Paris Metro - Paris, France. Updated! April 2008
This page is a lengthy page encompassing:
#1 - General Metro / RER History & Background
#2 - Exploration report of Metro Cite, Line 4, Paris
#3 - Exploration report of Abandoned Metro Saint Martin
#4 - Exploration report of a leg of the RER B tunnels, Paris.
| Background Paraphrasing heavily from Wikipedia, the Paris Metro system is the one of the largest in Europe, and in terms of human traffic per day*, second only to the Russian Metro system. Officially opened in 1900, and rapidly developed over the duration of the early 20th century, there are 14 major lines [with a handful of orhpaned 'Bis' lines] covering some 270+ kilometers - roughly making the network as extensive, albiet geographically larger, than the catacomb / quarry systems. [*thanks Siologen] Somewhat uniquly to the system, there are no express trains and no shared platforms - each train stops at a dedicated platform, at each station, even at interchange stations. Technically odd, the metro connects with the more contemporary RER [inter-urban] lines, and the SNCF and 'Grande Lignes' - the national / continental lines, and sports a variety of rolling stock - both pnuematic / tired based-trains, and the traditional steel-wheeled cars. Individual lines are inconsistant, and usually very individual - some lines provide support exclusively for pnuematic or steel stock, or both. The Urbex Angle Power is delivered via the 'third rail', but there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes one rail flush with the track, sometimes elevated, it's not uncommon for there to be up to 4 live rails on just one track, which makes exploration just that bit more dodgy. This strikes in harsh contrast to the NY metro system, which has one live rail per rail, which is normally insulated to protect from stray footsteps. Not so in Paris - your first fuckup will doubtless be your last. As you'd imagine, over the duration of 100+ years of service, there are hidden secrets - and you'd be right. There are over a dozen abandoned stations, and a fistfull of ghost platforms. While some have been converted into training lines, layups, or underground hobo-mansions, the vast majority of which are just left there. In fact, access to most [Notably Haxo and Murat which never had access built to them] is via the tunnels. This page serves as a work in progress to any subsequent Metro-based adventures that I incur, before meeting my inevitable Metro-based demise. Line 4 - Cite' [Oct/Nov 2007] For me, one of the most complicated lines you'll ever come across. There's double lines. Each line has support for pnuematic trains, so there are fat rails, worn to a dull shine from the relentless onslaught of trains and just outside, rails for steel-wheeled stock. To add to the confusion, each line is bordered by 2 elevated live rails. The end result is an incredible tangle of steel and cable, eager to trip interlopers.  For dsankt, who having arrived in Paris just a few days earlier, rumours of the Cite station were more appealing than crepes, and so we put on our rubber suits and headed out. First stop, St Sulpice. After successfully breaking the spring-loaded manhole cover of an electricity tunnel, the big hand had crept to 2:30AM - by now, all metro activity is normally quiet for the night. Guided only by the cyrptic SMS of a certain aerosol dizzy cataphile, our plan was set. We were looking for a grille near a street near a bridge, but not near the train station. After looping the local constabulary a few times, we reassured them we were french by pissing in public, and it was then we found our mark. Not so much a grill as something you'd find on covered in charring snags on top of a few bricks in a mate's backyard while downing VBs. We popped it, and entered - this was nothing like a metro station, this was a power tunnel! Remembering the only lucid part of our instructons, we headed right, the air becoming hotter with every step. Eventually reaching the head of a dizzy flight of stairs, there it was: the platforms of Metro Cite. Like all stations, this one has a story. It lives on Ile de la Cite - one of the small island fortresses that makes up the heart of Paris. Given the proximity to water, the station is nothing more elegant or advanced that a huge caisson that was simply bored / dropped into the silty sod of the island - and it shows - the entire station resembles a missle silo, replete with huge studs fighting to hold back the moisture, and a host of hobos sleeping at one end. We crept on, swathed in sweat and the rumble of snoring hobos just spitting distance away. At the bottom of the stairs was a door - the type of door that every instinct in my body told me to not touch, let alone open. Imagine a cheesy movie with a bank heist. Embelish the scene with a huge vault, a massively intimidating door, and a large circular handle in the middle. Even in the worst of movies, these types of doors bring all sorts of fury when they're opened, and here we were, breaking into a trainstation via electricty tunnels, about to open this door. We'd been assured by Cat and Rocco that it was fine - they'd been down here a few days prior, or so they thought. Being solid examples of cataphiles, the only element of their tale that clung to veracity was the side note that they'd been terribly drunk at the time. Sweat beaded and cut tracks through the soot and mud on our faces. Old habits die hard - I put on gloves, and spun the handle. It made all the right sounds. Clik-clik-clik-clink, Clik-clik-clik-clink. I inhaled, reached for the handle, and pressed hard - and the Tolkeinesque door gave way. No alarms - what were we thinking, this is Paris, what do they care? [Side note - this is not to be relied on] Our initial nervousness eventually outweighed by curiosity, we pressed forward - climbing over a substation hut, and down to face the mouth of the tunnels. A nest of rails glinted and sprawled into the obscurity. We made a pact: 30 seconds in - reasses the situation. Stepping over the live rail, we entered the mouth of the beast, and pressed in. If you've never been in a live train tunnel before, it's worth mentioning that it's kind of like sniffing your housemate's panties. You know that the instant you touch anything, you're going to die, and you know that sooner rather than later, a very insitant form of death is going to come your way, but against all odds, you're strangely compelled to press on. It's also worth mentioning I've never had housemates. Chicken or egg? We pressed on. The roar of extraction fans throbbed in our ears. We picked our way forward, glancing forwards and back relentlessly. We flurried with our cameras, and peeled off a few shots before retreating to the platform. Armed with the confidence of not getting killed, we repeated the maneouver two more times, before finally calling it a night and retreating. Bursting back into the night, we commandeered bicycles and headed south with a mission: the australians were gonna leave a legacy by smashing the shit out of a long closed manhole to the catacombs.... [Nov 2007 ] After a wildly unsuccessful night that consisted of being chased by dogs and security, and hiding in piles of fiberglass insulation for 90 minutes out at business district of La Defense, I admitted defeat, and headed back into Paris. Armed with my SLR and TX-2, and determined not to waste the chance, I hit the station once more, and claimed three photos of the bowels of the tunnels... ..to be continued.. |
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 Ghost train on a ghost platform, Metro Saint Martin, Paris, France  Original 1930 mosaic advertisments, Paris Metro Saint Martin, Paris  Original 1930 mosaic advertisments, Paris Metro Saint Martin, Paris |
Paris, RER B, January 2008 First point of call, where the line turns into above ground. No problems. We climbed the bridge, to discover three snoozing RER trains. Just as we were about to get comfortable, the trains sprang into life, and there were workers swarming around. We bid a hasty retreat, to the next bridge, where while catching our breath after tackling the spikes and razor wire, the same trains began to bear down on us. We jumped the lines, and decided to reconsider our plans. Opting to drop in via a ventilation shaft, with dsankt basked in the glow of his success, and me curious to how I'd managed to drop a 50kg vent grille on my head, we completely failed to notice the maintenance train rumbling towards us at a painfully slow pace. Camoflauging ourselves as well-illuminated interlopers in a train tunnel, we stood there, eyes closed, as the bohemoth rumbled closer, and eventually past us. Out of sight, the tunnels we now ours. In comparison to their metro counterparts, the RER B tunnels are much more gloomy. We picked our way along in the half-light, until we were presented with a decision. Just steps away, the exceedingly well lit RER Station Luxembourg - and beyond it, more tunnel. Every ventilation shaft and emergency exit we'd come across so far had been conveniently sealed with significant amounts of concrete. This was it. Strolling out onto the platform, eyes fixed on the array of cameras looking down onto us, we walked calmly along, pace increasing to a respectable panicked trot by the far end - we were back in the tunnel. What followed was more walking, some photography, and a dignified exit in Saint Michel, via a convaluted system of fans, pipes, grilles and manholes, all left open for us. As the sun rose, we were in agreeance: Part Two of RER adventures would have to follow. |
 The gorgeous RER B tunnels, Paris  Level 9 Wizards can't make portals like these... |
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