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Notes on Urban-URL Speleology


"I felt the weight of the world above me, the packed earth pressing down, demanding my awareness. Moisture dripped from the ceiling, each droplet an audible testament to time's slow passage. The air was heavy, laden with the weight of decades – if not centuries. Taking a deep breath, the taste of metallic coolness danced on my tongue. The narrow passageway led me deeper. I felt my feet connect with the uneven ground, crunching on stray bits of rock and debris. Echoes of my footsteps accompanied me, a reminder of my solitude in this underground world. I felt safe at last.

Ever since the Metaxas era, these bunkers have been part of Athens, though mostly forgotten. Over 400 public shelters alone, scattered like hidden gems. Some mere rooms, others sprawling complexes. I wonder about the lives that once took refuge within their walls - families huddled together, children with wide eyes, whispers of fear and desperation.

Lycabettus Hill is up next on my list, with its tales of sprawling tunnels and the alleged refuge near the St. Isidoroi cave church. I find the thought of that Anti-Aircraft Defense Command Center intriguing. The city's heartbeat, pulsing from beneath the ground while war raged above. I imagine the dim light, the hiss of the radio, the charts spread out, and hushed discussions as the world changed outside. But it's the legends that pull me most, the claims of the vast tunnel system beneath the city. If the rumors are true, then the earth beneath Athens is like Swiss cheese, with pathways stretching out, whispering tales of escapes, hidden lives, and covert operations.

I suddenly come across a German bunker, identifiable by its double-arched entrance. The path opened up into a more expansive chamber, its ceiling held up by thick, weathered columns. The temperature dropped noticeably. My torch revealed remnants of old furniture, decayed wooden crates, and faded paper maps strewn about. My hand brushes against something cold and metallic. It's an old switchboard, its wires frayed, and its surface covered in dust. The connection between the underground and the world above, now silent and obsolete.

A chilly breeze brushed past me, reminding me of the vast network of tunnels yet to be explored. It carried with it the faintest hint of salt, suggesting the proximity of the sea. Or perhaps it was merely a trick of the mind, the air down here playing games with perception.

The ground sloped downward, and I had to be cautious with each step, taking care not to slip on the moisture-laden stones. The torchlight revealed a sudden drop ahead. My heart raced. An ancient well or cistern, perhaps? I peered over the edge, the light barely penetrating the depths below. My journey had barely begun, and already I felt the pull of history, the melding of past and present. Here, deep beneath Athens, every step was an intimate dance with time. Every sight and sensation became a question, a riddle waiting to be unraveled. The deeper I go, the more hollow the earth becomes..."



Underground Houses and Fall-out Shelters

Far from being an object of the past, the American bunker is still well inscribed within the domestic imaginary. Prepping, a well-known trend of the last decade, functions as an ersatz of homely reassurance during times of ecological and social anxiety. Amongst other products of readiness, such as post-apocalyptic protocols and survival gear, the contemporary American bunker stands for perpetual preparation against the narratives of multi-faceted collapse. Any disaster can be memed into existence and rendered ubiquitous: natural catastrophes, pandemics, civil war, nuclear meltdown, alien invasion etc. In the US, companies like Vivos and Rising S profit immensely from burying bunkers on private land. These bunkers can range from 9 to 500 square meters, with entrances designed to resemble utility access panels, and they can be delivered and installed discreetly by simulating the process of sewage or landscaping tasks.

The interiors of these structures often mimic high-end villas or luxury resorts. They can be tailored to one's preferences, adding features like bowling lanes, pools, cinemas, indoor gun ranges, greenhouses, or even spaces for racehorses. Some bunkers are built using the shells of old military structures, like missile launch sites, and can accommodate a larger number of individuals. The cost of these shelters can range from roughly $40,000 to $8 million, depending on their design.[1]

Jay Swayze, an ex-military operative turned builder, introduced in 1980 the idea of underground living in his book, "Underground Gardens and Homes: The Best of Two Worlds – Above and Below." He developed the concept of "Geo-building", arguing that living below ground offers protection from man-made and natural threats. Swayze's book offered a variety of underground home designs, which he thought of as "ships in bottles". These subterranean dwellings integrated controlled environments with artificial lighting and fiber optic cables providing natural sunlight. Despite being underground, the houses mimicked popular surface architectural styles, creating what Swayze dubbed the "Underground Dream-World".[2]

This approach emerged during the Cold War, particularly after the Cuban missile crisis, as a solution to potential nuclear threats. Swayze's first model, named the Atomitat, was the initial underground house in the U.S. that met civic defense criteria. It gained significant attention when showcased at the World’s Fair in 1964, attracting over 1.6 million visitors. Swayze's design was among many underground survival strategies developed during the Cold War era.[3]

Another well-known work of his was the Underground House in Las Vegas, completed in 1978. Its design humorously mirrors the blissful promises of modernist villas. In contrast to contemporary design trends which propagate (often vast) subterranean structures as beacons of minimal architectural footprint and sustainability, the Las Vegas residence disrupts this desire for harmony with even sharper boundaries between interior and exterior. Traditional bonds with landscapes and vistas are substituted with on-demand scenic views, which act as detached symbols for a romanticized and isolated reality. Instead of traditional windows, residents could enjoy painted scenes that change color and illumination based on their preference. These scenes are accompanied by columns disguised as palm trees, fake boulders as doors and props, and a cryogenic machine aimed to preserve the residents beyond their death. Swayze's villas imply a certain twist for the post-war bunker: its structure should remain opaque both from the outside and the inside.

"They simulate a 24-hour, day and night cycle. And they do starlight. They do stars at night. They can make it look like a hurricane's coming, too, with clouds and all sorts of realistic effects. As far as the lighting goes, it makes you feel like you're looking into infinity."

National parks...desert...polar ice caps...sea... “those that scatter”.

During the transitions from World War II to the Cold War, bunkers in the United States evolved from military structures to domestic spaces, changing from "bomb shelters" to "fallout shelters." In this transition, their inherent contradictions became more apparent: space of uncertainty vs. space of comfort, solid and buried in the ground vs. light and atmospheric. Their presence cast a shadow on the future of the modern city, but at the same time their engineering, automations and highly controlled interior were fully aligned with modernity's reliance on technology and environmental control. Beatriz Colomina, when comparing the Atomitat with Philip Johnson's Glass House, delves into the contrasting trends in postwar modernist architecture: the inclination to burrow into the ground versus the aspiration for light-weight transparency.[4]




Fully Automated Luxury Bubble Separatism

In her performative lecture on the aesthetics of isolation, Hito Steyerl coined the term "Bubble Architecture" while discussing Amazon's geodesic domes in Seattle. The so-called "biospheres", were designed as a futuristic workplace completely sealed off to the environment, where employees could interact with over 300 plant species from around the world. According to Steyerl, the architectural gesture of encapsulating a forest within a corporate bubble, isolating it from natural surroundings, can be considered as an inversion of the Anthropocene. The tiny ecosystems contained within the sphere not only provide humans with a heightened sense of control in the face of ecological unpredictability but also symbolize self-sufficiency and autonomy for those considering the bubble in more extreme settings, like space colonization.[5]
The geodesic dome, which was Buckminster Fuller's architectural hallmark, had already gained significant traction during the 1960s and 1970s. Its design was considered efficient and stable, as the geodesic structure could potentially cover vast spaces without the need for internal supports. Its construction was also resource-efficient, with the capacity of leading to a reduction in building materials and energy consumption. Fuller's works, such as the Dymaxion map and the geodesic dome, were featured in the "Whole Earth Catalog", an important publication during the countercultural and environmental movements of the time.

While not addressing the countercultural movement exclusively, Fuller's ideas about sustainability, global cooperation, and innovative design found a receptive audience and were adapted to the DIY ethos and self-reliance themes promoted in the catalog. In their science fiction literature, hippies imagined a future "ecotopia" in California, characterized by a lack of cars, sustainable industry, egalitarian sexual relationships, and communal living. While some of them thought that embracing nature and rejecting scientific advancements was the way forward, others were dedicated to the idea of using technology and design to improve human life and harmonize with the planet.[6]

At the same time, the Earthrise photographs from Apollo 8 in 1968 provided a breathtaking portrayal of Earth. These images not only captured Earth's beauty but also its vulnerabilities, possibly triggering widespread societal concern. This holistic capture of the planet brought to the forefront the concept of "spaceship earth", Fuller's metaphor and personal idealization of the interconnectedness and interdependency of all life. The intrigue went beyond space exploration; it echoed a deeper architectural evolution around human habitats. This evolution saw humans not just as occupants but as vital elements of the ecosystem, integrating even their biological processes into the larger matrix. Nature, once synonymous with the untamed wild, began to be deciphered in labs, and later it was encapsulated in urban envelopes. This horizontal flipping of the natural environment from its original locus into the sphere of human interiority was a process of totalization, with which the world could be at once conceptualized and integrated into familiar ways of living.

By juxtaposing the contrasts of shelter against external environment and the spaceship in relation to the globe, Fuller's domes presented an alternative to the fortified, domestic bunker: an all-encompassing, light-weight bubble. But despite its transparency, it embodied isolation. It went beyond merely establishing physical boundaries to represent a profound existential disengagement from urban and societal spheres. Essentially, it's like an island unto itself, evolving based on its innate capacities. All alterations emerge internally, reshaping its core fabric alone.[7]

Closed systems, based on repetitive cycles, develop in complex ways. For instance, a bunker's primary function hinges on its ability to meticulously control the influx of materials, particularly air, the carrier of various contaminants and threats. Conversely, the dome necessitates efficient management of its outflow, notably waste and other by-products from its specific environment. Real challenges arise at the initiation and conclusion of these systems' feedback loops when unforeseen surpluses disrupt the equilibrium. The architecture of close systems mirrors the body's immune responses, shaping the immediate environment around the latter according to a spatial logic of disgust.

"Walking on, I stumbled upon strange structures embedded in the walls. They were circular and metallic, rusted over from time's relentless grip. Were these air vents? As I approached, I heard a sound from within, reminiscent of a tornado warning siren. I remembered someone saying, "A lot of these trumpet-like sounds people are hearing in the sky are actually powerful shock waves from the Sun. The noise comes from the Sun's energy interacting with our Earth's upper atmosphere".

Architectural bubbles amplified the dynamic space around a person, positioning them at the universe's core while reshaping the surrounding environment to match the domestic enclosure. What followed was a typological mutation of these close-systems, resulting in diverse forms like bunkers, villas, domes, spacecraft, biospheres, and home-offices. Fastforward to the bubble evolution: the Fuller dome in Montreal ignited in 1976, the Whole Earth Catalog emerged as a foundational ideology for Silicon Valley, the Biosphere's second experimental phase lasted only seven months in 1994, and Google Earth was introduced in 2001.




Anti-memeing the infinite bunker

The subsequent expansion of the internet was also indicative of our inherent drive to carve out personalized spaces, much like the architectural bubbles, thereby engendering a digital version of spatial self-centricity. However, our grasp of the overall terrain, not just limited to social media but the vast expanse of the web, remains nebulous. A wide-angle view of these complex spaces is only possible for high-end organizations that can hover over, capture, and dissect massive amounts of data For many, the digital realm can only be understood by experiencing it firsthand, by maneuvering through algorithm-driven niches or dwelling on areas which feel more familiar. This immersed perspective stands apart from holistic models of net growth; it can be experienced in a well curated, online, commercial space, or in an uncensored local telegram group. The Internet constantly seeks to define its own territory, even if its spatial representations don't always come to fruition.

The digital segment we refer to as the Clearnet, which includes publicly indexed websites, major social platforms, and primary search engines, is closely tied to algorithmic management. It also carries its own notions of social structure and informational dissemination.[8] Clearnet design often evokes images of weightlessness, fluidity, and ease of access, reminiscent of solarpunk narratives and the early 2010s Frutiger Aero designs. Crucially, the research into the fluid dynamics of information that subsequently emerged, provided insights into our digital predicament. We could then draw the unseen structures that form around a user. It was also vital to recognize the underlying infrastructure and resources that power the network, in order to counteract the fantasy of digital intangibility.

"When I reached the upper level, my eyes widened in awe. Before me lay not the expected rusted remnants of war machinery but a vast and rolling green hill. The verdant expanse seemed too perfect, too untouched. As if in a trance, I stepped onto the hill, my boots sinking slightly into the earth beneath. The grass, cool and plush, beckoned me to touch it. Running my fingers through its length, I marveled at its realness."

During this era, many conceptual frameworks highlighted the inertia of the internet. A popular illustration of this is the "echo chamber", often depicted as a harmful nucleus that fosters mistrust and traps individuals in cycles of redundant information, potentially paving the way for extreme polarization and radicalization. This closed system of information is also seen as an unavoidable side effect of algorithmic governance, curated bubbles for us to inhabit, at least temporarily. But these collective spaces were always there; they absorb and mitigate external challenges into a shared ideological frame in an effort to neutralize the anxiety of an unfathomably open world. We should not confuse, therefore, the social and psychological effects of openness and closure of a structure with the structure itself.

Another meme that resurfaced around that time was Plato's Allegory of the Cave. Through its multiple iterations, it became synonymous with residing in a permanent digital enclosure. It also signaled a perceived failure on the part of the user to ascend beyond their own particularity, despite the vastness of the network. Unable (again) to access any substantial truth about the external world, the user fixated on their internal environment, be it an online guild, a politigram group or their IRL bedroom. They became restless interior designers, crafting their spaces to act out their private or collective fantasies. These cavelike domains evoke feelings of both digital stagnation and safety. They offer closeness and protection, but when likened to home-offices popularized during the COVID era, they also hint at restriction and seclusion. Artificial cavities can be seen as interconnected vessels, their design characterized by seemingly contradictory traits - they're both secure and porous, alternating between being the vessel and its content, and they possess characteristics of both interior and exterior barriers.

Moving towards new internet models offers many individuals the opportunity to escape areas dominated by data extraction by taking control of their own digital enclaves. This requires multiple layers of filtering before accessing the enclave to protect its core, much like an information bunker. Platforms like 8kun and BitChute, and their forerunners, successfully circumvented restrictive algorithms by bolstering defenses around users with anticanonical beliefs and a propensity for shared delusions. Within these digital pockets, QAnon, which had been brewing for years, portrayed the world with a grossly exaggerated cosmic blueprint. Among various beliefs, they envisioned the underground as a dark, yet mesmerizing space where elites kidnap children for satanic rituals. Occasionally, valiant military operations rescue them, supposedly resulting in significant seismic disturbances in the earth's crust.

"Whispers circulated about a hidden underground realm beneath the city for centuries. One day, a seemingly inconspicuous fire tower revealed itself as the entrance. To access it, I had to first navigate the guarded military base and then penetrate an even more fortified inner base. As I descended, the vastness of the underground world unfolded before me. A sprawling network of tunnels and chambers stretched endlessly, dwarfing the world above. The sheer scale of this concealed realm was both astonishing and overwhelming."

D.U.M.B.S, also known as deep underground military bases, are thought to be vast bunkers or possibly vast chains of interconnected bunkers deep below the ground, predominantly existing as objects of conspiratorial thinking and net speculation.[9] They're usually presented with architectural layouts of existing bunkers, sublime images of tunnel drilling and other subterranean creepypasta. These bases are often intricately detailed and mapped out, particularly in the US, with some likening their collective networks to patterns of stellar constellations. Massive tunnels are said to traverse below the continent, connecting the bases and hiding even more clandestine facilities within. D.U.M.B.S resemble the murky psychological spaces we encounter online, fluctuating between surface and depth. They embody an alternative metaphor for the internet that is already at hand, by foregrounding the question of dwelling, or the synthetic interiors that momentarily immobilize the user. They also bring back the idea of the network in a considerably more comprehensible, albeit ridiculous, image. Regardless, the internet has always been more akin to the subterranean layers of the earth than to the atmosphere or the ocean. It is from this vantage point that the cavernous digital sprawl ungrounds us.

Both conspiracy followers and internet engineers often fail to acknowledge the accidental and emergent properties of the network. Nothing guarantees continuity and reciprocity, a complete world, or even an inner experience. Any action can lead to something entirely unrelated, barely connected to its initial trigger or source. Learning to steer psychogeographically in this cavernous world requires us to be vigilant to the contingent sequence of its interiors. The double exploration of urban/URL speleology aims at exhuming surfaces and traversing the conundrums of the web without leaning on the grandeur of engineering or on hectic world-building. Through this lens, a few questions arise. What do we view as the solid bodies that the porous nature of the internet perforates? What kinds of unholy alliances emerge, forging new ways of living and governance? What are, moreover, the implications for the cities and the domestic units of the future?



1. Lowrey, A. (2020, September 15). The Bunker Magnates Hate to Say They Told You So. The Atlantic. https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2020/09/rising-s-vivos-and-the-booming- bunker-economy/616240/
2. Swayze, J. (1980). Underground Gardens and Homes: The Best of Two Worlds Above and Below. Geobuilding Systems.
3. Boyd, G., & Linehan, D. (2018). Becoming Atomic: The Bunker, Modernity and the City. Architectural Research Quarterly, 22(3), 241-255. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1359135518000581
4. Colomina, B. (2007). Domesticity at War. MIT Press.↩︎
5. Hito Steyerl: Bubble Vision. (2018). [YouTube Video]. In YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch? v=T1Qhy0_PCjs
6. Barbrook, R., & Cameron, A. (1996). The Californian Ideology. Science As Culture, 6(1), 44-72. https://doi.org/10.1080/09505439609526455
7. Kallipoliti, L. (2018). The architecture of closed worlds. Or, what is the power of shit? Lars Müller Verlag.↩︎
8. Caroline Busta | Clearnet vs. Dark Forest: Notes on the New Psychogeography of Art. (n.d.) Retrieved October 3, 2023, from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1iZiu9tZ290&t=420s
9. Deep Underground Military Base - Wikispooks. (n.d.). Www.wikispooks.com. Retrieved October 3, 2023, from https://www.wikispooks.com/wiki/Deep_Underground_Military_Base

Descent to Lycabettus Hill

An Interactive Story Game

Journey through bunkers and intricate networks hidden beneath the earth's crust and find what's lying in the Athenian underbelly.

Navigate with the arrow or the WASD keys and search for the external links.

The depths await.

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Phones and Tablets are not supported
Architecture Thesis Project by Chris Reizis
University of Patras
Web Design: Esto Association
Sound: dr comet