A Journey Underground

It really does astound me to think that there are places on this Earth that are just as stunning and breath-taking as any one of the many wonders of the world, but which are located underground. We are so preoccupied with what's on the surface, where we dwell, that we barely consider what is happening beneath us, what is down there, and if it truly is just earth and rock.
On a brief family holiday this summer, we stayed in the south of France at my great-aunt's house near Cordes-sur-Ciel. Cordes itself is a very old town that is raised into the sky by the huge hill that it is situated on:

(not own photo)

About a two hour drive north of here, however, is a place known as Le Gouffre de Padirac, which is simply one of the most impressive places I have visited. What is fascinating about it is that it is situated underground, accessed by either a 75 metre stairway that descends into the initial part of the cavern, or a series of lifts.

Here on the right I am taking photos of the cavern from above:

And on the left is the cavern itself, taken by myself from the bottom of it. My vertigo just about dealt with the staircase, which seemed like it would never end, and then we went into the tunnel that extends for quite a way alongside an underground river, until you reach a section where you can only continue further by boat. There were lots of signs up prohibiting photography in here, but I assumed that it was flash photography that they had a problem with, so I switched my flash off. Unfortunately, a lot of my photos are quite blurry as a result, but you can just about make out what some of them are of. Each boat took about 10 or so people, and we were slowly pushed towards the next section, where we alighted and were given a tour around the caverns. Sadly, this was in French. It would have been nice to understand the no-doubt interesting facts that we were being given about the various caverns and their features, but instead I can only imagine what we were told. In some of the caverns, we climbed high, on stone steps, and although there were railings, I still - naturally - got the sense that I could very easily fall at any moment. Many parts of these caverns seemed to me like a combination of Gringotts Bank in the Harry Potter series (the passageway sections of the bank, that is, not the marble entrance to it), and the Mines of Moria from The Lord of the Rings, except of course, they are naturally formed. I don't know to what extent there has been human interference in there, in the sense of making it safe and accessible for the public to navigate around, but certainly doesn't look like much of it has been altered by man.

Apparently this is not the only underground place like this in France, but it is certainly the most-visited one in the country, and I believe it is one of the largest too, in terms of how far it spreads. To think that all of this is located underneath some fields is just amazing, especially if you consider that nobody would have any idea that there are people walking some 100 metres below them, if it weren't for the huge gaping hole on the surface that leads down into the complex of caverns.

Wake Up Writing

Because I really need to get back to writing (I haven't done anything for about a week, and I have all this stuff in my head, and I just can't put it down on paper in words) I figured I might as well carry out some of these exercises. I've only done one so far. I just wrote non-stop for about five minutes, without going back to edit anything, and I'm pretty pleased with what I came up with. This was the exercise I had to do:
Use any of the following to start a piece of fiction or non-fiction. If you’re feeling like a challenge, rather than just choosing the one that appeals most to you, see if you can actually complete a 500 word piece of writing on all of them (they don’t have to be connected - but of course if you can do that ….go you!)

1. It was humid the last time I saw ………
2. Despite the clinical cleanliness of the rest of the room, there was a dark stain spreading out across ………
3. Putting her hands on her hips, Mildred sighed deeply. “Count to 10″ she told herself as she looked at the ………

Here's what I wrote in response to the first prompt:
It was humid the last time I saw my brother decline the offer of pudding. We were in Troyes, France, in early August and the weather had been particularly hot that day. All four of us had beads of sweat forming on our foreheads for the most part of the day, and in the early evening, when we left the cool, air-conditioned safety of the hotel, we stepped out into the street only to be buffeted by the heat wave. We walked down the road to a church, and within minutes, my feet started to burn up. I took off my supermarket-bought pumps and walked along the pavement barefoot. The church cast brilliant shadows; it’s walls were dirty and grotty, but the general shape and composition of the building was magnificent, ancient-looking. It was at least four centuries old. As soon as I stepped out of it’s shadow, however, my feet started to burn on the hot concrete of the pavement. I hopped around, alternating between shadow and bright, red-hot ground surfaces.

We spent at least an hour walking around the town that evening, and it took us a while to settle upon a restaurant at which we would have our evening meal. The road we eventually decided to eat along was busy; many places had tables and chairs outside, so that we all ate in cramped conditions. Even once sitting down, a cool pineapple juice in hand, I felt extremely hot. Shorts and a tank top was all that I was wearing, and yet I could not have felt any different had I been wearing jeans and a ski jacket.

The meal was delicious, I know that much, although I do not recall specifically what it was. My parents got talking to two elderly British women at the table next to ours, and they mentioned Vimy Ridge and Arras, where they had stayed at the start of their own trip; I had been to Vimy Ridge before on a school trip, and at the mention of the place, I felt a sudden urge to visit there again. Once we had all finished our main course, the waiters came around again, and proffered dessert menus. My mum decided upon a chocolate ice-cream of sorts, but when it came to my brother’s turn to choose an item on the menu, he merely let out a groan and shook his head.
“It’s too hot to eat anything else,” he explained.
“Have you gone mad?” I asked him, surprised by his reaction. “When was the last time you turned down food?”
He did not answer. He ran a hand through his hair irritably and looked at my dad. “I just wanna go,” he muttered. “It’s too hot.”
He’ll probably never refuse pudding again. It must have been the weather.

Now that I read over it again, however, I realise that it's really not the most interesting of pieces. I'm pleased with how easy I found it to write, though; it pretty much just poured out, and - heck - at least it'll serve as a diary entry.
I have an idea for the second scenario, too, and that one is less anecdotal; it'll be a more fictional piece, inspired by a particular location in LOST (The Staff, the medical station that originally belonged to the Dharma Institute).

Seriously, though, I've been looking over the entries in this journal and although - admittedly - there really aren't that many, this place does still need a bit of humour injected into it. It's all dull and ... glum like Hull (I've honestly never been there, but I've heard bad things). Of course, the London attacks aren't really the sort of thing you should joke about, so I'm not saying that entry needs improving on, but currently this blog isn't really a reflection of my personality now, is it? It's hard, though, when I don't have an audience. Perhaps I should force some of my friends to join so that they can comment.
Or not.
They'd probably get a bit fed up of me making them creating loads of new online journals all the time.
Fine then.
Whatever.

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