The Catacombs of Paris hold the bones of about six million people, twenty metres beneath the Left Bank. You go down a spiral stair, walk a kilometre and a half of low tunnel at fourteen degrees, and come back up in a different street. The walls along the route are built out of the dead: long stacks of leg bones with rows of skulls set into the face, stretch after stretch. A stone at each section names the graveyard those bones came from and the year they arrived.
Paris cut its building limestone from under the Left Bank, the workings were never properly propped, and one day a stretch of road above them collapsed and took houses down with it. At the same moment the city's oldest graveyard, sitting in the middle of the food market, had run out of room. So the bones were carted out at night, priests walking behind, and tipped into the empty quarries. The arranging came later: a quarry inspector had them built into the walls you now walk between. Only about two hundred people are allowed below at once, so the wait to get in is longer than you expect and the tunnel itself is not crowded.