Until we hit the “urbex” themed art room. But that is the room that shall not be mentioned ever. Leave only footsteps, take only pictures, and make sure to pee in at least one urinal in every place you visit. It’s kind of a ritual by now.
The bunker we found wasn’t quite such a monstrosity, but still sizable – two stories of heavy concrete, marked by oddly incongruous “no smoking” signs everywhere inside, and showing signs of at least two massive direct hits without much visible damage on the interior. If I were sitting in such a building with angry Englishers dropping blockbuster bombs on me, I can’t think of anything I’d rather want than a cigarette.
Every once in a while, I stumble upon something so utterly mind-blowingly magnificent that I just can’t believe my luck. Or, in this case, the generosity of my capable associate D. who rooted out this gem.
The only information I’ve found about this facility associates it with a Wehrmacht regional headquarters, but others more informed than I have claimed that it’s a bog standard civilian design. The fluorescent markings leading towards the exits were still visible, causing us to waste a hilarious amount of time repeatedly ruining our night vision with flash guns and high-powered torches to get things to shine “just right”.
This was formerly a sugar beet refinery, a product I’d previously only known to exist as a World War II ersatz sweetener. If the stink in this place was anything to go by, I kind of wish that were the case,