Out on the western side of the metro map sits a small odd looking piece of track which always interested us. Originally Porte Maillot station was the western terminus of line one, with two platforms connected by a loop for turning the trains before they began the journey back eastward. This was the case from 1900 until 1937 when Line 1 was extended west into snob ville Neuilly, then further to La Defense. I passed the loop portals 3-4 times a week since I kicked it a lot in Les Sablons (the fine sands). Trust me, there is no sand to be found except up in the vagina of some of its snotty residents.
Entering the maillot loop, right hand side. This side appears to be infrequently used, the portal is often barricaded. B...
When the line was extended the station at Porte Maillot was shifted westward and as such the entrances to the loop of Porte Maillot are visible through the train windows before one's train enters the station of the same name from the east. They're close enough for one to presume there is access between the two but on our first attempt we couldn't find it - which resulted in us bumbling laughing into an RATP train worker change room, and sprinting (laughing) back out being yelled out by an angry worker. We gave up on this plan and busted out our hurdling technique down line 1 from Argentine instead, midservice, dodging trains like drunken party girls.
I'm going on the theory that exclusion of one is inclusion of the other, and that given the stairs are forbidden territo...
A trio of toggers tossing and tugging their todgers. Photographic wankers and wankery, Porte Maillot loop, Paris.
Entering from the east, off the main line, to the right is the old platform which stands relatively unchanged from when the loop was used for passengers. Having successfully avoided the regular service on the main we jumped from the tracks up onto the old plaform. On the right side of the loop little has changed since the station was moved and the loop decomm'd. The track resembles regular track, the station stairs have true oldschool cred and even the old advertisments are still in place.
Hook up your own tonic concoction at l'establissements millard. Original advertisement, abandoned platform of Porte Mail...
Smooth. Original advertisement, abandoned platform of Porte Maillot loop, Paris Metro.
The other side of the loop, which would have been the inbound platform has been deformed into a workshop. This space is called l'Espace Maillot. The old platform has been totally renovated including work rooms and even an inspection bit. Of course, knowing our luck a worker turned up and we had nowhere to run. We'd been caught in the Metro... again. Shortly after a work train rolled in and we were left sitting watching the efficiency of french workmanship. It was worse than watching a grandma pay with cheque at the supermarket - an entirely normal and everyday occurance at your local supermarché. Of course nobody seems to mind this... except us foreigners who are endlessly frustrated that by this. Groceries by cheque should not exist in 2010.
Maillot Loop, Paris.
A train on line 1 passes the maintenance and workshops, porte maillot loop, paris metro.
Moving and unloading one work-train of two items took almost two hours of consultation, reconsultation and more of the same. Thankfully I didn't understand most of it and took a nap. Amusingly we discovered that not all the workers knew the keypad code to the main door, so they installed a complex modern system where a plastic streamer was tied to the inside door handle, then passed out through a hole so the door could be opened from outside, by anyone who turned up and yanked the plastic. Naturally we exploited this security feature until they clued in and we were forced to open the door in broad daylight, inside the station, being passed by dozens of commuters, using a fucking stick we found in the gutter. Paris, goddamn je t'aime.
Work train the maillot loop, paris metro.
-dsankt, 2010
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Comments
et ce n'est pas un chemin de fer, c'est un poisson!
There was a wikid show on SBS last night in German named Kontrol(er?) in which a german ticket inspecter lived a subterranean existance, playing chicken with the tuesday night express and eating his dinners inside the trainyard when he wasn't harrasing non-ticket-carrying citizens.
peace out... happy travels :D