I know you probably can't possibly stomach another single photo of the train station, but hopefully you'll at least get a kick out of reminiscing back on what the place used to look like before it was totally coated in graffiti. I did not have a camera with me the day the story being told took place; these pics are from 2004-2005.
Anyway, the entrances to these two tunnels are fairly well hidden, and remote enough from the building itself so as to make approach a snap. We had noted that the security team had at least one vehicle, and of course, radios. I was not too worried about them though. My plan was to sneak in and up to the mezzanine level to be able to secretly observe the goings-on in the massive waiting room where the movie set apparently was located, through the giant lunette windows.
We could see a security checkpoint outside the east entrance to the main building, where the footbridge crosses over the driveway. There was a metal detector set up, and a woman was sitting there on duty. The security truck was in sight as well, motor running. So what we did was to skirt as far to the left as possible, so that when we made our break across the "courtyard" and into the open basement windows of the main building, there would only be a couple seconds of exposure to any watchful eyes of security personnel.
Finally, tucked into a dark, detritus-strewn back corner we found one of the tiny service stairwells—seemingly hidden in a closet. This was the stair that gave access to the telephone room--with a feeling of almost assured victory, we charged upward and gained access to the catwalk around the customs area, and allowing us a better view of the main concourse:
Yet I kept running and he kept following. Finally, after about five minutes of nonstop running, we came to the gaping arched windows that overlooked the courtyard through which we had entered. Still going full-tilt, I took a running leap up into one, but either I jumped too early, or I didn’t have the energy to loft myself high enough (likely both), because my shin hit the huge windowsill, sending me toppling forward.
Five stitches and a day later, the old train station was as silent as a tomb again.