December 2018: On my way to Saudi Arabia-Entering the Kingdom as One of the First Foreigners to be Issued a Tourist Visa to Explore Desert Caves Only Known to Local Bedouin, Saudi Arabia | Venture The Planet, I had an 8-hour night stopover in London. It felt fitting to take the opportunity to pay homage to one of the greatest explorers of Arabia—someone I deeply admire—Sir Richard Burton. To do so, I needed to find his grave. My stopover in London took place in the dead of winter, at night—the perfect setting for a graveyard visit.
About Sir Richard Burton
Sir Richard Burton (1821–1890) was one of history’s most remarkable explorers. His exploits are too numerous to list, but among his most notable achievements were being one of the first known Westerners to enter Mecca, Medina, and Harar, as well as his explorations of the African Great Lakes region. He traveled during an era when true adventure still existed, and each journey carried a high—if not imminent—risk of death. In addition to being an explorer, Burton was a military officer, diplomat, master linguist, and prolific author. His travels took him to some of the most remote corners of Asia, Africa, and South America.
Despite surviving countless near-death encounters—facing bandits, pirates, hostile tribes, and exotic illnesses—it was ultimately a heart attack that claimed his life. Upon his death, his wife honored his love for Arabia by building him a tomb in the shape of a Bedouin tent. Both he and his wife are buried inside this unique mausoleum, which stands in the graveyard of St. Mary Magdalen Church in Mortlake, just outside London. Visitors can view their coffins by climbing a small ladder at the rear of the tomb, where a glass window offers a glimpse inside.
Getting There
I had attempted to visit Sir Richard Burton’s grave once before, during a daytime stopover in London with my wife. However, as we disembarked from the plane, she realized she had lost her passport. Instead of visiting Burton’s tomb, we spent the entire stopover desperately trying to secure permission for her to return home.
Determined not to fail this time, I set off for Mortlake via the London metro, navigating multiple connections. Once I arrived, I faced another challenge—there were two chapels in the area with the same name: St. Mary Magdalen Church. I walked up to the first one, approaching the entrance as a small group of churchgoers exited. I asked a woman attendant if she knew where the graveyard was. She looked at me, bewildered, and asked why on Earth I would want to visit a graveyard at night. After I explained my mission, she informed me I was at the wrong chapel but kindly gave me directions to the right one, warning me that it might be closed.
I hurried off, weaving through residential alleyways with my travel pack, following her instructions. After a few wrong turns, I finally arrived at the other St. Mary Magdalen Church—only to find it dark and locked up for the night. The small Catholic church’s graveyard was surrounded by a high wall, and every gate I tried was locked. But I hadn’t come all this way just to turn back. I was going to see Sir Richard Burton’s tomb, one way or another.
The gate stood about eight feet tall, but I found enough footholds to climb over. I leaped up, carefully maneuvering to avoid the sharp metal spikes at the top. To do so, I had to shift from the fence onto a concrete wall protruding from the church. From there, I jumped down—only to realize I had landed in a courtyard, not the graveyard. One more fence stood between me and my destination.
Moving as stealthily as possible to avoid attracting attention—and the risk of getting arrested for trespassing—I scaled the second fence, nearly getting my jacket caught on the gate in the process. Finally, I landed inside a haunting world of Gothic tombstones, the graveyard dating back to the mid-1800s.
Then, I saw it. The tomb in the shape of a Bedouin tent.
I climbed the ladder at its rear and found the small window. Peering inside, I could see them—Sir Richard Burton and his wife, resting together in their final, eternal expedition.
Coffins inside the church graveyard
Sir Richard Burtons Tomb in the Shape of a Beduin tent
Coffins of Sir Richard Burton and his wife inside his tomb.
As I stood before the tomb of this legendary explorer, I imagined his life—filled with wonder and true adventure, the kind that no longer exists in my era. Burton had journeyed through lands unknown to the Western world, faced dangers that most would never dare, and lived a life few could even dream of.
My reverie was abruptly interrupted by a flapping sound in the distance.
At first, I thought the church caretaker was approaching, and I braced myself for a confrontation. But there was no beam from a flashlight, no sound of footsteps—just the steady, rhythmic flapping. And besides, who else would be back here in the darkness at this hour?
To exit, I had to walk in an arc toward the source of the sound. The graveyard was cloaked in darkness, and though I strained my eyes, I couldn’t quite make out what was there. Nor did I want to. But for a brief, chilling moment, I was certain I saw a dark figure standing next to an open coffin.
The figure swayed back and forth, its motion producing the eerie flapping noise.
That was all the reason I needed to hasten my departure. With my pulse racing, I scrambled over the gate, landing on the other side as quickly as possible. I didn’t look back. I simply made my way through the empty streets of Mortlake and back to London Heathrow—ready for my flight, but carrying with me the lingering mystery of what I had just seen.