My Musings on the Capuchin Catacombs: Palermo, Sicily
The following blog contains images of deceased people & children from the catacombs. Photography isn't permitted inside the catacombs — the images I've shared here are drawn from the official website and Instagram account; the only photos of my own from the day are of the street sign and our ticket.
Ticket to Catacombe Frati Cappucini di Palermo 5 Euro
When my family was in Italy in 2023 visiting relatives, I was lucky enough to visit the Catacombe dei Cappuccini in Palermo, Sicily. It was my third time in Palermo, but the first time I'd ever heard of these catacombs.
My husband is incredibly supportive of my work and my fascination with death-related attractions and cemeteries — but going into the dark belly of a church to see mummified bodies is not for him. So I did a little research and offered the trip to my older teens, aged 16 and 14. We made the executive decision to leave our youngest, aged 10, with my husband to go find food markets and gelato instead.
We found our way there in the heat, guided by the obligatory brown historical site sign on a street corner. For somewhere that's become such an extraordinary tourist, historical, and — dare I say — ‘deathies’ pilgrimage site, it's surprisingly tricky to find. The entrance is unremarkable, and so are the information, staff, and amenities. Not a criticism — exactly how I prefer it, and very Italian.
Street sign in Palermo
I gave my teens a bit of a pep talk beforehand: an overview of what I knew, and a "safety plan" in case it all got too weird. They just looked at me blankly, which told me I was overthinking it entirely.
It's made very clear before you go in: there's one path in, one path out, and absolutely no photography allowed.
We headed down steep stairs, some sections and step edges worn smooth by decades of footsteps. Each step down brought a small drop in temperature, until the air became cool, stale, and strangely thick. As people descend, their voices drop with them, and words become scarce. Our little trio was no different — what began as excitement shifted into quiet reverence, curiosity, and eventually a kind of surrender into the unknown.
I've visited the Sedlec Ossuary (bone church) of Kutná Hora in the Czech Republic, catacombs across Europe, and ‘churches’ in the Brazilian Amazon housing effigies of the dead — but nothing prepared me for this.
A brief history: the Capuchin Catacombs are home to around 8,000 bodies and roughly 1,250 mummies. They began in the late 1500s, when monks ran out of cemetery space and started preserving their own dead in the crypts below — laid out to dry naturally, sometimes rinsed with vinegar or sealed in glass-fronted cases. Over time, resting there became a status symbol among wealthy Sicilians, and new burials continued until 1880, with only a few exceptions after — most famously Rosalia Lombardo, a toddler who died in 1920 and is so well-preserved she's known as "Sleeping Beauty." She now rests in a climate-controlled glass box, and really does just look like a little girl sleeping.
Today the corridors are divided by category — monks, priests, women, children, professionals — bodies shelved, cased, or hanging directly from the walls.
There wasn't a big crowd the day we went, but what I appreciated most were the quiet whispers — I didn't see a single person take a photo. In this era, that feels like a small miracle. It says a lot about the space.
Walking in, I was completely unprepared for the sheer volume of bodies. I did not expect to be speechless. For a moment, I forgot I was a mother with my children in tow. After a short while, I pulled my two teens aside and asked if they were okay — did they want to leave? For a moment I thought they might say yes, and I think part of them wanted to. They said it was fine to keep going, though we all agreed that maybe Mum's "deathie" work had gone a bit too far this time.
Having worked in funeral care for babies and children, I found myself wondering what it would be like to see the babies and children's section. I was fascinated, and thought this would be a kind of loving memorialisation — the babies and children we cared for were always dressed in their best clothing, wrapped in blankets, given precious trinkets to hold. Instead, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness, and something disquieting.
I've taken enormous pride and reverence in the mortuary care of children and young people — following every tiny instruction from a parent, ensuring their safety, nurturing them just as their families would have. I always felt my role was that of a temporary custodian, entrusted by the people who loved them most. Knowing that "tucking" a child in for their final journey — to burial or cremation — meant that their body was rested, mattered enormously to me.
Standing among the children in the catacombs felt unsettling. All these decades later, they weren't resting. They seemed to be waiting. I understand that the families who chose this for their children likely found it comforting at the time; however as the generations have moved on, it feels as though these children are no longer with their people. Are their parents also somewhere within the walls of the catacombs? For the later interments, it seems unlikely.
I didn't feel this way about any of the thousands of adults in the space — only the babies and children. It felt as though their carers were no longer there, and that even in death, they still needed holding. Perhaps it's the church that holds them now?
It's been almost two years since that visit, and I don't think I'll ever shake the feeling of the little ones. What the catacombs do remind me of, though, is a continuous truth: we did not always do death care the way we do now, in my Western world experience. We are more removed, more sanitised, and less experienced in the care of the dead.
Perhaps that's the real gift of a place like this — it doesn't ask you to look away. It asks you to sit with a question: not fear of death, but what it means to be properly cared for after it. I'm always curious what that means for each and every family.
The official website is https://www.catacombefraticappuccini.com/en/
Their Instagram account is https://www.instagram.com/catacombe_frati_cappuccini
