The catacombs

We arrived at Rouissy-Charles De Gualle in Paris near midnight. Our first impression was that people were smoking in the airport, which we thought was delightful and very French. And the bathrooms were clean and the water which flowed from the taps was clean and potable! We could hardly believe it.
Alain met us outside and we headed into the city. Everything seemed so shiny and spacious after India, like we had arrived to some utopian future world.
We headed immediately for the catacombs. Alain had arranged for some kids that he had never met to take us down. They were friends of friends and knew the cata well. Genevieve at first was like "OK, I'll go.", but on thinking better of it decided to go to Alains and sleep instead. She recognized that she might get tired and miserable down there and make us turn back.
So we dropped her off in Alains' apartment in Monmarte to sleep and headed down to the south part of the city- the 13th arondissment. We parked in a small plaza near the place D'Italie and walked down to some old train tracks. We met up with the kids- Matthieu and Clipse, who had been waiting for a awhile and said they were just about to head down, which would have left us without guides. They had brought gas lanterns, high waterproof boots, coats, and we just had sneakers, flashlights, cookies and beer. We sat around and got prepared for the night while Mathieu and Clipse tried out their rusty English (which got miraculously more fluent as the long night wore on).
We walked along the tracks, passing through tunnels covered with wall to wall graffiti pieces and passing a group or two of high school age "tourists"- the cataphiles name for neophyte explorers (analogous to "toy" in graffiti or maybe "oogle" amongst train kids). In the third tunnel we found the spot- a tiny hole in the wall near the ground which led into the catacombs underneath the 13th arondissment. Everyone was giggling with anticipation of the first leg of the journey- through hundreds of yards of crawl space to an area known as "the bunga" which separates the "tourist" from the cataphile- a long stretch of murky waist deep water.
Mattieu cued up the music- Insane gabber speedcore techno, essentially electronic death metal blasted through muddy ghettoblaster speakers, and we started in. The accompaniment was perfectly matched with the first stretch: claustrophobic, dirty, and evocative of a descent into hell. We slid into the hole and worked our way into the first tunnel in a croutch. This soon gave way to a passage with workable headroom and I got my first idea of what the catacombs are. The first few tunnels have carvings like street signs at their intersections which tell what Rue you are standing beneath. In these first passages the others explained a little about the catacomb system.
The catacombs developed along with the terranian Paris, as they were originally quarries used to excavate more building stone to build above ground. As the excavation became more extensive, early engineers worried about the structural integrity of the city's streets and buildings. So they were forced to rebuild walls and vaults to mimic the world above and support it. Since their beginnings, the catacombs have been used for secret transportation, smuggling, carrying telephone and electrical wiring throughout the city, clandestine meetings and parties during the french revolution, housing of french resistance fighters and later German troops during WWII, plus the use for which the catacombs earned their name- entombment of bodies during the black plague.
We were led down one corridor after another, taking quick turns at four way intersections as if our guides could do this in their sleep. Dark passages spun off on every side. One revealed an overflowing well which appeared to reach down for dozens of meters below our level. All along, the ground under our feet was muddy and the encroachment of water seemed to be suspended just at critical mass. "We are beneath the resevoir of Paris", someone screamed over the booming bass and epileptic snares on the radio.
Mattieu pointed out what he said was one of the oldest pieces of exant graffiti in the cata- a drawing of a Prussian Soldier probably done by a Gendarme around the turn of the century. Most of the other wallspace was taken by tags done by the crew FC- "Frotte, Connard", or "Scrub, Asshole"- a message to those who hate graffiti in the cata for the supposed damage it does to the stone.
We reached the "bunga" and I was shown the ropes. It was impossible to keep your feet dry, but it was possible to keep your knees dry by spanning the deep parts in the middle and working your way down step by step. Eventually you resign yourself to getting wet and muddy and get less cautious with your steps. The path rose up and dried a bit, then we reached another submerged area in which the water had been dyed green with food coloring by some other cataphiles. Just past the last of the deep water, with legs soaked up to the thighs, we reached the first "room" or social gathering place for cataphiles, known as "the castle".
next: life in the underground