f11 Magazine: for photographers and aficionados

Issue 5 :: November 2011

Features image portfolios from Australian fashion and beauty photographer Juli Balla, and American portrait photographer Tamara Lackey. Plus there’s urban exploration imagery from Michael Gakuran in Japan, and New Zealand photographer Michael Ng provides a Real Life Review of his 80 megapixel Leaf Aptus II-12 medium format digital back.

You can view the magazine for free via the online flash viewer or, if you prefer, download the pdf for reading later. My interview begins on page 39.

Read f11 Magazine online

Download pdf

Let me know your thoughts and be sure to subscribe to f11′s mailing list to be notified of the newest issue each month. It has some really nice content :).

Driving along the many Okinawan coastal roads, you’ll see many small islands dotting the shoreline. Some little more than rocks jutting out of the sea, and others, distant paradises known only to scuba divers and fisherman. Dolphin Island is one such curiosity that catches many an eye while cruising along. Also known as ‘Hiituu Island’, the Okinawan word for dolphin, it’s a tiny islet just off the mainland. Tucked in neatly among the foliage is a gleaming white veneer, standing in stark contrast to the craggy rocks anchoring it. Jutting out just above the greenery, one can also glimpse the edge of a roof.

A structure of some kind. I wonder what..? And why, on such a small rock..?

Most folk would be content to leave it at that. Vacation time is short. The sun is warm. And more importantly, there are still empty beach chairs to be claimed!

But we take a left and drive around the back of a large warehouse. It’s packing one of Okinawa’s delicacies – the caviar of the sea, Umi Budo (sea grapes), to be shipped all over Japan. There are a few fisherman here, and also a few dive groups boarding vessels to bluer seas. We stop the car and get out for a walk.

Yep, there’s a haikyo there alright. Poking out of weathered rock, the unmistakable sign of ruins – broken windows and worn walls, graffiti and an eerie silence. I am already getting my gear together and making plans for my buddy to pick me up later. It looked to be a fairly small location and quite open. A walk-in entry, but with just one, rather large problem. I’d have to cross the sea to get there.

An atypical entry

Not a problem. Slipping on my swimming trunks and dive shoves, I pace towards the water’s edge. We’d planned the arrival to coincide with the low tide of the day. It was 20 minutes before the peak, which meant crossing should be quite easy. Hoisting my rucksack and tripod up on my back, I begin to tread carefully down the rocky bank and into the blueish-green Okinawan waters. It looks to be a metre or so deep, and sure enough, I find my stomach becoming nicely wet as I wade through the weeds and broken coral to the edge of the island. I grab some shots with the waterproof camera as I go.

Okay, I made it! Now let’s get this show on the road. Camera out and back into the water.

I leave my rucksack on the island’s shore and begin to explore the perimeter of the island. It’s full of small caves and hidey-holes, sparkling yellow patches of sand and lush greens warning me of deeper patches of water. Small blue tropical fish dart in and out of underwater crevices and large crabs bigger than my hand scatter away clicking furiously at me as I splish-splosh onwards. To my surprise, one large tropical fish is flapping around frantically on its side in a small pool of water, obviously caught by the receding tide. I chase it out to sea, and in doing so find a bridge, stretching above me to another tiny rock. A viewing platform of some sort?

Dubious clouds roll overhead breaking up the brilliant blue skies and bringing with them quick bursts of drizzle. I find myself watching my steps very carefully. Slipping here would be costly indeed with an expensive camera and ultra-wide angle lens on the front. Not to mention that low tide has passed. I realise the water is splashing against the rock.

What an idiot! I should have arrived with plenty of time prior to the low tide peak! Now the water is coming back in…

I continue around the back of the island, nearly making a full circle, but soon come to an area of water that looks deep. I dip into it for a while and try to keep going, but it’s at chest height already, so I abandon the idea and head back to the main entrance, ready to explore inside of the ruins.

On Hiituu Island

The bold white front of Dolphin Island must have been quite striking when the place was still new. I imagine the island must have been connected to the mainland via a bridge that guests could cross. Now, it has fallen foul to the graffiti artists. A distinctive pink cat swirls up the front and the welcoming platform of old lies shattered below the doorway. The best way in is to duck under the structure itself and climb up through the floor. I’ve been to a fair few haikyo, but approaching from the sea and sneaking in through the floor is a definite first!

Dripping wet and scrambling around under the building, my hands find a few neat items. A crab claw, the leftovers from a seagull’s dinner, and a hermit crab, hastily trying to outpace me. With more time I would get my macro lens out, but I’m mindful of keeping my friend waiting too long, so I press on. Hauling myself up onto the first floor, I snap a quick picture of the colouful entrance and begin to walk up the concrete steps. It’s pretty overgrown up here, with only a small opening to cut my way through. Spiders block my way, but fortunately I spot their webs before I get slapped in the face. I’ve also noticed something disturbing. Red ants are everywhere. I’ve already had to brush more than a few off my legs, and I’m pretty sure that red swelling on my ankle isn’t from a mosquito. Best be light on my toes…

I reach an open doorway and step inside the room. It opens out into a large space with a set of toilets, a reception counter and kitchen area tucked away. Apparently it used to be a restaurant, with quite pleasant views too. Cut back some of that overgrown greenery and you’d have perfect views of Okinawa’s bright blue oceans, or warm orange sunsets. I note the door leading out to the viewing platform – or could that have been a private balcony reserved for very special guests? Either way, now it’s completely blocked by plants, and I don’t fancy getting scratched anymore than I have been, so I give it a miss.

Most of the decor inside has been stripped and worn away by the harsh, salty sea air. All the windows are broken. Whether by nature’s hand or a vandal’s is unknown, but the effect is the same now. All that remains is a shell of what once was, with a few tufts of red carpet and luxurious wall coverings to remind us of the splendour that existed in the past. But in place of the man-made beauty, another sort of otherworldly beauty is beginning to take hold. A fascinating slither of green mould lines the wall to a broken light switch, and a door clings to its last furnishings as nature rips it apart. For me, this is the stuff that makes haikyo, far more than some dubious graffiti or broken floors. It’s dilapidation, in its most natural form.

Into the bowels of the rock

Exiting the room, I realise my time is ever more limited. I head down another set of stairs leading underneath the restaurant. Several doors invite me towards them, and a couple of dank pool filled with water of a rusty tint hint at the island’s other purpose. It seems as though there was a small aquarium here at one point. Sticking my head inside one of the darkened rooms, I notice a heavy coolness to the air. There are rows of small openings cut into the wall and some writing.

“Please do not touch the tanks”.

I set up my tripod to capture a long exposure and wonder what sort of creatures would have been kept in such a small aquarium. The minimal light here is really testing me. I’ve gotta move. Not much time left.

Heading down another flight of steps, I draw my breath in sharply.

Why am I only just finding this now..?? I breathe, excitedly.

Before me was the mouth of a cave, cut into the spiky rock that made up Dolphin Island. Just above my head, an old rusty lantern that once illuminated these dark walls. I check the time. I’m already over the limit and give a quick curtesy call.

“Not much longer now! I’m just grabbing a few more photos. I found an awesome cave!”

Out comes my trusty headlamp. I find it to be much better than a standard torch in most situations. It allows me to keep my hands free for the camera, and clambering around. I can also light long exposure shots by looking around the room to light up each spot. I head inside, quivering with anticipation.

There’s a much larger tank in here, but it’s almost pitch black. I set up my tripod again, eyeing the clock and hit the shutter.

1 second… 3 seconds… 10 seconds…

I wait as the camera records the image. I’ve mostly dried off now, but being inside this cave is making me a little chilly. It seems to consist of the main aquarium and also a small shrine. The surrounding walls are all carved straight out of the rock itself, but with so many shadows I can’t quite make out all the edges. I start to feel a tingling sensation too, but not down my spine. It’s creepy in here, but what is that..?

That…feeling. It almost, itches…

“Argh!”

I let out a scream as I glance down at my right foot, coloured red with dozens of fire ants.

“Dammit, you bastards!”

I frantically brush them off, but I’ve already suffered a few bites. I must have stood on part of the nest or something, but there’s no time to really check. I diligently set up my tripod once more to capture the shrine before leaving. I make sure that I’m not standing still too long either, eyeing the frisky red ants wandering around.

There are several unusual artefacts here that I failed to notice when I took the picture as I was rushing. In addition to the main shrine, there are many different shells and objects of the sea. Various corals and what looks to be a sea urchin in the centre.

Off to the right we find a handsome dragon-adorned ceramic jug, as well as a giant clam and also a shrine marker.

A narrow escape

I’m now out of time though. Fortunately I’ve peaked in pretty much every corner of the small island, so I dash back outside and around to the front again. It’s not a welcoming sight. I’d been there just a couple of hours. How high could the tide rise in that amount of time, anyway? With high tide being many hours later in the day, I figured 2 hours would be nothing. It was quite obvious, however, that the shallow waters I’d paddled through when landing on the island were now much deeper.

I realise that I’m not going to be able to shoulder my rucksack back as normal and heave it, my tripod and many yen’s worth of camera equipment above my head. Nothing to do but walk and see, I guess.

At first, it’s nothing too surprising. The water quickly reaches my knees and then my waist as before. I spot my friend waiting on the banks across the water. Not too far away, a couple looks on with puzzled looks as I begin my crossing. The rucksack and tripod sway above my head in the wind and I struggle to keep my balance as my feet get entangled in the weeds. The water is above my stomach now, and I can still feel the ground sloping downwards. A few more paces, and the water is up to my chest.

What should I do here if it gets any deeper? I wonder. Perhaps I should throw my bags the remaining distance? I suppose even if my head goes under, there’s still plenty of length above my arms to keep the bags out of the water…

I’m fortunate. The water seems to have only risen to just under my chin, and I get away with a dry head and dry camera equipment. That was close though. Another hour and I probably would have been swimming back…

Back on land, it was a quick towel off, a grin for the camera and on to the famous Churaumi aquarium in the north. Another successful explore complete, and one that was truly unique of Okinawa.

Calling their bluff, I ventured forward, finding a way around the back of the hotel. I was excited. Finally I could see a few old vending machines and the rear boiler rooms and storage sheds, so I busied myself with some photography. It was great weather and so far fairly interesting, even with just the rubbish outside to shoot.

There weren’t any immediate entrances, but upon closer inspection, the broken windows revealed themselves to be merely covered up with boards loosely stacked against them. Swallowing my nervousness, I began to shift one, sliding it sideways to peer inside the back room. Out of nowhere a faint high-pitched wail began to sound. Heart in throat, I dashed down the steps towards the boiler room and leapt over the rusty black fence.

It was a few moments before I realised how stupid I was. There was a very steep slope leading straight down into a lake.

How could I forget I was on the side of a mountain??

I was already sliding dangerously as these thoughts flashed in my head. To make matters worse, half of the trees I attempted to grab onto were rotten and on several occasions the bark crumbled away cleanly in my hands. I began to pick up pace stumbling down the mountain, my shoes filling with debris and branches hitting me in the face. The momentum became so much that I was flailing my arms around blindly just to grab anything.

Smash. Whack. Crunch.

Somehow my left hand found a suitable narrow tree trunk to grasp. It was healthy and strong, and I gripped it fiercely. My feet slipped and left the ground badly, and before I knew it, I was swinging by one arm precariously over the top of a sizeable drop…

The fun begins…

Now that I had stopped, I had to get back up the 15 or so meters I had come down. It wasn’t over yet… Among the wet Autumn leaves and loose soil were rocks poking out of the slope’s edge.

With some good, sturdy footholds I can surely clamber back up, right?

Much to my dismay though, the rocks were loose and worse still, they literally disintegrated in my hands as I tried to grab onto them. At this point I was seriously worrying about my safety. One wrong move would see me at the bottom of the slope in a lake, most likely injured.

Still, I made slow progress, carefully choosing my handholds and gradually got back to a safer location where I could sit and rest. I wasn’t ready to go back to the hotel yet, through fear of police or a security guard coming.

After about an hour of waiting in trepidation, I decided to brave it and slowly work my way back up. After some time, I was back by the window I had fled from and listening to the birds and distant sounds of cars. The sun still beat heavily and there seemed to be no sign of disturbance at all.

A little trapdoor opened in my mind.

Perhaps I was just imaging things? I thought. I’m overly cautious and wary – no way there’d be an alarm in a place like this, right? I’ve come all this way to take photographs of this place and I can’t back out now…

I started to move a few boards from another window, successfully making an opening into the kitchen area. Sticking my arm in and waving it about saw no reaction. Not even knocking over a piece of wood triggered anything. I decided I had just been unlucky. Maybe I really did just imagine the noise? Gathering my bag, I plunged inside.

I sat down, looked around and sighed a little. It was dark and cluttered with kitchen objects and I got that tingling sensation of excitement at a new place to explore. I was almost about to turn on my torch when I heard it again… That faint, high-pitched wailing.

“Oh for fu… Shit, man!”

And it was back out the window in a panic and down the mountain side again, only this time with care and along a safe route.

Another hour passed.

Close encounters

It was mid-afternoon now and I was tired, a little shaken-up and very worried now that I had been caught on camera or something. I was very aware that I would have to go back by train and my mind entertained nasty thoughts of police waiting at the station. I really just wanted to go home.

I climbed back up and round to the gate at the side of the hotel when something puzzling caught my eye. The padlock that had prevented me from coming through the first time appeared to be open…

Perhaps I just didn’t notice this? I thought.

I didn’t check very carefully, after all, as it was obscured from view the first time. Shrugging it off, I slipped through the gate into the small alleyway and slid the bolt back into place. Clutching the padlock in my hand, I turned and froze stiff. All the weight of my body sunk down and settled in my feet. There, not more than 3 meters in front of me, was a padded, navy blue-uniformed security guard, staring rather blankly at what appeared to be an alarm box on the front of the hotel.

My heart was in my throat, sweat on my brow and my brain busy handling expletives. I had bolted the gate behind me – I couldn’t just slip back through now. If he so much as tilted his head in my direction he would see me, for it was nothing more pure luck that he happened to be looking at an angle perpendicular to where I was standing. My only option was to take a half step to the side, behind a large sign that had been propped up against the wall. I dared not move much at all through fear he would hear my footsteps, but it was just enough to hide me from his line of view, should he decide to look sideways in my direction.

There was nothing I could do except wait.

He lingered for a while. I could see his back through an opening in the sign, and I prayed that he didn’t return to lock the gate that I had just come through.

What to do? What to do? My brain whirred frantically, conjuring up all manner of bizarre escape scenarios.

But the gods, it seemed, were favouring me today. For some reason, he turned and walked back towards the car park.

I desperately began thinking of my next move. He might, after all, just be going to get a set of keys. Images of the computer game ‘Metal Gear Solid’ floated through my head in a very distracting fashion.

This is neither the time nor the place to be reminiscing about guiding the lead character ‘Solid Snake’ through military bases without being caught! This was real stealth! I’ll be up shit creek if I don’t choose my next move accordingly…

Escape

The un-locked gate was my biggest concern. I still clutched the padlock in my sweaty palm and my better logic told me that it was very likely that the padlock had not been unlocked when I arrived in the morning. Hence, there were two possible scenarios now: 1) Stay perfectly still and hope the guard leaves, forgetting to lock the gate properly. 2) Go back through the gate, hide on the side of the mountain and re-formulate an escape plan.

I decided to move. The area I was in was simply too exposed for comfort. The guard could have gone back for his keys or anything and it was too risky to assume that he was leaving. I figured I had a space of about a minute – less, now that I’d spent time thinking – to get my sorry behind back into the woods.

I hung the open padlock on the front of the metal gate and slipped my shaking hands through the gap. Fumbling with the bolt very gently, I managed to slide it open without so much as a clink. But now was the big test, I realised.

Doors and gates – especially gates – creek when you open them, right? No shit sherlock.

I had no choice though… I pushed and hoped.

The large gate door swung open on its hinges in a buttery manner. No sound – not even a slight groan. As old as this hotel was, this gate was perfectly well oiled, it seemed.

I wasted no time in carefully closing the gate and replacing the bolt. I don’t know why I didn’t just hurry back down the steps and onto the mountain – something told me to secure the gate. Ironically though, the padlock was still hanging on the front of the gate in blatant view of anyone who should approach it.

Perhaps the guard will just think he forgot to lock it..? I hoped.

This time, I snuck under a concrete ledge at the edge of the hotel, perfectly hidden from sight and not in the rustling discomfort of the mountainside undergrowth. There I waited for at least another hour. It’s difficult to say exactly. At one point I could have sworn I heard footsteps above me, but it was impossible to tell, as crisp Autumn leaves fell rustling to the ground with every gush of wind.

As safe as I was in my immediate spot, my mind was still running distances.

Should I just play it safe and stay here tonight? Should I go back around the side of the hotel? How about edging along the mountainside back to the road? What about when I’m on the road again – what then? I will stand out a lot to passing cars along the mountain road and it’ll be even worse if there are any police cars circling the lake looking for the culprit…

Mosquitoes frequently hovered near my head and bit my arms and neck before I noticed them. It wasn’t a great place to be sitting and the heat of the day was starting to wear off. Dusk was approaching…

I definitely can’t stay here, I thought. I’ve no choice but to go back out the way I came in – the only other exit being a vivid blue lake at the bottom of the slope. But I couldn’t walk back around through the gate… What if the guard realised someone had moved the padlock and was waiting?

My instinct took me around the edge of the hotel in the woods, taking footstep by footstep and trying to keep as quiet as possible on the crunchy, soft ground of leaves below me. After a good 20 minutes, I emerged near the entrance to the car park and peered through the trees at the front of the hotel. There was no-one in sight, it seemed. I scanned around carefully.

Definitely no-one there.

With much determination, I stepped out from the trees into the car park and gazed up at the towering mass of concrete, still slumbering happily against a backdrop of blue sky and warm Autumn sun.

I snapped a few final pictures of the outside of the hotel before making a hasty retreat. Back along the mountain road, I sweated, worried by the thoughts that people might be waiting to ‘pick me up’ at the train station. It wouldn’t be hard to find me on camera arriving at the train station that morning and match me up to any footage that was caught at the hotel, if there was any… I also pondered about the padlock. I hadn’t dared go back around the side of the hotel to check if it was where I left it. Part of me really wanted to know – if it had been moved, I would know the guard had returned to lock the gate… If not, perhaps the guard was still round the back or even inside the hotel looking for me?

I shuddered and walked on, dodging cars and trying to calm down. Calling into a convenience store, I took the time to wash my muddy hands and buy an ice cream. Gotta look normal going back through the station, right? I eventually arrived back at the station, empty but for an elderly man and the guard in the ticket office. I bought my return ticket and walked through the gate, avoiding eye contact…

On the train, I sighed and closed my eyes in disbelief. It might still not be over, I considered. Maybe this day will come back to haunt me sometime, but for now, it seemed, I was safe. I drifted off into a gentle slumber all the way back to my destination…

Built in 1855, it defended both the entrance to the River Medway and the sea front of Sheerness. It has been heavily modified since the original construction though, with guns dismounted and added, particularly during the Second World War. There was originally a jetty, but now the only way to visit is to sludge across the remains of a stone path about half a mile out to sea.

My explorer buddy Dave and I both donned fashionable Tesco carrier bags to keep our feet mud-free and dry. Fortunately most of the path was solid and we got through without issue, but as a note to future visitors, plastic bags on your feet rarely stay free of holes. The return journey was a mucky experience!

As mentioned, the tower and fortifications have been modified quite a lot since the original tower was built, leaving a mishmash of features. One interesting point is the huge chain wrapped around the tower.

This was part of the Naval boom defence implemented during the First World War to prevent submarines from breaking through to the river Medway. The chain and attached nets would stretch all the way across from Grain Tower to Garrison Point Fort at Sheerness and would be raised or lowered to allow ships to pass through. Now it has attained a beautiful rusty colour.

Getting inside the tower was difficult. The steps have long since crumbled away from the rising and falling tides, but thankfully at the time we went another explorer had left a scratchy piece of rope dangling down the side. We managed to pull ourselves up a metre or two onto the remaining steps and gained access.

Inside was a fairly barren landscape. Long since gutted and mauled by the sea elements, only empty husks of rooms remained with cracking paint and eroding brickwork. The stairs to the stop of the watchtower were in a terrible state, with the metal supports showing through the concrete. Despite a howling wind, I braved the climb the to top and took in the views from the observation room.

The sun was beginning to go down and the tide starting to come back in, so we didn’t have long, but were treated to some rather nice views. A very British sort of seaside, I think. Just the right amount of dreggy sands and rotten timber, but still quite pretty.

As you can see in the next picture, the remains of one of the gun turrets is still there, with the telltale circular array of bolts for fastening down the huge gun pedestal.

The original guns were removed in 1929 and then a new 6-pounder QF gun installed in July 1940. This was to take on the German E and S motor torpedo boats with a very high rate of fire. A new electric ammunition lift was installed to speedily supply rounds to the upper parts of the fortification.

The light was almost gone now, so we amused ourselves by trying light paintings inside the old barracks. Dave managed a rather good job with the mermaid, although I’m not sure the personnel who operated the tower would have encountered many!

I didn’t have my E-P1 at this time, so the photographs are of lower quality than I usually post. This place is wonderful when shot with long exposures at dusk, so it’d be nice to return someday.

Incidentally, Grain Tower Battery is up for sale, should you want to own a haikyo of your own. A bargain at 500,000 British pounds for one of the more unique ruins out there! :)

More information:

The Medway Martellos
The Boom Defence
History of the Grain Tower

Sounds like a cool day out, no? It certainly wasn’t bad at all and there were no shortage of live snakes to view, but rotting away alongside the active facilities were several sheds of a sort. Wooden and splintering, yet strangely blending into the background of the institute. If you’re not there looking for them, you’d probably just walk right past.

But we were, of course. Intrepid explorers bent on finding ourselves an abandoned shack of rotting snake carcasses. Yes, that’s my hobby these days…

DIsappointed we were not. Surreptitiously slipping away from the main group who had gone to watch some poor snake specimen milked dry of its venom, we hurried through the overgrown grass towards the rear of the complex. It had to be the one – a building old and weathered, and looking distinctly forlorn. Reminiscent of the Doctor’s Shack itself.

Bingo! We were in, sliding the old wooden door shut behind us. It was pretty cramped inside, but what lay before us was a world away from the enthusiastic man showing snakes to the tour group. Here, a dusty collection of glass containers, each filled with the sickening sight of hundreds of slimy bodies, all tied together in a mass orgy of colours. Magnificent. But…damn, what the hell..?

The gleeful child inside me was squirming in delight at the bizarre room that lay before u, but the adult in me was quite disgusted.

What on earth did they use all these snakes for? And why leave them here, preserved in liquids? Some kind of warped, mass burial.

Glinting, a small beaker caught my eye. The pink, decapitated head of one unfortunate victim.

Next to it, a set of jaws with an impressive set of fangs, cleanly polished and well kept by the glass box around it.

The room was also full of scientific equipment and curious specimens, oddly far more interesting than the ones displayed in the museum outside. These haphazard beakers, covered in a layer of grime from many years past, captivated me. A sterilisation box that looked like a reinforced microwave, test-tubes sitting unwashed in a sink and a microscope perched atop a darkened cabinet, glowing in the late afternoon light. It was certain research had gone on here, at least in the past. I couldn’t imagine it was used anymore though – perhaps they moved to the newer building? But then why leave this room as it was?

If it were possible, the sight in the adjoining room was even more terrible. A room full of huge, colourful plastic boxes. They wouldn’t have looked out of place in a children’s storage room, but upon peeking into the crates we were knocked back by an odour most foul.

It made the snakes stuffed into beakers and bottles seem almost gracefully preserved. Inside the coloured boxes were hundreds of serpent carcasses, all carelessly disposed of and left to rot. And by god, festering. The smell was overpowering – I could barely stand still to shoot a picture at all. Clutching the lid by the tips of my fingers though, I managed to get a few shots. It looked like there had once been tortoises stored there too, but now all that remained were empty husks. Most of the boxes were like this, piled high with snake skins and bodies, some kept in a dark, gooey liquid that smelt more putrid than the dry containers.

I didn’t linger for long and retreated back to the main room. Suddenly, a new appreciation for snakes in jars took hold of me. They don’t smell! …At least not half as bad as those boxes.

Inside the largest jar was a python, coiled up in what looked to be a deep slumber. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the telltale lifeless blue eye, I wouldn’t have been able to tell otherwise. Fresh as the day it died. Or was killed..?

Another curious sight to behold was the long, wormlike creature held in a measuring tube. It reminded me more of a vicious stomach parasite or an alien creature that liked to burrow… Fascinating. But I couldn’t help wonder what would happen in an earthquake, as the tube was simply left stacked atop the pile of abandoned boxes. It was almost as it it were fresh, but it couldn’t be, judging by the grime on it.

Leaving the shack, we headed down the small hill towards another area of the centre. We’d heard of a second haikyo here – a cave, filled with old dinosaur exhibits. A rusty gate invited us toward it, squeaking slightly as we nipped inside. Sure enough, there was the King of the Dinosaurs itself, the Tyrannosaurus Rex. I thought he was looking rather grand, so I went vintage in the photo.

The cave was pitch black. After walking over stacks of old souvenirs, we had to stop. Before us, reflecting our torchlight, was a miniature lake. It stretched far back into the complex, down a tunnel I agonisingly wanted to explore. Evidently the place had flooded, as all the exhibits were submerged, including an old ice cream kiosk – Lady Borden Ice Cream. It looked like it could have been fun back in the day, but now, without a pair of waders at least, no-one is going to get very far. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few rogue water snakes were living in there…

With my torchlight, this was the best I could manage. Hope it gives an idea of what it was like.

After browsing the real exhibits for a while, we strolled back outside the entrance. It had been a grand day out. Two unusual haikyo and a collection of bizarre creatures to behold. I reckon it would merit a return visit. Perhaps with those waders I used when exploring the Paris Catacombs…

But that was not all! To round off the day in style, just as I walked out the door of the gift shop, this tiny little Japanese treefrog plopped down in front of me. Looking particularly shaken, no doubt from being surrounded by his mortal enemies, I got the perfect chance to use my new macro lens, the Panasonic 45mm.

I couldn’t have asked for a better send-off, so I gladly returned the favour and took the little froggie to a nice, safe tree outside the malodourous, snake-infested complex. Ahh.

(Reads parts 1, 2, 3 and 4 here first).

It was just a few days ago. Somebody violated the unwritten haikyo law that one should never post links to maps or give out obvious details about a location. This is especially so for places like the Royal House haikyo, which contains a treasure-trove of old, historical artefacts and personal items left behind. I always knew that it was just a matter of time before somebody leaked the place, but I didn’t expect it to come in such an audacious way… So with time now against me, I decided to visit the house one last time, seek out any remaining evidence and try to solve this mystery once and for all.

Chasing Down the Ghosts of the Past

The first break came through from my pal Jordy over at Meow.fr. He had been busy piecing together his own version of events. With the help of a Japanese friend of his, he figured out the location to the temple where the K family were buried. Not content with just snapping some photos of the family grave, he also talked to the temple priest and got some extremely valuable information about the family that we’d been lacking so far. Not one to be left behind, I wanted to visit the temple myself and talk to the same priest to hear the story, so I shot off to Tokyo almost immediately.

I first visited the family grave where both Sugiko and John are buried in order to pay my respects. It was almost surreal to find it after all the research and exploration. People I never knew personally but now know so much about and their colourful lives. It felt strange, but oddly, the right thing to do. After placing a coin on the stone in front, I went to talk to the priest.

They were very surprised at my visit (almost mistaking me for the same Jordy visiting again!) but I managed to break down their initial barriers and we got to talking. I took a leaf out of Crime Reporter Jake Adelstein‘s book and thanked them for their time with a small gift; building trust and good relationships with people is key to being a good reporter. I only gave them some strawberries I bought locally, but everything went well and it was fantastic to make my first real attempt at journalism.

First I discussed the family with the son of the temple priest. He was initially nervous (and rightly so), but with some small talk and showing my enthusiasm (as well as the book about the Foundation that I had procured), he agreed to help. Afterwards I got to chat with the chief priest himself (住職) who knew the family well. He was able to give me dates for the deaths of a couple of members in the family as well as some invaluable back-story to Hotel Okura, two of the sisters and the old house itself. Together, we developed a hypothesis as to why the countryside retreat may have become abandoned and also a potential explanation about the curious final words made by the original finder of this haikyo – Kaede-san. If you recall, he said he “felt that I’d learned something I’d prefer not to have known.” What could this be..?

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves here! Let’s start by clearing up some of the doubt and getting a few facts straight.

The Children

According to the chief priest, there were 5 children in the K family. The eldest brother Junji, the eldest sister Kiyomi and Sugiko are sure facts. The other two are still a little vague – there is another younger sister, possibly Kiyoko (but I can only guess from a name I found on other postcards in the house) and also a younger son (Masahiro) who died at a very young age. Those following the mystery on 2ch put his age to be 4 years old and there are plaques and other materials that support the idea that the family lost a young son.

Sugiko as we know married John, the millionaire pearl dealer from the U.K who established his own business and huge charitable foundation that still exists today.

(Above: Sugiko’s husband John)

He lived his life with her in Tokyo, in a house very close to the Hotel Okura. They were frequent visitors of the hotel so much so that the hotel staff often asked them for help and advice on how to best treat foreign guests.

(Above: John at his Tokyo abode)

Sugiko herself was a regular patron at the Hotel and spent almost all of her time there in the later years. She was known as Mrs. J (her surname changing after marriage) – something which is documented on a blog written by an ex-member of staff. According to the chief priest, she received monthly payments from John as much as 2,000,000 yen (about 20,000 pounds on the old exchange rate of 1 pound to 200 yen). One blank cheque found in the house from John – although not written to Sugiko – shows just how wealthy he was.

She was well loved by the staff at Hotel Okura and also well cared for by John, who everyone I have spoken to has said was a generous and very kind person.

(Above: A young Sugiko)

I visited the Hotel Okura myself to ask a few questions. According to staff, it seems that Sugiko spent a lot of her time there, so it is reasonable to assume that she did not travel everywhere with John and perhaps had periods of time alone. But with photos of the numerous parties she attended, I think she probably enjoyed her luxurious life. Temple documents note that Sugiko died 19th November 1997, aged 78 years (born 1919).

I had inklings about Sugiko and John, but knew nothing about other members of the family. It turns out that Junji, the man with the stylish round glasses is not the father of the family – he is the eldest brother. I had completely assumed that he was the dad judging from his older appearance, but both the chief priest’s story and letters sent from Sugiko to Junji’s address at the house bearing the title 兄上様 confirm that he was indeed the older brother.

(Above: Junji wearing his distinctive glasses)

So we know that he lived at the house, but how do we know that Junji is the man with the distinctive glasses? There are at least two clues. In the house, there is a suit hanging up in the back bedroom with the K family surname sewn into the inner pocket. Also, there is a box containing the very glasses that we see him wearing in so many of the photos. It is not hard evidence, but with all the supporting pieces, it seems highly likely. I did not get a date from the chief priest on Junji’s death, but the observant Mr. 252 on 2ch who visited the house claims he found a memorial speech from the funeral dating it to be 1982.

It is unclear what Junji did for work, but a picture including him with a group of men and women wearing business suits and a postcard addressed to him from Hatoyama Ichiro (ex Prime Minister of Japan) suggest he was important. Interestingly, the postcard I found is different to the one Ruins Rider found on his visit.

Next then, Kiyomi. According to the chief priest, Kiyomi lived together with her brother at the house (letters addressed to both siblings can be found inside) and both remained unmarried their entire lives. Kiyomi wore kimonos very often and, as it turns out, she was the older sister of the family. I had originally been thinking that Sugiko was the eldest, but the two dates I acquired from the temple confirm otherwise; Kiyomi passed away on 22nd November 2003, aged 91 years (born 1912 – 7 years before Sugiko). But how to tell her apart in the pictures..? There are a couple of clues I’ve found that suggest she is the elder looking lady whom I originally thought might be the family’s mother.

(Above: Kiyomi, aged 36 years)

How can this be?? Surely the younger looking lady in the dinner party pictures is Kiyomi? It seems not. Flipping the photograph over, we can read this:

The date reads: 13th August 1947 and the age – 36. This exactly matches Kiyomi’s birth date. Furthermore, if we look at pictures from Sugiko and Kiyomi’s last years, we find that the lady in the picture above matches an elderly Kiyomi.

(Above: Sugiko and Kiyomi in their final years at Hotel Okura)

The chief priest tells me that Kiyomi lived at the hotel too, but only in the last years of her life after John had passed away in New York in 1991. (According to the priest’s wife, John died from a heart attack as he was exiting a swimming pool.) It seems to be the case that she was alone after her brother has passed away, and with Sugiko a widow, the two spent their last years together on floor 2 of Hotel Okura. Letters posted to Kiyomi at the Hotel Okura confirm this.

After Kiyomi’s death, her belongings were sent back to the house and remain there, piled up by the front door. Old letters and photos, as well as a rather shocking sight hidden amongst them. I suppose the hotel did have to send *everything* back…

So what then of the two remaining siblings? The younger brother is perhaps the easier of the two to work out. Masahiro died very young (the cause of which I do not yet know). We can find a small plaque in the house bearing his name as well as funeral documents and photos of a baby. In the picture below, Kiyomi is holding the child I believe to be Masahiro. It is the same child whose picture is in the alcove along with other deceased members of the family.

(Above: Kiyomi and Masahiro)

Interestingly, neither Sugiko nor Kiyomi’s pictures are displayed in the alcove although their brother Junji’s picture is. But this makes sense when we think about the order in which they died – Junji passed away first and then Kiyomi went to live with Sugiko at Hotel Okura around the time John passed away. Presumably Kiyomi in her old age was not maintaining the countryside house or the family pictures in the alcove. Remember, too, that the date on a calendar in the house read 1988 – after Junji’s death but before John and Sugiko’s passing. It seems reasonable to assume that Kiyomi was still living in the house after Junji’s death in 1982 but not when Sugiko passed away.

The final child is still somewhat of a mystery to me. I have no solid names, but Kiyoko seems to be a possibility. There were postcards in the house addressed to her living in Tokyo.

The chief priest did give me some very interesting information about her however. It seems that she married and changed her name to match her husband’s – the N family. It is possible that she may still be living, considering that she was the youngest sister, but neither I nor the temple have any dates to hand. Because she married into another family, her records are no longer with the K family temple. The chief priest also tells me that no-one from the K family has visited the temple for years, which leads me to think that there are no relatives living with the K family name.

One picture did catch my attention though. The people on 2ch again surprised me with a fantastic observation – a woman at one of Hotel Okura’s parties is wearing a wedding ring! It is probably not Kiyomi because the chief priest told me that she never married (although we cannot rule out his being mistaken), so might it perhaps be the missing sister Kiyoko? And is that her husband standing behind her..?

(Above-right: Possibly Kiyoko and her husband..?)

The chief priest offered to try and dig out her phone number for me, but they were pressed for time and I wasn’t sure she would appreciate people asking questions. She would certainly have known about the house her siblings lived in and must have her reasons for not visiting or maintaining it. Apparently at one point somebody tried to sell the countryside house, but for various reasons unknown, it did not go well. Mrs. N is certainly a potential route for inquiry though…

The Parents

By answering some questions, we open the door to many more. Although we have figured out most of the main details regarding the children, their parents – and especially the father figure – remain elusive. That isn’t to say that there are no leads however, but they are still hazy. Let’s take a look.

Upon asking the chief priest about the K family parents, he regrettably told me that he knows very little about them. However, another name found in the house – Kuwa – is interesting. The postcards bearing her name are much older.

(Above: Kuwa, the mother of the family)

I couldn’t make much sense of it while in the house, but once again Mr. 252 from 2ch came through with gold:

252 ：以下、VIPにかわりましてパー速民がお送りします [sage]：2011/01/29(土) 21:29:51.00 ID:CiegDfmx0
まず、肖像画のお婆さんの名前はひらがなで「く○」さんです。蚕のエサと同じ読みです。昭和４０年に亡くなっています。同年１１月６日に７７日忌が淳○さ ん喪主で行われました。これは弔辞が残っていたのでそれで確認しました。あの肖像画は日付（細かいところはよく読めないが昭和４０年？）から言って亡く なったころに描かれたものと言えそうです。同サイズの複製画もありましたので親族に配ったのかもしれません。ちなみに親族関係は淳○さんの母です。また、 ママさんとＳ子さんの葉書にあった呼び名、それはこのお婆さん、即ち「く○」さんです。

To summarise, Kuwa died in 1965 (we can tell this from a message of condolence found in the house). Junji held the ceremony in the same year on 6th November for Kuwa, his mother. It is the same woman who is in the painting, likely created during the last years of her life.

There were actually two paintings in the house – perhaps the other was to be sent to relatives. I also found a postcard in the house written by Sugiko in 1960 reading ‘Mother’. Combined with other pictures of the old lady around the countryside retreat, it seems that she may have lived in the house with her children at some point.

Currently, there isn’t much more information than that. Hopefully we’ll see additions in the future.

The father, now this is a real mystery. Especially so when I found this shocking photograph hidden away in a box:

Here we see the family: Sugiko on the right, Junji behind her, Kiyomi on the left with a mystery man behind. Kuwa is sitting next to the figure who is missing from the photo and two mystery children are in front. There were a couple of other pictures with a person cut out as well. I can only assume from the position in the picture that it is the father. Or could it be John..? What happened that caused someone to butcher these photos? And who cut the person out? Kiyomi or Junji? Perhaps even Kuwa when she lived in the house..?

Information on the father is extremely limited, so I must continue with mere guesswork, but a couple of pictures struck me. Below the family seem to be enjoying themselves on the beach.

Another very old picture shows what looks to be the same man on a horse:

My research has led me to believe that the father’s name is Masaki and that he was involved in the cinema world. There were many postcards in the house addressed to this man and a business card below. He was the proprietor of a cinema in Tokyo and involved in many other activities. Whether or not the man above is Masaki or even the father of the family is unknown, but it’s my best guess so far, assuming the other information about the 5 children and lack of marriages is correct.

There are a few more interesting photos that I cannot place, but that may be of use to other people trying to piece things together. I’ve included them for reference.

The mysterious picture shows four gentlemen, one of which is a member of the K family, aged 26. Is it Junji perhaps..?

Another item found amongst the photos. Perhaps a friend of the family? He looks an awful lot like Junji though, but the name is different…

There’s also this picture, which may show Torinosuke, a possible son of the family sitting with Junji. Or perhaps he is Junji’s son? I can only go by the information the temple gave me, which was that Junji never married and there were 5 children in the family. Perhaps Junji had a son outside of marriage? Perhaps the chief priest’s information is wrong? I have no idea.

(Above: Junji and possibly Torinosuke?)

That about sums up the information I’ve been able to gather about the family John married into. There are still gaping holes and plenty of unconfirmed things, but the story now feels a lot fuller than it did a few short weeks ago. But still, what happened at the end..?

Potential Leads

**Update** 2011/02/03

Browsing through my photos and reading the latest ideas on 2ch, I came across something rather striking. In a large majority of the photos, a particular couple always appear together. The pictures range from funeral photos to parties and both the man and woman can be found in separate pictures. I wonder, could this be the missing daughter (Kiyoko, perhaps?) who married into the N family? (Click on the image to see it full size).

But wait, there’s more! I also found 2 references of the N family name that the chief priest had told me! Both are in funeral pictures, including one picture in the collection above which has a couple who look very similar to the other pictures. Perhaps this is the N family? The N family name plaque is also very close to the altar – the same proximity as John’s who we know married a daughter of the K family. If we follow that logic, the N family plaque must be important and close to the altar for similar reasons.

The large version of the funeral photograph (Junji’s funeral, perhaps?)

Above is Kuwa’s funeral. We can clearly see the start of the N family name on a plaque (I have removed one of the characters). The second character is the same as the first in the K family name.

Another photograph of the same man visiting the family grave.

The shot above shows the couple on their wedding day – a photograph from Hotel Okura.

Finally, a business card bearing Torinosuke’s name. Interestingly, the second character is different from the K family name, although it has the same reading! If this were a letter, I would assume it had been mis-written. But this is a business card – surely there would not be a mistake..? Also, the first character of the first name is slightly different to what I have seen on other sites. Perhaps this is a different person altogether..? It seems to close to be coincidence though. So what does this mean? Is Torinosuke not a family of the K family after all? Or did the K family name change at some point?

A Theory

So why did the house become abandoned and end up as it has? Nothing is perfectly clear, but my theory is this: Sugiko received monthly payments from John who in turn, shared the money with her family. As far as I have learnt, Kiyomi did not work and with her brother having passed away in 1982, she would have had to finance her house somehow. I think that money from Sugiko was, at least in part, used for this. After John died, Sugiko likely still received payments as his wife. Kiyomi moved to Hotel Okura in her old age and also to keep her sister company, but after Sugiko passed away in 1997, Kiyomi was left without a source of income, and could not easily finance the countryside house nor afford to stay in luxury at Hotel Okura. She was forced to go and live in an old-person’s home during her last years.

This – and the death of the younger brother – seems to me to be the tragedy in the K family life; a sudden fall from luxury due to the death of their benefactor and kind in-law, John. This is of course my own hypothesis and not a fact, but with the story told to me by the chief priest and the note in the book I acquired stating that “John, during his life, had provided that all his resources should – at his death – pass to the Foundation, and Mr. G found himself charged with the business of seeing this carried out” (p32), it seems likely that the money supporting the remaining members of the K family may have dried up. With no K family relatives and no income to support the luxury they once knew, the countryside house fell into ruin.

As far as I can tell, there are no blood connections to royalty. Why then, have the title ‘Royal House’? I suspect this was conjured up by the first explorers who visited and found the picture of Emperor Hiohito’s family and other artefacts. The pictures of Queen Elizabeth are also very unusual, as are the postcards from ex-Prime Minister Hatoyama Ichiro. There can be no mistaking that this family was very well off and John was undoubtedly a huge part of that, but even without blood ties to royalty, I feel the nature of this family and the lifestyle they lived certainly merits an aristocratic, if not royal image.

(Above: A lone pearl found in the house. It appears to have been broken off another piece of jewellery.)

Respecting the Past

When I first visited this house, I treated it much the same as any other haikyo. It was an abandoned building hidden in a mountain forest that happened to be so well concealed that it was virtually untouched. When I arrived at the house recently for my third and final time, I found it in a far worse state than before. My fears had been proved correct and the recent exposure of the location has directly led to the state of disarray the rooms were now in. I’ve said many times when writing about haikyo that I do not give out locations for this very reason. Japan is a relatively tame country for Urban Exploration in that explorers generally respect locations and the items inside far more than I’ve seen in most U.K ruins. It is much safer to visit them and people are friendly. But even here, it seems some people do not respect the property.

Photos were strewn all over the floor of the back room, bags emptied out and draws left hanging wide open. The black box containing scrolls and other items were left in a mess by the side of it, as if somebody had left in the middle of looking through the old materials. We couldn’t believe it. It hardly takes a lot of time to put the photos back and keep the place as it was found. Fortunately, the main room and photos were still intact and no damage has been done. After we’d finished looking through the last of the documents, we tidied the rooms up and put things back to how we first found them. I doubt it will last long, but I couldn’t stand seeing the place in such a state.

Some of you have also questioned me in the comments about the issues involved in exploring such a building. I have the utmost respect for the family and their past. This haikyo has taken me by surprise in its unusual nature, the links to royalty and deep family history. It took a hold of me, even pushing me to order books from the U.K and visit the temple where the family was buried in order to learn more about their history.

Is this an invasion of personal privacy? Doesn’t the house still have an owner who would be angry? Arguably this could be true. I cannot be completely sure that all remaining relatives have passed away, but to the best of my knowledge they have. There are also ethical issues about posting information about people who are deceased. Should I also not report the location to a local historical society? After understanding more about the family, I am not sure that is the right thing to do, or that it would help in any way. As well-off as this family was, they don’t appear to have any blood ties to royalty or a place in a museum. Nor can I be sure that is what they would have wanted any more than I can be sure of this post. But I feel I should do something… Perhaps it is a discussion that should be had on 2ch and other messageboards..?

I am not a relative or even a person of worthy standing to be documenting their life, but merely a curious explorer who has become entwined in this family tale. I of course have feelings of guilt and frequently face the moral dilemmas involved with such a hobby, but I bear them in the knowledge that I do not harbour any malicious intent. I am careful in what I choose to expose and react to the situation as best I can. Although this hardly absolves me of my responsibility, perhaps it can go some way to explaining my desire to write and research about this small portion of history.

When I step back and think about the whole experience, I feel I perhaps may have done a little bit of good in talking about the family. The K family existed. John had a life in Tokyo with wonderful people that was never even expressed in the official book about him. The family had numerous business connections abroad, including trading pearls with India. Junji loved cats and honoured their passing with a place on the Buddhist altar.

These people mattered and deserve to be remembered. If I have contributed to that even in just a small way, I will feel happy.

**********

I will continue to update this article with information and facts as they become available and also welcome your honest comments below. It’s been quite a ride but in some ways considerably more satisfying than a simple haikyo exploration. I’d like to thank all the other bloggers who have contributed to the research so far and to the team on 2ch, whose analytical skills never cease to amaze me. I hope the K family and their relatives are resting in peace. Thank you for reading.

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!

**********

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…

**********

You can follow me on Twitter and Facebook for updates. Or, you can subscribe to the feed.

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