY-SA 2.5], via Wikimedia Commons

Hey, it’s World Sleep Day! And to think, I just wrote about dream groups yesterday. As I’ve mentioned from time to time, sleep is one of my very favorite activities, and yet one that (due to having two small children and one small business) I’m unable to indulge in as much as I’d like. If your life situation is conducive to getting extra sleep—and most of us need it, especially after setting our clocks forward a few days ago—make it happen today.

And you know what, it’s probably safest to spend today in bed anyway—it’s also the Ides of March!

Image credit: Image by Eugen Visan from Pixabay

Intramural introspection

I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Unbeknownst to most of my friends and family, I’m really an action hero. Several times each month, I go on dangerous assignments to exotic locations, where I narrowly escape death, rescue the hostages, recover the stolen chip, round up the bad guys, and generally keep civilization safe from evil. Admirers call me “Indiana Joe.” Of course, it’s no big deal, thanks to my superpowers that enable me to dodge bullets, read minds, and fly off into the sunset. When I return from one of my adventures, I can almost hear the fanfare…no, wait, that’s my alarm clock. Sometimes I awake from one of my dreams uncertain of whether it really happened or not, and with a nagging sense that a vital piece of information has been lost—that the dream was trying to tell me something important. When I’ve needed to get to the bottom of a dream, I’ve often taken it to a dream group, a small circle of friends that meets monthly for a unique kind of dream analysis.

The Woman of My Dreams

I first became aware of dream groups a number of years ago, when someone made an announcement after a church service that such a group was going to form. At first, I wasn’t even sure what they meant by “dreams”—I thought it might have been dreams in the sense of aspirations, rather than the visions that occur while we sleep. Either way, I had plenty to work with, but I had no idea what I’d be getting myself into if I joined. A week later, the group’s leader asked all interested parties to gather for more information. I was still wavering when I saw a very attractive young woman join the group. At that point I immediately determined that I was interested. (I thought the group might be worthwhile too.)

The idea for this group and many others like it came from a book by Jeremy Taylor called Where People Fly and Water Runs Uphill. Taylor, a respected author and teacher who died in January 2018, worked with dreams and dream groups for decades. His central principle was that all dreams come in the service of health and wholeness. Whatever else you may believe about dreams, the assumption our group starts with is that they are a good and useful thing, that they exist in some respect to benefit the dreamer.

Perchance to Dream

It may be helpful to clarify what group dream work is not. First and foremost, it is not simply a matter of guessing or looking up things in dream dictionaries. At the other extreme, it’s also not formal psychoanalysis. Participants in dream groups are simply laypeople who have learned some basic skills—not professional therapists. Finally, it’s not a religious exercise. Someone may, of course, experience religious symbols in dreams, but dream work as such does not presuppose any religious framework for interpretation.

Members are encouraged to write down any dreams they remember as soon as they wake up, then bring them to share in the meetings. Dream work can be very intimate, so all members agree to treat each other’s dreams with respect and discretion—and never to share the content of a meeting outside the group. As a member recounts a dream, the others listen quietly; when the dream is finished, we ask questions only if needed for clarification. Then we begin sharing our thoughts. Although someone may have a strong opinion about what another person’s dream means, only the dreamer can ultimately determine its meaning. In addition, because dreams are abstract and richly suggestive, there’s a strong tendency to read one’s own issues into someone else’s dream. For these reasons, we avoid saying, “This is what your dream means.” If someone has an insight or observation, the language we use is, “If it were my dream…” That way each person can put him or herself in the shoes of the dreamer with impunity, and the person sharing the dream can look at it more objectively too.

Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of

Taylor’s book discusses numerous principles of dream work at length, but a couple of notions come up with great regularity. For one thing, we assume that a given dream may have many different meanings, which may or may not be deep and profound. My action-adventure dream could mean both that I really enjoyed that James Bond film I just saw, and that I feel some situation in my life needs rescuing. Another postulate is that many or all of the different characters in a dream may represent the dreamer. So if I save the damsel in distress from the evil prince, it could be that my dream is about situations in which I feel helpless, or conversely, cause pain to others—not necessarily my role as the hero.

These ideas, and many more, come into play as we discuss each other’s dreams. Often the person who shared the dream will have an “aha” moment—a sudden realization of the significance of a dream symbol that would not have occurred outside the group setting. Of course, it also sometimes happens that a dream remains entirely inscrutable even after an hour of intense discussion. Even so, the process of sharing and discussing dreams can have a very therapeutic effect.

I Have a Dream Today

Dream groups can have many different forms, and their structure can vary depending on how many people are involved, where the meetings take place, and how well the members know each other. Although I’m not currently in a dream group, I’ve been in several over the years. Typically the members of my groups were quite comfortable with each other, and chose to meet monthly, in a different person’s home each time. We’d begin with a potluck meal, and while we were eating we’d take turns talking about the significant events in our lives. This is quite important, as it gave us a context to evaluate the significance of dream images. We also usually spent a short time discussing “meta-dream” issues—things like methods for improving dream recall, the phenomenon of lucid dreaming, or insights from a book one of us had read.

Next we’d take a moment to center ourselves and mark the transition from ordinary discussion into dream work. Each person would then very briefly share a recent dream, and we’d determine who had a dream they’d like to examine in detail. Time permitting, we’d discuss two or three of these dreams using the principles from Taylor’s book and the “if it were my dream…” language. We’d finish with another simple centering exercise to mark the end of our dream discussion.

Don’t Dream It’s Over

Our meetings were not uniformly successful in revealing the inner workings of our minds, but more often than not, we all left feeling we’d learned a great deal more about ourselves and each other. During my first year in a dream group, I developed deep relationships with the other members—including that attractive young woman, whom I later married. And I acquired not only valuable introspective skills, but also some very good habits of deferential and attentive listening. But leaving aside all the touchy-feely stuff, the bottom line is that it is seriously fun. I loved being involved in dream groups, and hope to do so again someday.

Some scientists believe dreams are nothing more than residue from the brain’s “garbage collection” process as information is transferred into long-term memory. Others hold, somewhat more charitably, that dreams are the mechanism the brain uses to unconsciously work through issues that could not be dealt with in waking life. And then, of course, some people have a more mystical take on dreams, declaring that they are a direct communication channel to God, the collective unconscious, a “higher wisdom,” or whatever. Unlike my biblical namesake, I don’t pretend to any supernatural gifts when it comes to interpreting dreams, and I don’t have much of an opinion about either their neurological or metaphysical basis. All I can say is that after working on my dreams in groups, I feel I understand myself better. That dreams can accomplish this is enough for me.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on April 25, 2003, and again in a slightly revised form on June 6, 2004.

Image credit: Edwin Henry Landseer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

What could be more American than pie and puns based on the world’s only sane date-writing system? Put them together and you get today—Pi (π) day—which is to say, 3.14 (March 14). Most of the world doesn’t get our month-day format, just as most of the world doesn’t feature pies in their cuisine (at least, not proper pies). Which is fine, because that leaves more pie for us.

Image credit: mrwynd [CC BY 2.0], via Flickr

The problem of the guilty bystander

On March 13, 1964, a New York City woman named Catherine “Kitty” Genovese was raped and stabbed to death as she returned home from work late at night. According to a newspaper report published shortly thereafter, 38 people had witnessed some or all of the attack, which took place in two or three distinct episodes over a period of about a half hour—and yet no one did anything to stop it; no one even reported it to the police until the woman was already dead. Although the murder itself was horrific, the nation was even more outraged that so many people who could have helped seemingly displayed callous indifference. And so the failure of bystanders to intervene became known as “Kitty Genovese Syndrome”—or, sometimes, just “Genovese Syndrome” or “Genovese Effect.” Social psychologists sometimes call it the “bystander effect.”

Later analysis of the Genovese case would show that the media misrepresented the facts somewhat. It’s not as though 38 people stood calmly watching a brutal murder in broad daylight and simply went on about their business. This attack happened in the middle of the night when it was dark, most people were in bed, and no one had a clear view of the entire event. Some of the witnesses, for example, had merely heard yelling and thought it might have been nothing more than an argument. At least one person apparently did call the police immediately, but without realizing that the woman had actually been stabbed—so the police didn’t respond with any urgency. And perhaps, even if an ambulance had arrived five minutes after the initial attack, Kitty Genovese would still have died. Finally, there’s evidence to suggest that someone fabricated the number 38 and that the actual number of people who might have seen or heard part of the crime was somewhere between two and seven. So it’s plausible, at least, that this particular case was not an example of apathetic bystanders—and that Kitty Genovese Syndrome is a bit of a misnomer.

But it hardly matters what you call it or whether this single tragedy could have been mitigated. The bystander effect, by whatever name, is a very real and common occurrence.

The Victim and the Bystander

I’ve experienced it myself—both as a victim and as a bystander. In the late 1990s on my first trip to Costa Rica, I was walking alone in downtown San Jose. It was still light out, and I was in an area with plenty of pedestrian traffic. As I turned a corner, I noticed a group of young men gathered around an older man who was lying on the sidewalk. My first impression is that the old man was ill or injured and they were trying to help him. As I got closer, I saw that they were actually going through his pockets. My instincts said I should try to help the man, not run, so I kept walking toward them. But the next thing I knew, the young men jumped me. One squeezed his arm around my throat, making it impossible to breathe or call for help. The rest of them took my watch, wallet, passport, and anything else of value they could find. I felt pretty sure at the time that I was going to die. But then they threw me down in the gutter and ran away. When I finally staggered to my feet, dazed and bruised, I looked around and saw lots of people walking down the street—maybe glancing curiously at me, but otherwise seemingly indifferent. The muggers clearly had known they could count on the public not to get involved.

I managed to convince a couple of people to help me, and they pointed out some police standing about a block away. The police searched the area and found my passport, hotel key, and a couple of other items (though not, of course, my money). Then they drove me back to my hotel. I was extremely shaken up, and had to make several phone calls—to Morgen (my girlfriend at the time), to my mom, and to the bank to cancel my stolen credit cards. My room didn’t have a phone, so I called from the lobby. While I was on the phone, the desk clerk called out to me for help. “That woman just stole my leather jacket and ran out!” she said. So I put down the phone, ran out of the hotel and down the street, confronted the thief, and retrieved the stolen jacket. In retrospect, I can hardly believe I did that. Even having been through what I’d just experienced, I am not normally one to get involved. I think the reason I did was that the clerk asked me personally and specifically for help.

The Pot and the Kettle

In the years since, I’ve encountered a few other situations in which I might have been able to help someone in trouble, but didn’t. When I see or hear something happening—or possibly happening—I feel confused, afraid, frustrated. Maybe I don’t understand what’s really going on. Maybe the person isn’t in danger at all. Can I do anything about it if they are? What about my own safety? Surely one of these other bystanders is better qualified to help. Surely someone else has called the police. And then, having stood there doing nothing while everyone else was thinking the same thing, I feel tremendous guilt. By my inaction, I’ve just experienced the Kitty Genovese Syndrome.

As I’d discovered in that San Jose hotel lobby—and earlier, just after I was mugged—crowds of people are much less likely to intervene than individuals, especially if those individuals are asked directly for help. This is the crux of Kitty Genovese Syndrome: a kind of mutual buck-passing that occurs within a group when no one emerges automatically as the “right” person to help. Everyone assumes that someone else will be the one to help. Although fear for one’s safety often plays a part, that fear shouldn’t prevent someone from, say, making a phone call. No one, of course, wants the inconvenience of being dragged into someone else’s problem. But I think nearly all of us would be willing to endure some inconvenience to save a person’s life. What makes Kitty Genovese Syndrome so insidious is that the apparent strength in numbers is actually a weakness that discourages any individual from taking on personal responsibility to intervene.

International Bystanders

When I saw the film Hotel Rwanda, I left the theater very upset. The genocide in the early 1990s that left 800,000 Rwandans dead occurred with very little intervention from either those within Rwanda or the international community—a profound example, as several commentators have pointed out, of Kitty Genovese Syndrome. I simply couldn’t fathom that anyone could know what was going on and do nothing. And yet, paradoxically, I can imagine no other response—with so many other people in the world, surely this must be someone else’s problem. Someone wiser, more powerful, or closer to the situation. What could I have done anyway? I have my own problems. But then, so does everyone else.

There’s no cure for this problem. Even knowing about this effect as I do, chances are, I’ll someday be an unhelpful bystander once again. But just maybe I’ll have the presence of mind to realize that the person best qualified to help is the one willing to take action in the face of confusion and doubt.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on March 29, 2005.

On this date in 1964, Kitty Genovese was murdered and even though multiple people witnessed the attack, no one took enough action to save the woman’s life. And so today, on the anniversary of that terrible event, we call attention to the temptation not to get involved in someone else’s tragedy. One day, that someone could be you, and you’d be grateful for the help of a stranger who was willing to take a risk or inconvenience themself to save your life. Remember the parable of the Good Samaritan—today and every day—and be a neighbor to someone in need.

The game with bounce

I once played on a volleyball team and enjoyed it greatly; that is, except for the bruises on my forearms caused by excessive bumping, the aches in my jammed fingers from setting the ball, and the scrapes on my knees from my unsuccessful attempts to keep the ball off the floor. I’ve always thought I’d like to try beach volleyball for that reason, since sand seems much more forgiving than concrete, and the mood is often more casual than serious.

A few years ago I discovered yet another option that could fulfill my need for fun, safety, and team cooperation. The relatively new sport of Bossaball is played on a court consisting of inflatable panels, trampolines, and a net, and combines aspects of volleyball, soccer (or football, as it’s known outside North America), gymnastics, and the Brazilian martial art of capoeira.

Blame it on the Bossaball-a

Contrary to what its name might suggest, Bossaball was developed in Spain and Belgium, although it takes inspiration from Brazilian music, beach culture, and sport. The word bossa, which is sometimes translated as gusto, style, flair, or attitude in Portuguese, is commonly associated with Bossa Nova, a samba-influenced type of music first pioneered by Brazilian musicians Antônio Carlos Jobim, Vinícius de Moraes, and João Gilberto in the late 1950s.

The name Bossaball, therefore, is fitting since music is a major component of how the game is played. In fact, the person overseeing the game is called the “samba referee,” and not only makes calls, but serves as the Master of Ceremonies and provides musical accompaniment to the action going on with the help of a whistle, microphone, percussion instruments, and a DJ set.

The Girl from Trampolina

The basic goal in Bossaball is to get the ball to touch the ground on your opponent’s side of the net, as in volleyball, and to win points based on where the ball lands. The most coveted target is the round trampoline directly in front of the net, which earns a team three points, and if the ball hits the inflatable panels around the trampoline, one point is scored. More points are scored if the ball is delivered by “soccer touch” (not using arms or hands). No points are scored if the ball lands on the rings around the trampoline, and the game continues after that.

Teams consist of four players, with one player stationed on the trampoline in the middle, and the other players flanking him or her (teams are often mixed-gender). Five touches are allowed on each side before the ball must go over the net; only one touch with the hands per player, and two if the player uses his head or feet instead. Teammates not on the trampoline work to position the ball so that the middle player can spike it over the net, either by hand or by executing a flip and kicking the ball to the other side.

Inflated Expectations

Watching the game in action on YouTube reminded me of how much fun I had as a kid jumping and doing flips on trampolines and bouncing around inside those inflatable play houses often found at amusement parks. The players dove, flipped, and jumped in cushioned comfort, and seemed to be having a great time. I felt an immediate urge to join in.

Unfortunately, while the game has gotten more popular in many parts of the world, including Europe and South America, it hasn’t yet caught on in North America. I don’t know if there are any plans to bring Bossaball to North America, but until that happens, I’ll have to settle for volleyball—and make sure I have a good supply of bandages and iodine before I head out on the court.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on March 28, 2007.

Oh, look! It’s Organize Your Home Office Day. (Glances around home office.) Yeah, I think I’m gonna need a bit more than a day for that. And today in particular I have a few other things on my plate. But still. If you have a home office, and some clutter therein, and anything resembling free time, today’s the Official Day to combine those three elements in a creative way. Put things in places! Get rid of other things! Be more productive!

Toto, I don’t think we’re in London anymore

London has hundreds of popular tourist spots that attract millions of visitors each year. I admit, I did the whole Big Ben to Westminster Abbey to Buckingham Palace to Tower of London circuit and I enjoyed it. I loved being able to walk out of the hotel and onto a street that contained a 500-year-old house right down the block from a modern tube station and an Indian curry restaurant. But the intricacies of this city, like any city, are often found off the beaten path.

Both my visits to London have included a hike up Highgate Hill and then a walk down the small, winding lane leading to Highgate Cemetery. Many are familiar with London’s abbeys and churchyards, but the real appeal of dead London is Highgate, often referred to as a Victorian Valhalla.

Well, We Can’t Just Put Them on the Streets

Highgate Cemetery was established in 1839. Around this time the church graveyards were becoming quite full, and rather than dump the dead out on the streets, Parliament established seven private cemeteries to be located within London proper. In 1954, when the popularity of burial at Highgate was at its peak, a second part of the cemetery was opened to accommodate all the new “arrivals.” This newer cemetery was coined the East Cemetery, leaving the older side to be called, naturally, the West Cemetery. During the bone yard heyday, both cemeteries had elegant parades of well-dressed mourners following caskets to elaborate tombs and mausoleums. Later, when cremation became legalized, the processions of ornate funerals halted and both cemeteries were maintained less and less. Eventually, in 1975, the West Cemetery was closed altogether and efforts were put into maintaining the East side.

Luckily, a group called “The Friends of Highgate Cemetery” was formed and in 1981 procured both sides. To this day they are responsible for upkeep of the 37-acre sprawl encompassing both cemeteries. However, the West Cemetery, sometimes called a “maintained wilderness,” had become so overgrown that upkeep involved maintaining and restoring the tombs but only clearing the vegetation along the paths and around the nearer graves.

A Garden of Dead People

Highgate does manage to attract a few tourists due to its most famous “resident,” Karl Marx. Marx, along with Michael Faraday and other historical notables, is buried in the East Cemetery. This side, although it exhibits manicured lawns and moderately-kept headstones in some areas, has wooded stretches where the paths disappear into the trees, and headstones are crowded amongst ivy, moss, and each other. It resembles the scene of a ghostly movie; in fact, the cemetery has been the set of a few horror movies. And yet I found, even in this green expanse dedicated to housing dead people, a sense of tranquility, mixed with an overwhelming fascination. This place just exudes mystery.

Even more mysterious is the West Cemetery. While access to the East Cemetery is open to the public (for a modest fee), the West Cemetery has tours by appointment only (for a slightly higher fee). The day I booked my tour it was overcast and gloomy, with an ever-present threat of rain, the perfect backdrop for a necropolis jaunt. The entrance to the West side is a daunting structure, once a chapel with two sides—one for Anglicans and the other for non-Anglicans (or “dissenters”). A tunnel runs under the lane that divides the cemeteries so a body would not have to leave consecrated ground on its way to be buried.

For Your Mental Safety, Please Stay With the Group

Our guide led us through the chapel gate onto the stones of a courtyard. It was eerily quiet here, making it hard to believe that we were still in London. From my vantage point, the cemetery itself was hidden; it was located up a tiny hill behind the chapel and beyond the courtyard. The trees, bushes, and overgrowth cleverly hid nearly all the signs of headstones.

At the top of a stone stairway leading into the cemetery, a path began, and a stretch of graves ambled up either side among the tangles of vines and growth. The variety of graves was amazing. Small markers were ensconced amongst larger markers that bore angels and broken columns, crosses and torches. Many looked as if they would disappear overnight into a fit of ivy and other creeping vegetation.

The path continued through the archway located in the middle of a foreboding stone structure. Flanking the arch were two sets of hulking columns. The guide explained that this was the entrance to Egyptian Avenue, a row of continuous family vaults that form an alley leading up to the Circle of Lebanon. The doors to the vaults were adorned with various funerary symbols signaling the passing of life into death, and as we walked on I got a creepy, tingly feeling.

On other side of Egyptian Avenue was the Circle of Lebanon, another series of continuous vaults with an inner and outer circle. In the outer ring was a columbarium, a place for storing the ashes of those who have been cremated. In the inner ring, a large, sprawling cedar tree was perched in the soil above and between the vaults. The tree itself was here before the cemetery was even built, and its position high above the cemetery contributed to the spooky feeling.

But Wait, There’s More

Located behind the Circle of Lebanon was the tomb of Julius Beers, the largest and most ornate tomb in the entire cemetery. It was built to block the view of London from the terrace of the church directly behind the cemetery that Londoners often would enjoy after Sunday service. Under the terrace was a catacomb of tombs that was closed off to the tour. The vaults themselves could not be seen, and only a gated entrance led into the darkness under the stone. While listening to the tour guide explain the history of the tomb, we rested our backs against the cool stone of the terrace. I had my back to the gate of the entrance just to scare myself a bit. After a few minutes of listening to the guide, a dull thudding noise came from behind the gate. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who heard it, as the other members of the group looked nervously around. As we slid away carefully, we heard the noise again, only louder. Was the guide playing a well-timed prank on us?

Along the eastern edge of the cemetery, more mausoleums and tombs stretched along either side of the path. At one time these tombs were ostentatious displays of wealth, but now they looked worn and frail. Near this part of the cemetery was where the dissenters were buried, in an area apart from the Anglicans.

You Mean There’s Something Out There?

Some subsequent web searching revealed that, aside from the physical mysteriousness of the cemetery, there were a few stories of the supernatural. The most interesting of these is of the Highgate Vampire. In the late 1960s, following a string of alleged spectral sightings and the accumulation of blood-drained animals in the cemetery, rumors circulated that a vampire was roaming Highgate. Several people claimed to have either encountered or been attacked by the vampire.

Various occult experts undertook rituals to purify the cemetery and rid it of the vampire, but conflicting accounts of these activities and their results led to feuds that persist to this day. Vampire investigations are reportedly ongoing. Needless to say, the entire existence of the Highgate Vampire is controversial, and the Friends of Highgate Cemetery would rather ignore it, in order to keep outsiders from breaking into the cemetery in search of the bloodthirsty apparition.

Vampire or not, Highgate Cemetery is the most interesting cemetery I have ever visited. Its isolation, desolation, and eerie scenery make it akin to a real-life movie.

Guest author Jillian Hardee is an assistant professor in the Department of Psychiatry and a lecturer in the Department of Psychology at the University of Michigan.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on June 2, 2006.

Image credit: JohnArmagh [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons