There's not enough room to stand up, so I half walk, half crawl, my bag being dragged along behind me. I'm last, and the others are waiting round the corner. When I reach them, I realise my spare torch has detached itself from my belt, so back I go to find it. I've been underground for all of a minute, and I hate it.
With a couple of slight adjustments made, we're moving along the tunnel, deeper into the network. A few corners here and there and we take a left. Behind me I hear the sound of European pop music approaching in the darkness. It gets louder and louder, passes the end of the tunnel we're in and disappears into the gloom. Ahead, the voices of the others indicate that we've reached our first landmark - a concrete sculpture of a man who appears to be emerging from the wall. Bags off, cameras set up, and I suddenly realise how much the place is growing on me. The air is cool, there's room to stand up, and the initial complications of getting into the Catacombs are long forgotten.
Back along the corridor, and we embark on our first proper journey - a long walk to the so-called Goat, or Ram Room. Roughly a kilometre to go, so everything's packed back in the bags and we set off, relying on OT's map reading to prevent us from getting hopelessly lost in a network of tunnels and caverns that stretches for hundreds of miles under the streets of Paris.
At times the ceilings of the tunnels are so low that we have to stoop again. The waders prove their worth as we splash through deep puddles of water. With time to spare we emerge into the Goat Room, throw off the bags and sit down. Despite initially feeling uneasy at the thought of being so far underground, the nerves have worn off along the way and I'm feeling relaxed. Happy now that I chose to join the trip, the cameras are out again and the features of the room are photographed - notably some carved figures and faces in the wall.
And so the first part of our journey continues, visiting the 'feature rooms' in the southern part of the network. One includes a miniature castle built out of limestone; another contains an array of flowers brought in from the real world. Closeby we find a statue of a robot. Above us and around us as we walk are a multitude of passages, tunnels and cracks in the limestone, all leading off to some other part of the Catacombs. Ensuring that nobody is left behind, our procession ventures deeper and deeper into the historic quarry tunnels.
Unlike tunnels I've explored before, where meeting other people would be scary to say the least, stumbling upon groups of French 'Cataphiles' is a pleasant experience. More often than not the greetings are accompanied by choruses of 'Salut!' to which we reply (Not 'bonjour' you idiot, that means day! Of course, it is day, but underground we forget). Our first meeting takes place in a small alcove, where OT discusses possible exit points from the Cattas in perfect English. A French guy with a 6D Maglite suddenly bursts out of the darkness, laughing in French with the others. The word 'anglais' is mentioned - clearly we're the butt of someone's joke!
Onward then, heading northeast now. Although we're not in a hurry we're due to meet French Catacombs explorer 'Rug' at our overnight rest spot for 1am. Negotiating twists and turns, junctions and floods, the sound of music suddenly materialises. Another corner and we've entered a party, held inside a big room decorated with paintings of mushrooms and naked women. The inhabitants are French Cataphiles, many of whom are merry. The table is covered with bottles and cans of beer and wine, the room is lit by candles. Some of them come over to greet us. It's like a strange scene in a strange film.
With jokes about Man Utd and Liverpool (but not the war) out the way, we talk about the exploring 'scenes' in our respective countries. More talk about ways out for tomorrow takes place, and a few email and web addresses are swapped so that we can stay in contact. A couple of them talk about wanting to visit London soon, so of course we insist they call us nearer the time.
Time's getting on now, and we don't want to keep Rug waiting, so it's 'bon soir' and back into the comparitively lonely darkness. Passing the 'swimming pool', we enter some sections that bring us up to our thighs in water, taking care not to trip over hidden rocks. A few near misses ensue, but nobody gets wet, and soon we're halfway to our destination, but not before the first 'crawl'. Unlike most of the others I hadn't ever been to Monkton Farleigh, or caving at all, having always stuck to relatively sound underground structures like railway tunnels and air-raid shelters. This is entirely different. The passageway is a couple of feet high, and so like the name suggests it's passable only by crawling.
Shoving my bag along in front of me, I keep going, following Tank who's in front of me. How much further? Almost there. I can't see the end. We're nearly there! Round a corner and then drop down into the main passage. Not being entirely trusting in the structural integrity of the tunnels, that was scary. But grinning I wait while the last of the group haul themselves out, and then we all enter the 'Cube Room'.
This room is particularly interesting. It takes it's name from the cubes of rock littered about, and also has a kind of well or fountain that can be accessed through a passage, down some stairs. No photographs here as we'll be back tomorrow, and so it's only a few minutes late that we enter the cavern that'll be our room for the night. Rug's there already, we exchange greetings, have a chat, light some candles and bring out the beers.
Tank's chosen some kind of whisky beer. My 'burger beer' is 8%. I hand Zero a Heineken that I'd earlier swapped for a Hoegarten. With bags unpacked, food is consumed, sleeping places 'shotgunned' and (for those with the luxury) hammocks constructed. Rug's excited though, and wants to check out some nearby rooms, so we agree to go a little excursion before trying to get some sleep. Chess volunteers to stay behind and guard the stuff. Travelling is easier now, my bag just containing the camera and tripod.
Following Rug and his enthusiasm, we venture into the 'Bunker' area, which is part of an old wartime bunker, as it's name suggests. Some more crawls are conquered, a couple of which really test my metal, knowing that just one collapse could separate us from the rest of mankind - forever.
Relieved, tired and plastered in muck, we get lost in the Bunker. It's not a problem, the way out is there somewhere, and the map would help if we could be bothered. Rug's laughing, we're going in circles, but eventually we're back at the room. Chess is still alive and the kit's all still there. And of course, it would be - we're not in London anymore.
With a couple of slight adjustments made, we're moving along the tunnel, deeper into the network. A few corners here and there and we take a left. Behind me I hear the sound of European pop music approaching in the darkness. It gets louder and louder, passes the end of the tunnel we're in and disappears into the gloom. Ahead, the voices of the others indicate that we've reached our first landmark - a concrete sculpture of a man who appears to be emerging from the wall. Bags off, cameras set up, and I suddenly realise how much the place is growing on me. The air is cool, there's room to stand up, and the initial complications of getting into the Catacombs are long forgotten.
Back along the corridor, and we embark on our first proper journey - a long walk to the so-called Goat, or Ram Room. Roughly a kilometre to go, so everything's packed back in the bags and we set off, relying on OT's map reading to prevent us from getting hopelessly lost in a network of tunnels and caverns that stretches for hundreds of miles under the streets of Paris.
At times the ceilings of the tunnels are so low that we have to stoop again. The waders prove their worth as we splash through deep puddles of water. With time to spare we emerge into the Goat Room, throw off the bags and sit down. Despite initially feeling uneasy at the thought of being so far underground, the nerves have worn off along the way and I'm feeling relaxed. Happy now that I chose to join the trip, the cameras are out again and the features of the room are photographed - notably some carved figures and faces in the wall.
And so the first part of our journey continues, visiting the 'feature rooms' in the southern part of the network. One includes a miniature castle built out of limestone; another contains an array of flowers brought in from the real world. Closeby we find a statue of a robot. Above us and around us as we walk are a multitude of passages, tunnels and cracks in the limestone, all leading off to some other part of the Catacombs. Ensuring that nobody is left behind, our procession ventures deeper and deeper into the historic quarry tunnels.
Unlike tunnels I've explored before, where meeting other people would be scary to say the least, stumbling upon groups of French 'Cataphiles' is a pleasant experience. More often than not the greetings are accompanied by choruses of 'Salut!' to which we reply (Not 'bonjour' you idiot, that means day! Of course, it is day, but underground we forget). Our first meeting takes place in a small alcove, where OT discusses possible exit points from the Cattas in perfect English. A French guy with a 6D Maglite suddenly bursts out of the darkness, laughing in French with the others. The word 'anglais' is mentioned - clearly we're the butt of someone's joke!
Onward then, heading northeast now. Although we're not in a hurry we're due to meet French Catacombs explorer 'Rug' at our overnight rest spot for 1am. Negotiating twists and turns, junctions and floods, the sound of music suddenly materialises. Another corner and we've entered a party, held inside a big room decorated with paintings of mushrooms and naked women. The inhabitants are French Cataphiles, many of whom are merry. The table is covered with bottles and cans of beer and wine, the room is lit by candles. Some of them come over to greet us. It's like a strange scene in a strange film.
With jokes about Man Utd and Liverpool (but not the war) out the way, we talk about the exploring 'scenes' in our respective countries. More talk about ways out for tomorrow takes place, and a few email and web addresses are swapped so that we can stay in contact. A couple of them talk about wanting to visit London soon, so of course we insist they call us nearer the time.
Time's getting on now, and we don't want to keep Rug waiting, so it's 'bon soir' and back into the comparitively lonely darkness. Passing the 'swimming pool', we enter some sections that bring us up to our thighs in water, taking care not to trip over hidden rocks. A few near misses ensue, but nobody gets wet, and soon we're halfway to our destination, but not before the first 'crawl'. Unlike most of the others I hadn't ever been to Monkton Farleigh, or caving at all, having always stuck to relatively sound underground structures like railway tunnels and air-raid shelters. This is entirely different. The passageway is a couple of feet high, and so like the name suggests it's passable only by crawling.
Shoving my bag along in front of me, I keep going, following Tank who's in front of me. How much further? Almost there. I can't see the end. We're nearly there! Round a corner and then drop down into the main passage. Not being entirely trusting in the structural integrity of the tunnels, that was scary. But grinning I wait while the last of the group haul themselves out, and then we all enter the 'Cube Room'.
This room is particularly interesting. It takes it's name from the cubes of rock littered about, and also has a kind of well or fountain that can be accessed through a passage, down some stairs. No photographs here as we'll be back tomorrow, and so it's only a few minutes late that we enter the cavern that'll be our room for the night. Rug's there already, we exchange greetings, have a chat, light some candles and bring out the beers.
Tank's chosen some kind of whisky beer. My 'burger beer' is 8%. I hand Zero a Heineken that I'd earlier swapped for a Hoegarten. With bags unpacked, food is consumed, sleeping places 'shotgunned' and (for those with the luxury) hammocks constructed. Rug's excited though, and wants to check out some nearby rooms, so we agree to go a little excursion before trying to get some sleep. Chess volunteers to stay behind and guard the stuff. Travelling is easier now, my bag just containing the camera and tripod.
Following Rug and his enthusiasm, we venture into the 'Bunker' area, which is part of an old wartime bunker, as it's name suggests. Some more crawls are conquered, a couple of which really test my metal, knowing that just one collapse could separate us from the rest of mankind - forever.
Relieved, tired and plastered in muck, we get lost in the Bunker. It's not a problem, the way out is there somewhere, and the map would help if we could be bothered. Rug's laughing, we're going in circles, but eventually we're back at the room. Chess is still alive and the kit's all still there. And of course, it would be - we're not in London anymore.