Here’s a satellite version of our destination. We were to do the complete circuit over 2 days, with a stop overnight at a riverside cabin. Ahh, it brings back wonderful memories of my school days where everybody would bring a sleeping bag over for a night in at someone’s house…

We actually cheated a little though, as I found out to my disappointment afterwards. The little section at the bottom of Biwako (the Japanese name for Lake Biwa) was cut off in our route, knocking the full distance down from 170km to around 130km. We instead took a scenic bridge over the waters towards the grand, rusting haikyo ferris wheel in the distance. I actually explored this ruin way back last December while I had a sprained ankle of all things. But anyway, that’s a post to look forward to for another day. For now I’ll just give you this little morsel of rusty goodness.

Pushing on then, we set off along the cycling route around the lake. It was quite busy, despite it being the rainy season and it quickly became obvious we weren’t the only people attempting to do a circuit of the lake, although apparently we were the only ones stupid enough to come and rent mama chari to do it. The first place wouldn’t even rent us the bicycles after he found out we intended to take them all the way around!

For the most part, it was a flat, wide path that ran close to the water’s edge, but certain sections took us through old towns and farming villages, as well as mountain roads covered by forgotten pine trees. Making good use of my new 40-150mm zoom lens, I dangled the camera from my neck and snapped up as I rode. Once again I was reminded of the pleasures of small, light micro 4/3 cameras. There would be no way I could dangle a DSLR with the equivalent zoom around my neck and do the same thing while riding.

Work pal of mine Koumei and I pose for the camera. Note the hideously uncool rolled-up trousers and hairy legs. Yes, I did not think my legs would get hot… Koumei on the other hand looked an equally bizarre sight riding a pink women’s cycle while wearing pro cycling tights. A right pair, the two of us.

A rather dandy-looking yacht caught my eye as everyone set off again. I ended up getting left behind on more than one occasion and having to peddle hard to catch up, getting lost in the process. But it was all worth it. Some nice pictures to remember the day by.

I mentioned the beautiful old villages we passed through. You might quite rightly imagine that there were a fair few haikyo that caught my eye as well. Alas, nowhere near enough time to stop and explore. I did snap some interesting signs along the way though. This appears to be a brand of mosquito repellent. Oh how I hate those little buggers.

As you can see in the next picture, while the rain held off, we didn’t quite get the brilliant blue skies that make perfect pictures. But perhaps that was best; the heat stayed lowish and despite my hayfever flaring up it probably wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Everyone is still grinning and laughing in the picture – obviously this was still early on day 1 ^^;.

After lunch we made a stop at Guillver’s Kingdom (though not the haikyo theme park that is long since demolished…). A roadside station with a hulking great model of the man. I was happily snapping pictures when the rest of the team decide to start doing air poses. Just something I wouldn’t have thought of (or dared do) alone. I sometimes forget how much fun travelling with friends is. I don’t often get the chance.

After a slight detour around a landslide caused by the earlier heavy rains, we zipped through a few tunnels and past some wild monkeys. Unfortunately, I forgot to tweak my camera settings to grab sharp pictures, but they darted up from the water across the road and back into the trees. It turns out that the water was really nice too. Bloody cold at first, and the rocky bottom sharp as anything on bare feet, but so refreshing after a day’s cycling once used to it.

Koumei, Shouta and I decided to go for a little swim out the buoy and back. I later learned that this lake has a few gar in it, as result of people releasing pet ones there. I would not have liked to have met those nasty teeth…

In the evening we went out for food (a 40 minute drive in the van we brought along, changing the driver every so often). Afterwards, back in the wooden cabin we played some Daifugo with some insect-shaped chocolates with a nasty filling for the booby prize. Tickling matches and shimo-neta followed between the time drifting off to sleep. Awesome stuff ^^.

The next morning we stretched out and packed up the van ready. The usual game of rock-paper-scissors ensued in order to determine who got the best bicycle. Only two of the bikes had gears – one a fold-up bike and the other a semi-decent mama-chari with a high seat. Over the two days it was a constant battle to be the winner of the game in order to get the best possible ride, and it really did make a difference! After a losing streak I had to ride on Gin-chan, the crappy silver bicycle we so affectionally named whose seat was so low my knees hit my chin. A few hours of that and my thighs were burning. Luckily I came out on top a few times too. We invariably stopped after 10 or 15km to change drivers and swap bikes, although I ended up being the only one foolhardy enough to cycle the entire trip :p.

Above, myself, Takeuchi and Madoka. Along the way we passed many interesting types of buildings. This next one was just after the campsite we stayed at. Quite a sight nestled between the trees in the morning sunlight. Almost fairytale.

Or this next building. Perhaps some kind of storehouse? I wonder what the logo is on top – perhaps a family crest? I’ve seen this style of old building with fold-out window in houses before, especially around the old villages.

The second day turned out to be fairly easy-going. We were now into a good rhythm and somehow the track felt more downhill than the day before.

Another sight I came to see a lot of was these little winged creatures – tsubame (swallows). They like to make their nests under the alcoves of buildings, or canopies. One rest stop we visited had an indoor market with the ceiling covered in upside-down umbrellas to catch droppings because there we so many swallow nests up above!

If I was a bird I’d probably take advice from these little fellas. No cat is getting up here!

Another interesting sight along the way – a pirated Mario! A least he’s doing a community service – ‘watch out for kids jumping in front of cars!’ says the sign.

Finally then, we reached the last stretch of road. Kachikawa (above centre) and I raced on one side of the road, while Shouta and Takeuchi bombed along the other side. What had been a relatively pleasant trip throughout the afternoon turned into a heated push to see who would be first back. Kachikawa got left behind somewhere, probably riding Gin-chan, so it was left to me to fend off the other two challengers. Luck was on my side though, as they got stopped at a crossing, so I sailed through to the end, unceremoniously splashing an energy drink on my face in a moment of lax concentration. Oh well. Good times! Madoka and Manami (above right) were waiting with the van at the finish line. Everyone was back safely and in good time.

A weekend well spent and definitely something I have to do more often. Thanks everyone! :)

This is the Empire of Death

We’d scrambled through tiny holes and passageways full of water on our way from La Plage and explored the remains of an old Nazi war bunker, but the best was still to come. A long walk from the grave of Philibert Aspairt, we finally near our destination. Tomasz pulls out his trusty map and checks a couple of things to make sure we’re on the right track. It’s crucial he does so; we’re all exhausted from trudging around underground all day and a wrong turn now could mean hours of extra walking.

Finally, Tomasz tramps off confidently south and we all follow. I’m surprised at just how warm I’ve been down here. I had expected the same chilling temperatures that the freezing winter months cast upon Paris above, but with a brisk walking pace I find myself plenty comfortable in just a long-sleeved t-shirt. The lack of any bulky coat is especially useful down here as there is often the need to squeeze through chatières and other narrow holes.

One such crevice leads the way inside Le Carrefour Des Morts – the Crossroads of the Dead – a circular tomb modelled from the roundabout on the surface above it. The bones here are from the nearby Montparnasse cemetery. Once through the hole, the unwitting visitor faces a merry-go-round of yellowing, rotten femurs and cracked craniums. The only way forward is to crawl on your hands and knees, taking in tunnel after tunnel piled high with the bones of those long since passed.

Rather surprisingly, there is hardly any smell at all. I try not to think about the people who once lived whose numerous bodies crackle and splinter under my feet. There are no full skeletons here – the limbs having been separated in order to save space in the mass graves. Occasionally I see what looks to be a skull, but turns out to be merely a polished cranium missing its lower parts. I wonder just how deep these bone piles sink…

Tomasz explains that there used to be many more bones in this area. In fact, he’s rather surprised that the amount has fallen so much. Perhaps they’ve been clearing out this area? Or some less respectful Cataphiles have been taking home souvenirs? A trophy skull as a memento of the visit..? While I can see the morbid attraction, the decaying bones are hardly things I’d like to take home. A little like wood, they retain a slight spongy quality, but are mostly covered in a layer of grime I’d rather forget I even touched. I set up the tripod for a quick shot of the group. I’m the only one smiling in the first shot – force of habit I guess – so we shoot another to set a more solemn mood.

(Left to right: Rafael, Tomasz, me and Adrien)

I’m determined to see some real skulls though, so we exit the tomb and look for an entrance to the lower levels of the Catacombs. Tomasz points to a skull mark on the map; he thinks there might be more ossuaries down below. Sure enough, we soon find another maze of tunnels, piled even higher with bones than the Crossroads above. I suppose fewer explorers ever come down this deep…

An inscription on the wall tells us how aged the bones are – nearly 150 years old. Just around the corner, we make another startling discovery – a skull altar likely crafted by some previous adventurers.

Part of me breathes a sign of relief; as fascinating as exploring the tunnels has been, I wouldn’t have felt the journey complete without finding some real skulls. I’d been worried that the swarms of Cataphiles who frequent these tunnels would have hidden all the interesting items. After all, this isn’t the rosy official Catacombs experience for tourists – here we are inside a mass grave looking at bones that have slumbered here for decades. But saying that – those teeth are in remarkable condition!

A hole leading up into the ceiling pulls me towards it. I’m curious and climb up to have a closer look. Seems to be blocked off, but perhaps at one point it offered access between the upper and lower levels.

I wonder who the skulls belonged to. Men? Women? Children perhaps? How did they die and when? Did they ever imagine that some 150 years later their bones would be disturbed..?

I shiver. I’d been caught up in the exploration and discovery so much that I hadn’t really considered the situation. I’m suddenly awash with guilty feelings that make me feel far dirtier than all the mud covering me. These were real people… Isn’t this wrong that I should be here..?

The Banga and the Castle

After keeping Tomasz and the guys waiting for long enough while I snapped my pictures, we return to the upper level and press on. A couple more locations to visit before heading to the exit. The first is the dreaded Banga – a passageway flooded so high it reaches waist height. In order to get through safely we must straddle the walls either side and shift ourselves along slowly. My camera swings violently around my neck as I slip a little and regain my balance. My boots are only thigh-high, so a wrong step here would be unpleasant indeed.

I notice some interesting fossils embedded into the ceiling along our route from the Crossroads. I wonder what kind of animals these were..? Or perhaps they are not animals but plants, or even some other sediment that got pressurised..?

We finally reach our destination of Le Chateau (the Castle), a magnificent sculpture resting down in its own chamber. Along the years, visitors have brought trinkets with which to adorn its walls – action figures from generations long gone and the empty metal cases from old, used candles. We light a few new ones and sit down to take our final break. Adrien is completely soaked from wading through the Banga in his trainers. Steam rises from his socks as he attempts to dry off.

After toasting with some beer and wolfing down a few more chocolate biscuits, we make towards our exit. Unfortunately for Adrien, this means braving the Banga again. Oh well. There’s just one more stop on our list, right before we wiggle out of the same exit we entered through. Apparently at one point the route to see this guy was completely blocked off, but fortunately for us, it’s open. Behold, Le Passe-Muraille (the man who can walk through walls)!

The modern-day fairytale goes something like this: One day a man discovers that he can walk through walls. Empowered, he uses his newfound ability to get his own back on people and for petty theft. Eventually, he also woos a woman’s heart with his special talent. But tragedy befalls him when, one day, he becomes stuck in a wall he is passing through.

This isn’t the only statue of this man, (perhaps there wasn’t only one man!) but our friend also lives here the Catacombs. He’s seen better days though – a recent act of vandalism ruined the statue, but Cataphiles patched him up with bandages and a smart hat. He’s still quite a sight to stumble across in the dark tunnels, especially if you aren’t aware of his location!

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It isn’t too long before the tunnels turn cold again and we feel the first gusts of fresh, winter air blowing in our faces. It feels great. My legs ache, my clothes are completely filthy and my torch batteries dim, but the four of us emerge victorious from the caverns and tunnels below Paris. It’s as if nothing has changed. The streets remain as dark as we left them early in the morning and the disused railway track empty.

We part ways in front of the station and I thank Tomasz and his friends for an amazing day. It couldn’t have gone better. I’m greatly indebted to them for guiding and taking care of me in the labyrinth – it was truly a huge and worthwhile experience that I couldn’t have done alone. I’m also grateful to Cardinal Awol for all the advice before heading to France.

I’m warmed by the urbex community. Meeting fellow like-minded explorers and sharing new experiences with complete strangers, all linked by a fascination for going places one is not supposed to go and having adventures. A big part of any expedition seems to be the people we meet. I feel like I have a new appreciation for this pursuit. It’s not all about finding locations and shooting some great pictures – it’s about sharing that experience with somebody.

I wonder what the rest of the Parisian community thinks as Rafael and I head back on the subway. We’re covered head to toe in the trademark white Catacombs dirt and sitting in our waders. We exchange small talk in English amongst the background noise of French and sink lower into our seats. It’s been a long day. Fantastic, but packed so full of unusual events that my brain doesn’t quite know where to begin processing it.

A good night’s sleep should help that, I think. Just a few more stops until my hotel…

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A zoom-able map of the Catacombs by Nexus
More information on the Catacombs

The History of the Catas

The guys pop open the wine and bring out some French biscuits – delicately sweet things with a chocolate centre I can’t get enough of. This room is a little like La Plage – lots of colourful graffiti, several large chambers and a rest area consisting of an iron door for a table and large rocks for seats. Tomasz put on some techno music from his phone to kill the background silence and we toasted each other. French wine is good. I usually don’t drink the stuff at all, but I could get used to this.

Around my third cup, I’m starting to feel the effects and hold myself back. We all laugh and Tomasz tells us a story about when he was drunk and lost in the catacombs himself. Another time he and a friend had come across an intoxicated old man on the verge of passing out. He was just sitting there and waiting by the light of his last candle, hoping somebody found and helped him. He was lucky. I start to worry again. The last thing I want is to be disorientated down here with strangers. They’re great guys and all, but we’ve just met and I’m still a little wary they’ll play a trick to try and scare me. Or worse, that we’ll run into some meth-heads.

I try to distract myself. Why haven’t we seen any bones so far? You can’t really have catacombs without bones, right?

There are bones of course, but only in select areas of the tunnels. Officially, they are called ‘Les Carrières de Paris’ (the Quarries of Paris) because they were originally excavated for the limestone rock and other building materials beginning as far back as the 1st century during the Roman era. From the 16th century, intensive exploitation of the Paris quarries began. The Quarrymen worked hard in the mines – a tiring occupation with little light. By far one of the most feared conditions was ‘quarryman blindness’, where the workers would lose their sight through years of working in the dark. (Source: Explographies.)

As for the bones, well, that began around the time momentum for the Revolution was mounting in Paris. Cemeteries were becoming unreasonably overcrowded as they became unable to hold all the past residents. In particular, the Les Halles district was suffering from disease caused by poor burials and the ever-rising sea of bodies from mass graves in churchyards. In some places, the ground had risen several feet from the human remains stuffed into them.

The walls in the cellar of a restaurant owner located Rue de la lingerie, (at the actual level of – Les Halles-) ) right next to the Innocents cemetery will break down the 30th of May 1780. The discovery of what will pour into the building’s cellar will cause an unutterable horror: cubic meters of old bones mixed with decomposing cadavers, entangled putrefied mortal remains made the wall give way under their weight. The building is completely contaminated, walls are oozing and it is said that just days after putting his hand on the wall, a mason will catch gangrene. The same happens with the surrounding houses and streets; this cemetery, like all the others in Paris, is a big mass grave located a few meters from apartment buildings, literally placed side-by-side with the cemeteries.

(Source: Explographies)

A decision was made to move the bones underground as discreetly as possible and from 1786 to 1860, millions of bodies were exhumed from Paris cemeteries and placed below into the quarries, transforming several sections into a mass-tomb that are the catacombs as we know them today. One of the biggest necropolis in the world. (Source: PlacesinFrance.)

A Nazi Bunker and Other Stories

Before going to the Ossuary to see some bones, we had several other places on our visiting list. It was a packed day – 10 hours of time underground and kilometres of walking to do. Explorers have estimated that there are over 300km of tunnel systems in the catacombs. We would only be traversing a small section of them. Even so, it was tiring work. My body already ached from all the ducking and crawling and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet!

Tomasz led the way to an infamous area known as Le Bunker (the Bunker). I looked blankly at the way in – another cat-hole through the wall. Climb through and fall out the other side on your face. It’s all part of the experience, I guess.

During World War II, the tunnels were used by Parisian members of the French Resistance as a secret headquaters. In addition, they were also used by German soldiers who built this bunker under a high school to strengthen the Nazi hold on Paris.

The walls are different here – brickwork – and there are a few traces of machinery left around. Electrical boxes, an oil drum, benches. What catches my attention though are the signs on the walls. And the numerous arrows pointing in various directions. The words are nearly always the same – ‘Rauchen Verboten’ (No Smoking) and ‘Ruhe’ (Quiet). Good idea. I snap Rafael on his break.

There are many smaller rooms dotted around the Bunker too, often separated by rusty iron gates and great doors with huge round handles – the sort I found on a walk-in safe when visiting one Japanese haikyo. I peer inside hesitantly – nothing but rubble and some rubbish now, but I’d hate to be sealed inside one of these areas. Some lead to storage chambers of sorts – others to further passages. Were these doors to keep wandering people out of the Nazi Bunker or to keep something else in..?

The Bunker alone is big enough to keep an explorer occupied for hours, but we have to press on. Tomasz tells us of a secret chamber just south of it known as La Fontaine des Chartreux (the Fountain of the Chartreux). It’s one of the last vestiges of the monastery of Paris, built after the disappearance of the Order of Carthusian Monks whose numbers dwindled greatly during the French Revolution.

A large double staircase stretches down to the main fountain – a basin collecting water dripping from the surrounding limestone walls. On the left of it is a scale to measure the level of groundwater. But although general opinion might suggest it was a religious place, it was actually constructed in 1819 by the Inspection Générale des Carrières – the General Inspection of the Quarries (IGC for short) in order to supply water to the workers. There had already been collapses in the tunnels and cases of huge chunks of Paris sinking into the ground, so the workers were risking their lives in order to secure the underground passages. (Source: Catacombes.info.)

The Legend of Philibert Aspairt

Another place on my list to visit was the grave of Philibert Aspairt. According to myth, Philibert Aspairt was the gatekeeper of the hospital Val de Grâce. One night, he deserted his post and descended into the old quarries in order to steal wine from the monks of the Chartreux. He never returned. It is said that the flickering candle he was carrying went out and he wandered for days before finally succumbing to thirst. His fatal accident was only discovered some ten years later in 1804, his body supposedly just a short distance from an exit. By then though, all that remained was a skeleton and a set of keys that helped identify him. As such, he is usually considered the first of the Cataphiles and his gravestone has become something of a pilgrimage destination. All explorers of these tunnels know this story.

We visit his tomb to pay our respects. The inscription on the stone reads:

In memory of Philibert Aspairt. Lost in this quarry on November 3, 1793, found eleven years later and buried in the same place on April 30, 1804.

There are still some inconsistencies in the story, but a man with a remarkably similar name and circumstances disappearing for 10 or so years – Philibert Asper – seems to match. A copy of his death certificate is below.

(Source: Datacombes)

After taking another short rest, Tomasz scans his map again and we plan to set off. We’re a long way from the next destination – at least 45 minutes in walking – but it’ll all be worth it once we get there. Tomasz begins to tell us a bit about the lower levels of the Catacombs. We’re down perhaps 30 feet at the moment? But allegedly other parts go down well over 100 feet.

Some people whisper about them even containing the Gateway to Hell. I’m skeptical, but overwhelmed by an intense curiosity. We pass one of the foot ladders stretching down to a lower level but don’t stop; this isn’t the right place and we’ve no time to be splashing around in flooded passages that are largely uncharted. Instead, the final part of our journey awaits at Le Carrefour des Morts – the Crossroads of the Dead. Time to head deeper inside…

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Still to come: Mountains of bones at the Crossroads of the Dead, an underground castle, the Skull Altar, man in the wall and the Banga. Be sure to check back for the final part! You can follow me on Twitter and Facebook for updates. Or, you can subscribe to the feed.

Read part 3!

So it was that I found myself on the streets of Paris on a freezing December morning. I had travelled home from Japan to the U.K over the Christmas holidays, but the opportunity for some Parisian spelunking was just too good to pass up. My guide was to be Tomasz – an explorer like myself captivated by ruins and restricted places whose forays into the illicit Paris passages number well over a hundred. We’d chatted over a cold beer in a Nagoya bar a few months earlier and he’d agreed to show me the hidden world under his city.

Down into the Darkness

A short subway trip later Tomasz, his brother Rafael, Adrien and myself arrive at an abandoned railway track. I’m told this place is the chief entrance to the Catacombs, frequently opened and re-sealed in a bitter war between the police and the so-called ‘Cataphiles’ – a varied group of people who have a deep affinity for these underground tunnels. Most of the numerous entrances have been closed now, but I hear that the labyrinth can never be completely sealed off through fear of trapping some unfortunate explorer inside…

Stuffing the thought of potentially being buried alive well into the back of my head, I follow the other guys sliding down a grimy hole into the ground. We weren’t alone on our early morning mission; another group of 10 or so explorers were milling around outside the entrance preparing to take the plunge. I shut my mouth while we pass them; some Cataphiles are rather unfriendly towards ‘tourists’ like myself, and speaking English with the team would surely alert them to that fact.

The tunnel had collapsed just behind the entrance, so there was only one way to go – forward. No problem, I can do that. Following last in our line of four, I adjusted my headlamp and tromped heartily onwards, feeling proud of my preparation. Thigh-high waders, torch and backup batteries, food, water, map and perhaps most importantly, tripod and my trusty camera the Olympus E-P1. (Getting my priorities right, here!)

Adrien in front of me however, had not had the fortune of preparing boots for our trip. Still, he seems perfectly composed even in the knowledge that he might be splashing through waterlogged passages. It wasn’t long before we were. Not fifteen minutes had past before the first signs up wetness revealed themselves. Puddles placed haphazardly all over the floor accompanied by a dripping from above. And to the left in one small alcove, a well, points Tomasz.

“For a while there used to be rumours that it went down for hundreds of feet. But somebody tested it in the end. Nowhere near that deep.” he said. “Probably just a few feet. But still, be careful you don’t put your foot in it, or some of the other hidden holes at the sides of the tunnel.”

Great. Suddenly I have an amazing amount of interest in the colour of my boots. White-beige chalky mud sticking to the green rubber and brown water splashing up my legs. At least my camera is safely around my neck, out of reach of the wa…

Bang!

I step back, a little dazed, with the team all looking back at me. They seem genuinely concerned, which I’m grateful for but a little embarrassed by. With all the warnings I’d read beforehand about ducking low, I swore to myself that at the very least I wouldn’t hit my head. I’m glad of my beanie hat though – no blood. No damage done. We continue.

La Plage et Les Chatières

Our first stop is La Plage (The Beach), perhaps named so for the large picture of the Japanese artist Hokusai and his “Great Wave off Kanagawa”. It’s one of many fantastic graffiti murals in the huge room. Apparently new paintings and constructions are appearing all the time. Out visit is not long after Christmas and sure enough, dressed in his merry red outfit, good old St. Nick has even found time to visit the Cataphiles of France.

Another famous painting in La Plage is the scantily-clad lady. Around her are scattered several stone tables and makeshift chairs as well. Tomasz begins to regale us with stories of huge parties that have been held down here. Plenty of music, wine and good times. Apparently at the weekends you’re more than likely to meet other people down in the tunnels, but the weekday we had decided to visit on afforded us a relative solitude on our journey – something I was a little glad of having read some disturbing stories on the internet. People running into morphine addicts or nutcases who steal your lights and map just for fun. Yeah.

Tomasz pointed us to our exit from La Plage. At first I wasn’t sure what he was referring to, until I saw the narrow opening between the ceiling and the floor. It’s known as a chatière – a hole meant for something the size of a cat. You can call it squeeze-hole or ventilation-shaft too if that’s your bag, but whatever the translation, these things are uncomfortable!

Removing my rucksack I lay forward on my stomach and begin wriggling forward, occasionally crawling army-style.

“Be careful you don’t knock the ceiling with your body. Some of these chatières aren’t very stable!” came a voice from in front of me.

That’s not really what I want to hear at a time when dozens of feet of earth are above my head…

I push on, dragging my rucksack behind me and eyeing the dirt above me with suspicion. We all make it though and brush ourselves down of the trademark white dirt from the catacombs.

We’re starting to look like pretty authentic spelunkers, now! I entertain myself with the thought, but I’m not quite sure I should be. Better to stay focussed on the challenges ahead.

Getting Lost in the Dark

Tomasz presses on leading the way, stopping to consult his map on occasion and pointing out interesting features in the walls and secret rooms from shafts veering off from the main path we are treading. The Librairie, with its books fellow explorers have left to read in a comfortable hollow; the Galerie des Promos – annual paintings made by the graduating university students of “Ecole des mines”, the Mines ParisTech; Cabinet Mineralogique, a small staircase that used to display stone objects and ornaments and the Mur des Fraudes – tax gates that extended even below the city where guards would stand to stop smugglers. The list goes on and on. I wonder just how old these tunnels are and who crafted all manner of strange rooms and places.

I’m also quickly beginning to realise just why catacombs are considered dangerous places. At least in terms of getting lost anyway. Sure, we think – tunnels. No problem. I’ll print a map and bring a compass. But there is little chance I could navigate this place well enough to find my way out easily even with the map I’d prepared. Experience seems to count for a lot down here, I note, watching Tomasz scouting around to check passages for familiar nooks and crannies. I try in vain to memorise which turns we have taken and how far we have walked, but it soon becomes a blur of tunnels and water, low-hanging ceilings and graffiti-clad walls. Without a map you’d walk for hours – maybe days – before finding anyone.

I stop everyone just after Tomasz has finished explaining some interesting feature we’d passed.

“Turn off your lights guys. I want to check just how dark it really is in here.”

One by one, we all switch off our lights. I don’t know what I had been expecting – perhaps it was the fact that I’d entered with a light and had it switched on the whole time. I hadn’t felt claustrophobic or scared of the place yet. But the moment I clicked my headlight off to plunge us all into pitch blackness, that changed. I realised the true fear catacombs or any sort of underground tunnel or cave system can instill in people.

I couldn’t see anything. Nor hear anything for that matter, except the muffled sound of my team-mates’ breathing. I waved my hand in front of my face. I ran my fingers along the wall in front of me and shifted my feet. With all the holes and uneven ceilings in these passages, it would take an extremely long time to make any sort of progress walking in the dark. If your torch went out you’d be all for dead, lest another explorer found you in time.

The light really was our lifeline, even more so than the water or wine we carried with us.

Shuddering, I kept moving…

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Still to come: Exploring a Nazi Bunker, the tale of the first Cataphile, Crossroads of the Dead and of course, the Skull Altar and a mass grave of bones. Be sure to check back! You can follow me on Twitter and Facebook for updates. Or, you can subscribe to the feed.

Read part 2!

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Title image made using an excerpt from Nexus maps.

After meeting up with Mayumi, we sorted out travel. It’s pretty easy to get to from Umeda, the main station in Osaka. Just head out on the subway to Osaka-ko, the bay area. You can even get a special ticket that gives you unlimited subway access and a pass to the aquarium for one day to save you money.

As expected for a sunday, the place was packed full of families with excited kids and a few couples. (Aquariums are generally thought of as date spots in Japan). But although the atmosphere was animated, it didn’t ruin the great experience.

As aquariums go, this one is among the best I have been to, sending you plunging down several across different habitats that contain ecosystems, all connected to one-another in the great ‘Ring of Life’. The aquarium itself days that it is based on the Gaia principle expounded by James Lovelock – very simply that everything in the world is connected and balanced. I think the next photo captures that feeling.

The main attraction is a huge tank hosting many different creatures, the star being the plankton-eating Whale Shark. Huge and graceful, two of colossal animals swim around inside. Feeding time was interesting too, seeing the whale sharks opening their huge mouths, sucking in litres of water and filtering out the tiny particles of food.

Another of the stars was the strange Manta Ray. Ishigaki island where I went scuba diving in April has a famous spot for seeing the creatures, but I was unlucky at the particular time I went. Hopefully next time though! I was busy photographing the half-enraged Porcupine Fish (ハリセンボン), a favourite of mine for many years :p.

Of course though, what really got me grinning from ear to ear and elbowing aside the little kiddies next to me was the jellyfish section. I think I maxed out my camera SD card here. Still tricky things to photograph because of the lack of light and movement. This is one thing I really want better quality at high ISO settings for.

After the aquarium, we spotted a new set of capsule toys at Umeda station! Special squishy jellyfish figures for the summer. Oh yeah! These things are really sucking my money up ^_^;.

We took the JR trains back to Nagoya using the Seishun 18 Kippu. It worked out overall that I only used 3 days of travel on the ticket, so I have 2 spare days for a mini trip sometime before the end of September! Where to go next eh?

I’m now resting at home, trying not to count the numerous mosquito bites I received or rub my sunburn up the wrong way. Work as usual tomorrow morning. I always find it quite ironic that we speak of holidays and vacations as time off to recover from work or re-charge. I often feel just as if not more tired after a good holiday than I did before leaving! Tried in a good way, mind. I got to see that little bit more of this amazing world in 8 fulfilling days of adventure, art and nature.

Signing off for this trip, then. *Smile*.

Rokko Station near Kobe. That was the starting point. The destination: the famous Maya Hotel – an old haikyo halfway up a mountain consumed by swarms of nasty insects, green vegetation and moisture. The whole place screamed of the power of nature.

To get there Florian and I had to hike up the old route, now blocked off to prevent people accidentally reaching the dangerous hotel. It was a hard 45 minute slog and even in the mist and relative of coolness of the early morning we were sweating buckets and breathing heavily. We finally reached the place without too much trouble though and peeked inside.

At first we were puzzled. I could hear the distinct sound of footsteps inside, tap-tapping around and the buzz of angry bees grew louder around us as the insects moved in for a closer look. It was decision time – face the intruder or the bees. Yeah, screw the bees. We dashed for the cover of the cool interior…

Empty. But still the sounds of footsteps. Or… wait? Not footsteps, no. Water! Water dripping all over the place, on mouldy carpets and floorboards, echoing all around the first floor of the hotel. Ahh, what relief! I could have sworn somebody else was inside…

With there being a cable lift right next to the old hotel, we needed to move quickly. The plan was to move down from the roof and shoot the interior a little later. That way we would minimise the risk of being seen from the cable lift. So up we went, right to the roof.

I’ll finish this haikyo story in a later post as I can’t edit the pictures for good effect on this simple net cafe computer. So keep and eye out for a proper Maya haikyo post at a later date!

For our second destination of the day, Florian took me to Takada Ranch. He has a good posting of it on his own site from when he visited in Winter, which I recommend you check out – Abandoned Kansai. Today though, what a terrible place! Summer had brought to life every horrible creepy crawlie imaginable and the place was swarming with mosquitoes. I stood still for less than 10 seconds and I already had dozens of them attacking me!

Naturally we didn’t stay long and I didn’t grab many good photos. An old can of boss coffee with some ‘blood’ stained handprints on the wall of this old house. And a rather spectacular bamboo forest hidden at the back.

Otherwise the bugs just drove us out. Utterly nasty, but a fulfilling day. Florian was great conversation and a fun guy to do haikyo with. I look forward to more at a later date!

But all was not lost. A quick phonecall to explain the situation and the friendly staff at Happyraft figured out a solution for me. I would get the next train and arrive just in time for the Half-Day course. Then, after lunch, I could join the second half of the Full-Day course. Sounded good to me! I thanked them for the flexibility and hurried to catch the next train to Oboke – the heart of wilderness in Shikoku.

But somebody from above definitely wasn’t smiling on me this morning. In my haste getting off the train to meet the member of staff who had come to pick me up from the station I left my tripod on the upper rack to have a trip of its own to Kochi. This didn’t bode well, I thought. I really need that tripod for my haikyo photoshoot tomorrow…

For now though, that was put to the back of my mind. I slipped into the wetsuit and shoes loaned to me and joined the rest of my morning team.

The Oboke river, swollen from the heavy rainfall the day before, surged much harder and higher than usual. It was going to be a fun day for sure!

Me grinning like an idiot before the day’s rafting. It isn’t called Happyraft for nothing – they make you smile!

The team was a sprightly bunch consisting of 3 girls, 2 boys and a few rafting guides. The girl named ‘Boo’ had been several times before and keeps coming back for more!

Off we go!

I was expecting more of a steeper route than the one we took, but apparently that is the Koboke River and the water was too high for us to take it today. Perhaps next time eh?

Still, there was no shortage of fearsome waves and rapids. Truly good fun – and we didn’t capsize even once! Well, except for this moment:

We kept the ‘wheelie’ going for a good 10 seconds of so, but I think our guide wanted to get us wetter :p.

Here you can see me (left) facing off against the other guy on the boat, Hage. Our team members would spin the boat around and we’d see how long we could stay standing. I won (just)!

And the day wouldn’t be complete without some rock jumping. Here’s my terrible backflip.

After a hearty lunch of sandwiches, fruit and biscuits, I joined a new team for the rest of the day. The weather quickly turned though and a fresh load of heavy rain poured down upon us. Pretty nice when you’re wearing a wetsuit, actually. It almost made the whole rafting experience feel a little more dangerous and realistic.

Very atmospheric too. Would love to come back here and go hiking sometime! I had a few trains to catch though, all the way to Kobe, so I left around 4pm. I had asked a member of staff to call the train station about my tripod earlier that morning. This being Japan, there was a very good chance that I would get it back, but perhaps not today. It seems I was in luck though – he had managed to arrange for it to be put on the same train heading back to Takamatsu and I picked it up from a friendly member of staff once back. I love Japan at times like these.

I didn’t waste much time getting to a manga cafe in Kobe. My chain of choice too – Media Cafe Popeye. Slightly more expensive than your average place, but usually better quality. I’m now sitting in a flat mat-type room listening to some curious noises from a couple’s cubicle behind. Those soft moans and whispers…are they doing what I think they are..? Still, it’s time to sleep. Up early for ruins exploration and haikyo tomorrow!