Paris, France //
Another late night
Adventures between the lines in the Paris Metro
Date October 2009
Posted May 2011
Posted May 2011
Before wheels touched tarmac at CDG the resolution had been made that this newfound thirst for visiting new countries would have to be taken around Europe, like some kind of crazy travelling roadshow. In coming months there would be locations aplenty and willing accomplices to share them with, but on this particular night there were none. By now ds was back in Australia and my other comrades here were busy. And it suited me, anyway, to be alone with my thoughts, walking through the quiet dark streets of Paris. How it felt to be back in Europe I wasn't entirely sure, but this city, far and away my favourite, provided an adequate welcome back.
The checklist of abandoned Metro stations and curiosities had been rounded-off earlier in the year. Now my eyes sought out the thin black lines on the plan, the connecting (or 'raccord') tunnels, committing their paths to memory to save carting the impractical A0 printout with me. As ds explained here these portals run between lines, allowing transfer of passenger and work trains after hours, or sometimes even during service. Invisible on your regular map as they're generally of no interest to passengers, they offer plenty of possibilities for the enterprising trespasser. Many were only too familiar from nights on the ballast past, but a few unvisited ones stuck out as possible candidates with which to quench this sudden thirst for adventure.
After drawing a last breath of clear night air I descended the steps into the station, hopped the barrier for good measure (this was before learning the hard way that when you're caught trespassing on the line, they almost always check your ticket) and walked out onto the platform. It was a weekday evening and in this particular district it meant that few people were about. The train when it arrived was equally empty, the driver looking half-asleep in his cab and only a few passengers getting out. Conditions were seemingly perfect for what I had in mind as I boarded the carriage and sat down, lost in my own thoughts again even before the doors had hissed shut.
Later I sat alone at another station and pondered this endeavour. This need to sit on an isolated blue plastic seat and watch trains coming and going, people dispersing and then, when the platform is almost empty, seeing new people appear, destroying the opportunity, cursing them under breath. Eventually I chose my moment and deftly snaked past the little yellow sign at the end of the platform, ignoring its warning and dropping down beside the shiny rails and slipping into the darkness. The curve of the tunnel and the whitewash of the walls meant that I was anything but invisible to those still on the platform, if they were paying attention. Soon after I was out of sight, following the gradient of the disused line down into a second tunnel nestled beneath the first.
In fact this particular passage told a story of its own. This was the original route of the line before it was re-routed in the 1930s, donating most of its southern tail to a different service. Along the route were various alcoves, drains and curiosities. And then too soon I could hear the clank of metal on metal, lights flickering from around the corner. Carefully I crept further, peering out of the blackness and looking along the tunnel to where passengers were leaving another platform. There was something entertaining about this, sneaking between one line and another, apparently pointless as it was. Senses were heightened, the experience so different from the times I'd done this in groups numbering two, three or four. Satisfied and fed, I stepped backwards and retraced the path.
As I emerged from the tunnel portal and crunched along the ballast towards the platform it became apparent that service had finished: two guys dressed in blue boilersuits were dragging various cleaning equipment out, stopping only when they noticed me climbing the steps up off the track. Now committed to this act I glanced over nonplussed and sauntered over to the exit, following a thick hose up the stairs to where noise suggested more cleaners were at work. Rounding the corner I found the ticket barriers deserted and nobody there. The mesh grill was half lowered, easily passed by ducking under, then stairs upwards and then that cool air again. Not one to be dealing with taxi drivers and in no particular rush I chose roughly the right direction and began to walk. It was going to be another late night.
In what seems to be becoming a regular occurance, this post is dedicated to Eric and Will for keeping the dream alive over in New York City.
The checklist of abandoned Metro stations and curiosities had been rounded-off earlier in the year. Now my eyes sought out the thin black lines on the plan, the connecting (or 'raccord') tunnels, committing their paths to memory to save carting the impractical A0 printout with me. As ds explained here these portals run between lines, allowing transfer of passenger and work trains after hours, or sometimes even during service. Invisible on your regular map as they're generally of no interest to passengers, they offer plenty of possibilities for the enterprising trespasser. Many were only too familiar from nights on the ballast past, but a few unvisited ones stuck out as possible candidates with which to quench this sudden thirst for adventure.
After drawing a last breath of clear night air I descended the steps into the station, hopped the barrier for good measure (this was before learning the hard way that when you're caught trespassing on the line, they almost always check your ticket) and walked out onto the platform. It was a weekday evening and in this particular district it meant that few people were about. The train when it arrived was equally empty, the driver looking half-asleep in his cab and only a few passengers getting out. Conditions were seemingly perfect for what I had in mind as I boarded the carriage and sat down, lost in my own thoughts again even before the doors had hissed shut.
Later I sat alone at another station and pondered this endeavour. This need to sit on an isolated blue plastic seat and watch trains coming and going, people dispersing and then, when the platform is almost empty, seeing new people appear, destroying the opportunity, cursing them under breath. Eventually I chose my moment and deftly snaked past the little yellow sign at the end of the platform, ignoring its warning and dropping down beside the shiny rails and slipping into the darkness. The curve of the tunnel and the whitewash of the walls meant that I was anything but invisible to those still on the platform, if they were paying attention. Soon after I was out of sight, following the gradient of the disused line down into a second tunnel nestled beneath the first.
In fact this particular passage told a story of its own. This was the original route of the line before it was re-routed in the 1930s, donating most of its southern tail to a different service. Along the route were various alcoves, drains and curiosities. And then too soon I could hear the clank of metal on metal, lights flickering from around the corner. Carefully I crept further, peering out of the blackness and looking along the tunnel to where passengers were leaving another platform. There was something entertaining about this, sneaking between one line and another, apparently pointless as it was. Senses were heightened, the experience so different from the times I'd done this in groups numbering two, three or four. Satisfied and fed, I stepped backwards and retraced the path.
As I emerged from the tunnel portal and crunched along the ballast towards the platform it became apparent that service had finished: two guys dressed in blue boilersuits were dragging various cleaning equipment out, stopping only when they noticed me climbing the steps up off the track. Now committed to this act I glanced over nonplussed and sauntered over to the exit, following a thick hose up the stairs to where noise suggested more cleaners were at work. Rounding the corner I found the ticket barriers deserted and nobody there. The mesh grill was half lowered, easily passed by ducking under, then stairs upwards and then that cool air again. Not one to be dealing with taxi drivers and in no particular rush I chose roughly the right direction and began to walk. It was going to be another late night.
In what seems to be becoming a regular occurance, this post is dedicated to Eric and Will for keeping the dream alive over in New York City.
