Paris, France //
The abandoned station of Porte Molitor
One of the Paris Metro's more remote abandoned stations
Date April 2009
Posted May 2011
Posted May 2011
Along the track in one direction we could see flashing red track workers' lamps, positioned between the rails to mark the boundary of the section. The other way we could make out the shapes of figures in orange jackets huddled on a platform. And so here in this Parisian Metro tunnel myself and dsankt were faced with a problem: how were we going to get out of here? Meanwhile q-x was preoccupied with a small problem of his own, namely the retrieval of his keys which were sitting squarely upon a shiny third rail. Dropping the keys here had been an involuntary but fitting gesture, summing up just the kind of night we were having.
The three of us had retreated from the sought-after disused station of Porte Molitor, an island platform arrangement which, like it's little brother Haxo, had never enjoyed the luxury of access from above, and therefore passengers. We'd reached this remote part of the system after sneaking off a nearby station platform, scurrying across the ballast and hiding in an alcove. With the last trains departed our passage had continued, further from the bright light of the station and closer to our station abandonee. Although ds had been before, as he recounts, no two trips into this man-sized slide puzzle are quite the same.
Some of the components are more or less guaranteed. Those big black infrared detectors, for example, and their closed circuit video camera counterparts (countered with finesse, thus). They were also on hand to remind us that we were effectively in a yard here, and it was therefore no surprise to find trains laid up in Molitor itself. Here they are regularly cleaned, by cleaners of the human variety. One such individual had marched along the duckboards earlier, hollow steps forcing us to scurry for cover within one of the MF 67 stock units. The increase in activity as the cleaning shift began had forced our earlier retreat.
As the Metro is often prone to doing, it presented an escape opportunity: a small aperture in a concrete wall from which we could drop down onto a neighbouring tunnel. Unsure whether or not the track crew had seen us we hastily scampered downward, arriving at a big junction, the only sound the roar of a fan. From what we could remember of the map, we were at a convergence of connecting (or 'raccord') tunnels somewhere close to one of the 'ateliers' (depots). There was, however, little time to contemplate this: a train was coming.
Myself and ds dashed across the track to hide in an alcove, just in time as the glow of headlights shone round the corner accompanied by the metal din of wheel on rail. Looking across we saw q-x briefly before he was obscured by the train, watching as he threw himself flat on the ballast. Whether the driver had seen any of us or not we weren't sure, but the train was slowing to a halt. Naturally we ran, meeting q-x as the three of us dashed in the direction the train had come from, q-x yelling as we regrouped that he'd seen the driver get out of the cab.
Needless to say we finally made good our exit, picking up the pay-per-ride Velib bicycles and going our separate ways. The following month Marshall joined us for a re-visit. Suffice to say, it was a completely different story entirely...
The three of us had retreated from the sought-after disused station of Porte Molitor, an island platform arrangement which, like it's little brother Haxo, had never enjoyed the luxury of access from above, and therefore passengers. We'd reached this remote part of the system after sneaking off a nearby station platform, scurrying across the ballast and hiding in an alcove. With the last trains departed our passage had continued, further from the bright light of the station and closer to our station abandonee. Although ds had been before, as he recounts, no two trips into this man-sized slide puzzle are quite the same.
Some of the components are more or less guaranteed. Those big black infrared detectors, for example, and their closed circuit video camera counterparts (countered with finesse, thus). They were also on hand to remind us that we were effectively in a yard here, and it was therefore no surprise to find trains laid up in Molitor itself. Here they are regularly cleaned, by cleaners of the human variety. One such individual had marched along the duckboards earlier, hollow steps forcing us to scurry for cover within one of the MF 67 stock units. The increase in activity as the cleaning shift began had forced our earlier retreat.
As the Metro is often prone to doing, it presented an escape opportunity: a small aperture in a concrete wall from which we could drop down onto a neighbouring tunnel. Unsure whether or not the track crew had seen us we hastily scampered downward, arriving at a big junction, the only sound the roar of a fan. From what we could remember of the map, we were at a convergence of connecting (or 'raccord') tunnels somewhere close to one of the 'ateliers' (depots). There was, however, little time to contemplate this: a train was coming.
Myself and ds dashed across the track to hide in an alcove, just in time as the glow of headlights shone round the corner accompanied by the metal din of wheel on rail. Looking across we saw q-x briefly before he was obscured by the train, watching as he threw himself flat on the ballast. Whether the driver had seen any of us or not we weren't sure, but the train was slowing to a halt. Naturally we ran, meeting q-x as the three of us dashed in the direction the train had come from, q-x yelling as we regrouped that he'd seen the driver get out of the cab.
Needless to say we finally made good our exit, picking up the pay-per-ride Velib bicycles and going our separate ways. The following month Marshall joined us for a re-visit. Suffice to say, it was a completely different story entirely...
