Urban Exploration - The Ségolène House

We received photos from a traveler and compiled them into a historical summary.

Here is a visit to an abandoned house that could almost be described as improvised. A friend asked me: "You’re in that town, do you know about the taxidermist's house?" While I already had a pile of scouting points, navigating between failures and successes, this one was completely unknown to me. The detour was... well, I was eating my lunch only eight hundred meters away. Hallucinating—so close. I headed there immediately.

From the start, I could see that if I wanted to avoid disturbing anyone, I’d have to manage the neighbors' direct line of sight, which was totally dominant. So, I pushed my way through the vegetation. The house is relatively modern, from the 1970s. A square-mouthed shovel was blocking the front door. I picked it up and, sliding it under the door, used it to block the entrance from the inside. I was fueled by a bad premonition; I didn't feel at peace in this place. A squat, most likely.

This was the home of Joseph. Because his surname is so common, finding information about him is about as easy as looking up "John Smith" or "Michael Martin."

He was born in 1931 and passed away in November 2008 at the age of 77. The abandonment of the house likely dates back fifteen years. Due to its discreet location and close neighbors, it has seen relatively limited vandalism. The final calendars on the walls corroborate the date. Various sticky notes bear witness, as one might expect, to the difficulties of old age: contact details for doctors, nurses, labs, and so on.

Joseph was a great hunter, well-regarded by his federation. These are the only personal traces of him that remain. There is little doubt that he had a daughter and a son. He worked at Areva, at a vast atomic energy site. According to documents in the house, it would be logical to assume he spent his entire career there.

Was Joseph in love with Ségolène Royal? Various political posters, dated and from different parties, dot the walls. This man was certainly literate. A very friendly old fellow—that’s the feeling one gets while visiting this house, petrified by abandonment. As I left, I replaced the shovel exactly as I found it, feeling a bit relieved to go, I must admit, without knowing exactly what had triggered that feeling of oppression.

As of now, we have not located his grave. It is a matter of time and will inevitably take a while. However, it is—and will be—indispensable.