Paris, France //
Robbing the money train (and other short stories) - Part 2
Taking our work back underground
Date January 2009
Posted September 2010
Posted September 2010
Yet again moving with all the stealth of a pack of petrified banshee the three of us clanged down the stairs and into the concrete tunnel, passing beneath heavy duty roof supports and alongside various robotically controlled diggers. This side entrance was obviously in its infancy. ds was already reaching for the digger control belt...
Following the passage it appeared that the map we'd found was spot-on. The dusty opening at the far end funneled us into the main Metro tunnel, but unfortunately little progress had been made. At one end a huge piece of plant nestled like a funnelweb awaiting prey; at the other, an illuminated heading tunnel, enticing but visibly stunted in its growth. The coal face, if you like. Not all that photogenic or inspiring, but a few token snaps were loosed off for posterity.
Open air beckoned once more, bitter and arctic though it was. The idea was to continue along the path of the new line and look for more entry points, the first of which appeared a few minutes later, helpfully plastered with hoarding announcing the forthcoming Montrouge station. A flickering of shadows and a warm glow in one corner silhouetted a small huddle of hobos, living surprisingly well compared so some of the lazy ass bums that can't even find a decent sized doorway. We left plenty of footprints but since there were no photographs to be taken in the construction site we took a bag of wood instead and presented it to the homeless guys as a new year gift.
Down at Montrouge you're not so far from the southern end of the Catacombs GRS network. According to q-x the outskirts of Paris are littered with small sets of tunnels, often now sealed off from humanity by building work, reinforcements and redevelopment. It seemed luck was on our side as we encircled another boarded up void, pausing only momentarily to read about the 'carrieres anciens' that were being stabilised somewhere down below. The blackness of the shaft knew no bounds and a torch beam refused to illuminate the bottom. In order to get to the ladders going down each of us swung out over the nothingness for the entry hatch was locked, forcing us to scrabble for a foothold whilst clinging desperately to some steel bars. Safer now on the ladders we descended, passing safety points, racks of hard hats and signs about gas detectors. A minute or so later we reached the bottom and the luck ran out. Concrete. The injection had been completed.
If there was one thing I learned during my first night at dsankt's squat it was that an alarm wouldn't be needed, since sleep was unlikely. Violently I shivered, body working overtime to combat the sub-zero air. The heater provided for guests in return for gifts of Vegemite and Twinings Chai was clearly the worst of the bunch as ds' room was always toasty. Three layers and an inflatable matress did little to help so when light streamed through the windows I rose still cold and bleary eyed. Food provided welcome comfort and then we departed into the city to investigate some possible ideas for the following evening's entertainment.
Later came, colder and darker, our eyes now adjusted as we looked out through the grating across the caisson. Nothing moved, all was quiet. Here at Cité on Metro line 4 we needed to ensure that the last train had run. Soon the silence was disturbed by a lone staffer giving the platforms a last walk round before heading back upstairs to the ticket office, or wherever he went when the jobs were done. Five more minutes to be sure and then down the narrow staircase to where the submarine-style door would provide access to the station. For the unfamiliar it would perhaps be useful to take a step back and consider the history of this station and just why we were crouched like rats on the outside of a giant iron tube, accessed tonight ingeniously from the city's power tunnel network.
Back in 1905 when the Metro was a mere tiddler of an underground railway system the French firm Chagnaud was contracted to help with the construction of two new stations: St Michel and Cité. Principally this involved the sinking of giant steel tubes into the ground, for the station itself and also for the approaches. With the station built, passengers were to enter via large central staircases built inside the caissons. The reason for these huge steel funnels was that the stations are located inside an island on the River Seine. This was the only way to find enough stability and keep the water out.
With the station now quiet we completed the descent, arriving at a huge watertight submarine-style door. A big heavy wheel mounted in the centre spun to unlock the door, finishing with a dull thudl. The door swung open and we were presented with a fenced-off part of the platform, home to a couple of electrical switchboxes. The stairs leading up from the platform, now above our heads, were clearly not in regular use, with barriers at the bottom preventing access. No problem for us though as we vaulted over the fence and dropped down onto the track.
Our time in the tunnel was to be short-lived as we looked up to see two workmen walking down the line towards us waving torches, barely 20m ahead. Quickly we jumped back up onto the platform, ran through the door and hurried up the stairs to watch out through the grill. A few seconds later the men passed through the station, kicking at the live rail, torches on the track, which was no doubt the only reason they didn't see us. With their passing a gaunt face appeared from the darkness behind a set of metal bars beneath the stairs on the opposite platform (just to the right of center in the photo above). The grimy homeless guy looked around before disappearing. He'd probably watched the whole show...
For the rest of the night we made do with visiting two more of the abandoned Metro stations, Arsenal and Champ de Mars. Arsenal is used for storing supplies, building material and junk by the RATP, with the platforms mostly fenced-off. Champ de Mars meanwhile is almost completely abandoned, save for a ventilation station on one side. As with some of the other 'ghost stations' trains still pass through regularly as they reside on active lines.
The next night q-x joined us again for what was becoming a Metro binge. This time we were looking for something a little different - the mysterious 'Voie des Finances' that one of the others had heard about. This narrow gauge railway had collected cash from regular sized trains in a tunnel somewhere, and ferried it into the basement of the nearby RATP building. This was back when fares could be paid onboard, and so the money had to be safely ferried away somehow overnight.
The information we had was transferred onto a scrap of paper (to be eaten or otherwise disposed of in the event of capture) before we entered a station closeby just before the Metro powered down for the night. From here we negotiated the lines, entered the right tunnel and set about defrauding a floor-to-ceiling mesh grill and evading a man-sized infrared beam. This particular raccord (connecting) tunnel was clearly not meant to receive unauthorised visitors, and once inside we followed the track to where a train was parked up. Given the security on this particular stretch of line it was surprising to see the front of the train tagged.
We passed the laid-up train and continued to where a set of metal grills in the tunnel wall marked the transfer point of the currency into the money train. Through the bars we could see a mountain of cabling and other debris, which didn't bode well. Some effort was required to pass the mesh, and then we were inside, tunnel leading off to the left. Unfortunately it wasn't far down the tunnel before a wall prevented further progress. Beneath the cabling and smashed up concrete the original 2ft gauge rails could be seen. But at some point the system had been comprehensively decommissioned.
Undeterred we turned our attention to another black spot on the map, again with little information on what we might find there. Journeying through a series of raccord tunnels, now and then having to pass security devices again intended to keep laid-up trains safe from vandals, we emerged eventually in a small junction. A siding disappeared behind a large grill, light spilling out from gaps in the mesh. A small door for personnel was locked, but interesting equipment could be seen within, so this small detail didn't deter us.
Inside we were on a short line which passed into strange facility built within a disused station. Several trains were residing here, one of which lined the platform. Beside the parked-up train we found little sign of life until a security check-in sheet informed us that there was a guard on site, and more worryingly so, a dog. The sheet even went as far as to tell us the dog's name. As in, there's more than one. And so presumably somewhere yet to be found is a stable of these beasts - specially trained Metrodogs adept at dodging thirds and sniffing out burners.
Hurrying to leave it became apparent that the guard would be joining us trackside imminently: we'd seen a thin strip of light below one of the doors nearer our entrance, and now we could hear the faint sound of an emptying bog. It was left to our imagination to decide whether or not the chien accompanied him to the toilet as we bailed back out of the facility, thankful that the small door could be opened from the inside.
On the last night before I departed for England we were all starting to feel a little drained. Determined to make the most of it though another unvisited feature of the Metro network was chosen for inspection. This time we were lucky: the one single door which would lead us to find what we found has been, at every time since that we've checked, securely locked. But on this particular night it was slightly ajar.
A flight of steps descended to a short platform below, and there sat our prize: a pristine 1930s Sprague Unit, immaculate in red and green and obviously carefully looked after by the RATP whose offices share the tunnel. This was something which none of us could predict, since these rare trains are often moved about the system and stored in various 'ateliers', disused platforms and lay-ups. Our photo frenzy was interrupted by the return of the two staffers who'd left the door open but now returned from somewhere, steaming cups of coffee in hand. Being in the carriage furthest from the stairs myself and q-x hid beneath the seats, cursing the primitive suspension as the whole car rocked from side to side.
Voices speaking French erupted across the platform: Hount and ds hadn't so successfully evaded the RATP workers. And so there was explaining to be done...
In this way 2009 had started, a year that would yield much, both in Paris and elsewhere. Start as you mean to go on. Appreciation this time to Jean, MC, Julie and friends, q-x, dsankt, TF, Hount and fang. WDWNQ.
This article is the final part of a two part series entitled 'Robbing the money train (and other short stories)'. You can read the previous part here.
Following the passage it appeared that the map we'd found was spot-on. The dusty opening at the far end funneled us into the main Metro tunnel, but unfortunately little progress had been made. At one end a huge piece of plant nestled like a funnelweb awaiting prey; at the other, an illuminated heading tunnel, enticing but visibly stunted in its growth. The coal face, if you like. Not all that photogenic or inspiring, but a few token snaps were loosed off for posterity.
Open air beckoned once more, bitter and arctic though it was. The idea was to continue along the path of the new line and look for more entry points, the first of which appeared a few minutes later, helpfully plastered with hoarding announcing the forthcoming Montrouge station. A flickering of shadows and a warm glow in one corner silhouetted a small huddle of hobos, living surprisingly well compared so some of the lazy ass bums that can't even find a decent sized doorway. We left plenty of footprints but since there were no photographs to be taken in the construction site we took a bag of wood instead and presented it to the homeless guys as a new year gift.
Down at Montrouge you're not so far from the southern end of the Catacombs GRS network. According to q-x the outskirts of Paris are littered with small sets of tunnels, often now sealed off from humanity by building work, reinforcements and redevelopment. It seemed luck was on our side as we encircled another boarded up void, pausing only momentarily to read about the 'carrieres anciens' that were being stabilised somewhere down below. The blackness of the shaft knew no bounds and a torch beam refused to illuminate the bottom. In order to get to the ladders going down each of us swung out over the nothingness for the entry hatch was locked, forcing us to scrabble for a foothold whilst clinging desperately to some steel bars. Safer now on the ladders we descended, passing safety points, racks of hard hats and signs about gas detectors. A minute or so later we reached the bottom and the luck ran out. Concrete. The injection had been completed.
If there was one thing I learned during my first night at dsankt's squat it was that an alarm wouldn't be needed, since sleep was unlikely. Violently I shivered, body working overtime to combat the sub-zero air. The heater provided for guests in return for gifts of Vegemite and Twinings Chai was clearly the worst of the bunch as ds' room was always toasty. Three layers and an inflatable matress did little to help so when light streamed through the windows I rose still cold and bleary eyed. Food provided welcome comfort and then we departed into the city to investigate some possible ideas for the following evening's entertainment.
Later came, colder and darker, our eyes now adjusted as we looked out through the grating across the caisson. Nothing moved, all was quiet. Here at Cité on Metro line 4 we needed to ensure that the last train had run. Soon the silence was disturbed by a lone staffer giving the platforms a last walk round before heading back upstairs to the ticket office, or wherever he went when the jobs were done. Five more minutes to be sure and then down the narrow staircase to where the submarine-style door would provide access to the station. For the unfamiliar it would perhaps be useful to take a step back and consider the history of this station and just why we were crouched like rats on the outside of a giant iron tube, accessed tonight ingeniously from the city's power tunnel network.
Back in 1905 when the Metro was a mere tiddler of an underground railway system the French firm Chagnaud was contracted to help with the construction of two new stations: St Michel and Cité. Principally this involved the sinking of giant steel tubes into the ground, for the station itself and also for the approaches. With the station built, passengers were to enter via large central staircases built inside the caissons. The reason for these huge steel funnels was that the stations are located inside an island on the River Seine. This was the only way to find enough stability and keep the water out.
With the station now quiet we completed the descent, arriving at a huge watertight submarine-style door. A big heavy wheel mounted in the centre spun to unlock the door, finishing with a dull thudl. The door swung open and we were presented with a fenced-off part of the platform, home to a couple of electrical switchboxes. The stairs leading up from the platform, now above our heads, were clearly not in regular use, with barriers at the bottom preventing access. No problem for us though as we vaulted over the fence and dropped down onto the track.
Our time in the tunnel was to be short-lived as we looked up to see two workmen walking down the line towards us waving torches, barely 20m ahead. Quickly we jumped back up onto the platform, ran through the door and hurried up the stairs to watch out through the grill. A few seconds later the men passed through the station, kicking at the live rail, torches on the track, which was no doubt the only reason they didn't see us. With their passing a gaunt face appeared from the darkness behind a set of metal bars beneath the stairs on the opposite platform (just to the right of center in the photo above). The grimy homeless guy looked around before disappearing. He'd probably watched the whole show...
For the rest of the night we made do with visiting two more of the abandoned Metro stations, Arsenal and Champ de Mars. Arsenal is used for storing supplies, building material and junk by the RATP, with the platforms mostly fenced-off. Champ de Mars meanwhile is almost completely abandoned, save for a ventilation station on one side. As with some of the other 'ghost stations' trains still pass through regularly as they reside on active lines.
The next night q-x joined us again for what was becoming a Metro binge. This time we were looking for something a little different - the mysterious 'Voie des Finances' that one of the others had heard about. This narrow gauge railway had collected cash from regular sized trains in a tunnel somewhere, and ferried it into the basement of the nearby RATP building. This was back when fares could be paid onboard, and so the money had to be safely ferried away somehow overnight.
The information we had was transferred onto a scrap of paper (to be eaten or otherwise disposed of in the event of capture) before we entered a station closeby just before the Metro powered down for the night. From here we negotiated the lines, entered the right tunnel and set about defrauding a floor-to-ceiling mesh grill and evading a man-sized infrared beam. This particular raccord (connecting) tunnel was clearly not meant to receive unauthorised visitors, and once inside we followed the track to where a train was parked up. Given the security on this particular stretch of line it was surprising to see the front of the train tagged.
We passed the laid-up train and continued to where a set of metal grills in the tunnel wall marked the transfer point of the currency into the money train. Through the bars we could see a mountain of cabling and other debris, which didn't bode well. Some effort was required to pass the mesh, and then we were inside, tunnel leading off to the left. Unfortunately it wasn't far down the tunnel before a wall prevented further progress. Beneath the cabling and smashed up concrete the original 2ft gauge rails could be seen. But at some point the system had been comprehensively decommissioned.
Undeterred we turned our attention to another black spot on the map, again with little information on what we might find there. Journeying through a series of raccord tunnels, now and then having to pass security devices again intended to keep laid-up trains safe from vandals, we emerged eventually in a small junction. A siding disappeared behind a large grill, light spilling out from gaps in the mesh. A small door for personnel was locked, but interesting equipment could be seen within, so this small detail didn't deter us.
Inside we were on a short line which passed into strange facility built within a disused station. Several trains were residing here, one of which lined the platform. Beside the parked-up train we found little sign of life until a security check-in sheet informed us that there was a guard on site, and more worryingly so, a dog. The sheet even went as far as to tell us the dog's name. As in, there's more than one. And so presumably somewhere yet to be found is a stable of these beasts - specially trained Metrodogs adept at dodging thirds and sniffing out burners.
Hurrying to leave it became apparent that the guard would be joining us trackside imminently: we'd seen a thin strip of light below one of the doors nearer our entrance, and now we could hear the faint sound of an emptying bog. It was left to our imagination to decide whether or not the chien accompanied him to the toilet as we bailed back out of the facility, thankful that the small door could be opened from the inside.
On the last night before I departed for England we were all starting to feel a little drained. Determined to make the most of it though another unvisited feature of the Metro network was chosen for inspection. This time we were lucky: the one single door which would lead us to find what we found has been, at every time since that we've checked, securely locked. But on this particular night it was slightly ajar.
A flight of steps descended to a short platform below, and there sat our prize: a pristine 1930s Sprague Unit, immaculate in red and green and obviously carefully looked after by the RATP whose offices share the tunnel. This was something which none of us could predict, since these rare trains are often moved about the system and stored in various 'ateliers', disused platforms and lay-ups. Our photo frenzy was interrupted by the return of the two staffers who'd left the door open but now returned from somewhere, steaming cups of coffee in hand. Being in the carriage furthest from the stairs myself and q-x hid beneath the seats, cursing the primitive suspension as the whole car rocked from side to side.
Voices speaking French erupted across the platform: Hount and ds hadn't so successfully evaded the RATP workers. And so there was explaining to be done...
In this way 2009 had started, a year that would yield much, both in Paris and elsewhere. Start as you mean to go on. Appreciation this time to Jean, MC, Julie and friends, q-x, dsankt, TF, Hount and fang. WDWNQ.
This article is the final part of a two part series entitled 'Robbing the money train (and other short stories)'. You can read the previous part here.
