Although my adventures into London’s sprawling underground network are certainly over, i do still have fond memories and tales of previous exploits that have yet to be told. For a while I’ve been debating the pros and cons of publishing these stories, part of me wants to separate myself from them as far as humanly possible, while the other reminds me well, whats done is done.
There we were, quietly perched in a dark crawlspace, slithers of light sneaking in from the station below. Supported by thin pieces of wire and screws, the panel on which we stood was clearly not designed to support human weight, our every movement causing the flimsy metal to creak, stretch and bang, threatening to fall. Nevertheless we remained on the edge, our eyes transfixed on the station and stairs, listening for each and every sound no matter how insignificant. Impatience at this point was not an option, if our timing was wrong or we had miscalculated something the result would mean arrest, injury or worse.
I never thought Down Street would fall, another station to add to Christmas day wish list. located in the heart Park Lane district it appeared as an impenetrable fortress, one with no time for doubters and naysayers, protected by hotels, embassies and the rich.
If you asked a random stranger what their opinions on graffiti were, i guarantee 90% would say something negative. Even within the exploration communities most people i know get frustrated with the presence of graffiti, to a certain extent i do to, but not all the time.
Champ de Mars, another of the phantom metro stations littering the network. Opened in 1913 the station shared a similar life as Saint Martin, short. Eventually due to the war and a lack of use the station closed its gates for the last time on September 2, 1939.
Oh Paris, once more you have rewarded this humble traveller with gifts and treasures far greater than i could have ever expected. Adventures, memories, quality food and the unstoppable burning desire to return. Sadly, as with all trips, they eventually have to come to a close. But before i bid my final farewell, returning to London from the station i had climbed not 24 hours ago. Paris had one last gift to give. A small kiss goodbye known as the Maillot Loop.