Dhe true cemetery enthusiasts come at dusk on the first Sunday after All Saints’ Day, when a group of necrophilic or particularly empathetic people gathers at Alberner Hafen. Together they drag an unmanned boat, decorated with flowers and flower arrangements, to the bank of the Danube, light candles and launch it, in memory of everyone who drowned in the river. A brightly lit raft on a long journey to the Black Sea. Unless it’s stranded somewhere beforehand.
A form of remembrance of the dead in the shadow of an unusual burial ground. At the cemetery of the nameless in the eastern foothills of Vienna, those who are tired of life are buried next to victims of misfortunes and crimes, one hundred and four deceased in one hundred and two coffins. In the weeks of November, when the fog hangs over the roofs and melancholy calls for walks into solitude, the lights stay on until late at night. Again this year, as Corona prevented the boat from being dropped in front of the audience: the directives from the town hall are just not a crowd. Admittedly, the regulations cannot prevent the excursion to the nameless. The dead are hardly ever alone in autumn.