abandoned house NAMUR
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Namur, Sunday June 20, 2010, 17:45. I have an hour or two to kill before catching the train from Brussels to Paris. My friend who knows my immoderate taste for urban exploration, drive me off to a strange abandoned house at the Casino, facing the River Meuse.
The vision of this gate ajar, oozing rust, does not tell me anything worth the sinister house and barricaded the entrance seems people watching its strange eyes, the lush garden appear gradually cover the facade the appearance leprosis.
Despite the overall look uninviting, yet I decided to walk the few yards to lead the black stone staircase covered with ivy. I'm the first round. Bags of garbage suggest that the house was still occupied recently ... perhaps by squatters?
The house looks completely airtight, but it's back, after a glass door surmounted by a small shelter made of wrought iron and glass past few brambles, I see broken windows overlooking unappealing on a toilet bowl full of filth. The place is dark and dirty, somewhat reassured, I start to tell me that I'd better ... Carapate
So I returned to the terrace on the south side. The wrought iron porch adjoins the house on the left draws my attention. The heavy silence, added to the pale sky and cold, does not invite lingering ... it was when I decided to spin that I see a chair that I had not seen At first sight, hidden by vegetation. I climb on the chair, the window is open ... my heart starts beating a little louder I go? I'm not? Curiosity takes over the discomfort and apprehension. I tap the glass with my nails to see if anyone. No answer. I enter the house.
The ceiling moldings and flaking, but the most beautiful is the veranda, with its old tile and wrought iron structure. In this picture, it looks like big rusty crucifix structure framing.
Some tags, stencils grimacing faces certainly reflect the squat and clandestine celebrations organized by teens in need of strong sensations, echoing ghostly white mask that hung on the top floor, barely illuminated by the light of the attic.
Stencils pochtrons ...
At the bottom of the wooden staircase leading to all three floors, the presence of a stairlift betrays the state of the previous occupant, probably a disabled person and elderly in view of seniority tapestries. The atmosphere this house is quite heavy, even oppressive.
In reality, the place is much darker.
the ground floor, the house is plunged into near darkness, parts bathed in total darkness. I myself do not dare venture out, leaving me with some frustration behind closed doors. During my visit, I walk very slowly and breathe fully from room to room, watching for the slightest sound as not to wake hypothetical invisible entities.
Plant parasites, spider webs, dead empty bottles, piles of garbage, rusted tin cans, pieces of broken mirrors, some vestiges of soiled tissue paper and form the backdrop of a desolate and apocalyptic remains with the pestilence has erased any trace of humanity.
My only encounter with a living will that this kitten discovered in dusty attics, whose sad eyes squeezed my heart.
During my explorations, I always wonder what can justify abandoning such beautiful homes. In the residential district of one of the most beautiful cities in Wallonia, it seems incredible. I can not help but think that a drama can only explain the fact that the house is not for sale and nobody seems to care. Indeed, no sign indicating that this is private property, no trace of either explicit prohibition to enter or review site ... fantasy or reality? The front door of the house has eyes ... like Amityville. The boards that the muzzle will probably continue to preserve its secrets for a long time ... unless someone comes along lifts the veil ... the appeal is launched!
