The History of Urbex

Urban exploration, often shortened to “urbex,” is the practice of seeking out and exploring hidden, abandoned, or off-limits places in the built environment. It might mean sneaking into a derelict Victorian manor, wandering through underground tunnels, or climbing to the top of a half-built skyscraper. In recent years urbex has boomed – fuelled by viral Instagram shots and YouTube videos (especially during the quiet streets of COVID-19 lockdowns) – but people’s fascination with forbidden places goes back much further. In fact, the urge to explore decaying castles, tunnels, and ghost towns has deep roots stretching back centuries.

Early Roots

Long before anyone coined the term urban exploration, artists and adventurers were already drawn to crumbling and forgotten sites. During the late 18th and early 19th centuries, the Romantic movement in art and literature embraced the beauty of ruins. Painters like Caspar David Friedrich depicted lonely broken abbeys silhouetted against moody skies, and poets like Percy Bysshe Shelley mused on how nature reclaims man-made monuments. Victorians even had a name for this obsession with decay – “ruin lust,” from the German Ruinenlust, meaning an insatiable desire to visit and photograph ruins​. Across Britain and Europe, genteel society caught ruin fever: touring ivy-covered castle remains, abandoned monasteries, and overgrown estates became a fashionable pastime.

But urbex isn’t only about gazing at ruins from a distance – it’s about venturing inside them. One early adventurer who did exactly that was Philibert Aspairt in 1793. Aspairt was a doorkeeper at Paris’s Val-de-Grâce hospital who legendarily wandered into the Paris Catacombs (some say in search of a hidden brewery stash) and never found his way out. Navigating by torchlight through the pitch-black maze of tunnels lined with millions of human bones, he became lost in the darkness. His disappearance remained a mystery until 1804, when catacomb workers discovered his remains deep underground – identified only by the ring of keys on his belt and the uniform buttons on his coat​. Aspairt’s tragic misadventure became a cautionary tale in Paris, adding to the eerie mystique of the catacombs and inspiring others to explore the “Empire of the Dead” beneath the city.

By the early 1800s, the Catacombs had even begun to receive occasional official visitors (the Count of Artois reportedly toured them in 1787, and later they opened for limited public visits). Yet it was the unofficial explorers – nicknamed “cataphiles” – who truly kept the spirit of urbex alive in Paris. These adventurous souls slipped past “No Entry” signs to hold secret concerts, paint murals, or simply wander for hours in the maze of tunnels under the city. The cataphiles laid groundwork for modern urban exploration, treating the city itself as a playground after dark.

The 19th century also saw urban exploration pop up in literature and engineering feats. In New York, poet Walt Whitman was so intrigued by an abandoned subway passage under Brooklyn’s Atlantic Avenue that he ventured inside and later wrote about it. In an 1861 piece for the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Whitman described the old tunnel as “a passage of Acheron-like solemnity and darkness… the tunnel: dark as the grave, cold, damp, and silent.”​

His vivid account shows that even then, the thrill of exploring a sealed-off train tunnel could fire the imagination. Around the same time, French novelist Jules Verne published Journey to the Centre of the Earth (1864), spinning fantasies about hidden worlds beneath our feet – a hint that the public’s curiosity about subterranean spaces was growing.

In Victorian London, when engineer Joseph Bazalgette built a vast new sewer network in the 1860s, it inadvertently created another canvas for early urban explorers. London’s labyrinth of brick sewers and storm drains sparked curiosity, and stories began to circulate of daring (or perhaps foolhardy) gentlemen wading through foul underground channels by torchlight, just to see where they led. In short, by the late 19th century the idea of sneaking into unseen parts of the city – from crypts to tunnels – had firmly taken hold in the cultural imagination.

Urbex in the 20th Century

Urban exploration truly came into its own in the 20th century, driven by dramatic changes in the urban landscape. The devastation of two world wars left Europe littered with ruins – and for the generation that grew up among the rubble, these shattered buildings became gigantic playgrounds and classrooms. In post–World War II Germany, for example, children nicknamed “Trümmerkinder” (German for “rubble children”) roamed through bombed-out houses and derelict factories, literally making toys out of war debris and mapping the nooks and crannies of ruined cities. These early explorers of necessity helped shape a post-war European urbex mindset: ruined bunkers, abandoned air-raid shelters, and collapsed buildings weren’t just eyesores – they were places of mystery to be discovered and remembered.

By the 1960s, a philosophical edge was added to urban exploration. The Parisian avant-garde group known as the Situationist International, led by thinkers like Guy Debord, encouraged people to drift aimlessly through city streets and alleys as a form of discovery and protest. They coined terms like psychogeography – the study of how places make us feel and behave – and the dérive, meaning an unplanned drift through the urban environment to see what you might find. This idea that one could subvert the expected use of city spaces and find hidden corners resonated strongly with the ethos of urbex. To this day, urban explorers often cite psychogeography as an influence, framing their adventures as not just adrenaline-fuelled trespassing but also a critique of modern life – reclaiming parts of the city that are normally ignored or off-limits. In a sense, exploring a disused railway tunnel or an abandoned office block is a way of saying “the city belongs to us too, not just to authorities or developers.”

Over in America, urban exploration took on a different flavour in the late 20th century. In the 1970s and 80s, New York City was captivated and horrified by tales of the “Mole People” – communities of homeless individuals living in disused subway tunnels and underground shafts. Journalists (and later urban explorers) ventured below streets to document these dark netherworlds. The most famous account is Jennifer Toth’s 1993 book The Mole People: Life in the Tunnels beneath New York City, which chronicled the lives of tunnel dwellers beneath Manhattan. While Toth’s findings were sensational and some details disputed, the idea that entire hidden societies existed under the metropolis fired up the public’s imagination. It also inspired a new wave of explorers to don headlamps and start probing subway systems, drain tunnels, and sewer lines across American cities. By seeking out these “forbidden” zones, they were unwittingly carrying the urbex torch, viewing the modern city much like Victorian ruin-hunters saw old castles – as a landscape of secrets to uncover.

On the other side of the world, a more organised urbex movement was taking shape. In 1986 in Australia, a small group of friends founded the Cave Clan, an urban exploration collective that began by exploring the storm drains under Sydney. What started as a local hobby grew into a global network as the Cave Clan’s exploits spread via word of mouth and fanzines. They mapped vast drain systems, hosted gatherings, and proved that urban exploration could evolve into a true community. By the end of the 20th century, groups like the Cave Clan helped push urbex from a solitary pursuit into a more visible global phenomenon, complete with its own subculture and lore.

Cultural trends in the late 20th century also left their mark on urbex. The gritty cyberpunk aesthetics of the 1980s – think neon-lit alleyways, decaying industrial zones, and dystopian cityscapes in films like Blade Runner – made the allure of abandoned factories and fire escapes even more appealing to adventurous youth. By the 1990s, teenagers with a love of video games and science fiction were exploring abandoned warehouses and decommissioned power plants, armed with cameras to capture the “industrial decay” vibe. This era also saw major real-world disasters turn into pilgrimage sites for urban explorers.

After the Chernobyl nuclear disaster of 1986, the entire city of Pripyat in Ukraine was left frozen in time – an evacuated ghost city slowly being reclaimed by nature. In the 1990s (and especially after the Soviet Union’s collapse), intrepid explorers began covertly venturing into the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, navigating around radiation hotspots to glimpse the crumbling schools, apartment blocks, and the now-infamous Ferris wheel in Pripyat’s abandoned amusement park. What was once a highly restricted area became an ultimate urbex destination for those bold enough to sneak in, and images of Chernobyl’s rusting amusement rides and empty streets became iconic in urbex circles.

By the turn of the millennium, “urban explorer” was an identity that people proudly claimed. The hobby had grown from a fringe pastime into a broad international movement, helped along by zines, meetups, and even a few sympathetic academics and historians who saw value in what the explorers were doing – documenting and appreciating abandoned places before they vanished or changed forever.

Urbex in the Digital Age

If the 1990s hinted at urbex becoming mainstream, the 2000s confirmed it. The rise of the internet transformed urban exploration from a localised activity into a global community virtually overnight. What was once an underground pursuit shared only through whispers, photocopied pamphlets, or tight-knit clubs suddenly had a megaphone in the form of online forums and websites.

One pioneer was a Canadian explorer known as “Ninjalicious” (real name Jeff Chapman). In 1996, he launched Infiltration, a DIY zine dedicated to exploring off-limits places, complete with humorous trip reports and tips for fellow adventurers. He also set up one of the first urbex websites, infiltration.org, to publish stories of sneaking into rooftops, hotel boiler rooms, and storm drains. Ninjalicious’s work gave urbex an accessible, welcoming voice – curious readers around the world stumbled on his site and realised “I’m not the only one who likes this stuff!” In 2005 he compiled his wisdom into a book, Access All Areas: A User’s Guide to Urban Exploration, which became a kind of bible for the community. Around the same time, other forums and message boards sprouted up: explorers exchanged locations, safety advice, and photographs on sites like UER (Urban Exploration Resource) in North America and 28DaysLater in the UK. The internet had thrown open the gates – you no longer needed to “know a guy who knows a guy” to get into urbex; anyone with a web browser could connect with like-minded explorers and find a starting point.

Then came social media, which propelled urbex into the spotlight like never before. Photo-sharing platforms and video sites in the 2010s (Instagram, YouTube, later TikTok) allowed urban explorers to showcase the haunting beauty of abandoned places to millions of people instantaneously. A lone explorer scaling a derelict clock tower could now strap on a GoPro, hit record, and have a global audience on the edge of their seats by evening. Stunning images of moss-covered theatres or sunbeams cutting through dusty church windows went viral, introducing the charm of decay to people who might never set foot in such places themselves. The hashtag #urbex became hugely popular, amassing countless posts of peeling paint and concrete ruins.

This new exposure both grew and challenged the culture of urbex. On one hand, it attracted waves of new enthusiasts – some genuinely passionate about history and photography, others simply chasing an adrenaline rush or social media clout. On the other hand, veteran explorers worried that too much publicity could lead to vandalism, tighter security, or the loss of the very places they loved. Sensitive locations started to be kept secret or referred to with code names (to prevent them from being swarmed or damaged), and debates arose about the ethics of sharing coordinates or disturbing sites for a perfect shot. Despite these tensions, there’s no doubt that the digital age democratised urban exploration. You no longer had to read obscure journals or have an explorer friend – a quick YouTube search could immerse you in the exploration of an abandoned Japanese theme park or a defunct NASA launch site. Urbex had entered the zeitgeist, blending with other trends like photography, adventure travel, and even urban history studies.

Notable Figures

Like any subculture, urban exploration has its legends and influential figures – people who have pushed the boundaries or brought the scene to wider attention. Here are a few notable names that every urbex enthusiast should know:

• Jeff Chapman (aka Ninjalicious) – A Toronto-based explorer who is widely credited with popularising modern urban exploration through his zine Infiltration and the book Access All Areas. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, Ninjalicious’s humorous reports and practical advice inspired thousands of newcomers to safely explore off-limits places. He emphasised respect for locations and a “leave no trace” mentality. “The point is not to cause trouble, but to see places we’re not supposed to see,” he explained. Ninjalicious sadly passed away in 2005, but his legacy lives on in the thriving community he helped foster.
• Dr. Bradley Garrett – An American-born geographer and explorer who took urbex into academia and popular non-fiction. Author of Explore Everything: Place-Hacking the City (2013), Garrett brought intellectual rigour to urbex by examining why we explore and what it says about our relationship with cities. He has climbed skyscrapers in London, ventured into catacombs in Paris, and even gotten arrested for his exploits – all in the name of research and adventure. Garrett’s work legitimised urbex as a form of cultural exploration and got many in the mainstream thinking about cities in a new way.
• Rebecca Litchfield – A British photographer known for her breathtaking images of abandoned places, most famously in the former Soviet Union. Her 2014 book Soviet Ghosts showcases haunting photographs of decaying Eastern Bloc schools, factories, and monuments. Litchfield’s evocative style – with soft light filtering onto cracked portraits of Lenin, or snow piling inside empty grand halls – captured the melancholy beauty of urbex sites. She helped solidify the visual art aspect of urban exploration, proving that these forgotten places can be as artistically compelling as any planned architecture.
• Bob Thissen – A modern vlogger and adventurer from the Netherlands, Bob Thissen has taken urbex to global audiences through video. He’s the creator of the popular YouTube channel Exploring the Unbeaten Path, where he documents his explorations of everything from deserted Cold War bases to tropical island ghost towns. With cinematic footage and honest storytelling, Thissen (and other YouTubers like him) have inspired a new generation of urban explorers around the world. By strapping on a camera and bringing viewers along for the journey, they’ve made the thrill of urbex accessible from the comfort of one’s couch – while still motivating many viewers to get out and have their own safe adventures.
  

Of course, these are just a few individuals among many intrepid souls. Urbex culture has also been shaped by countless local heroes – the folks who run regional forums, organise meet-ups, share tips with beginners, or tirelessly document the ever-changing cityscapes. Whether famous or anonymous, each explorer adds to the rich tapestry of stories and discoveries that define urban exploration.

The Future of Urban Exploration

As we look to the future of urban exploration, one thing is clear: the appeal of forbidden places isn’t going away. If anything, the appetite for urbex is still growing. Abandoned buildings continue to captivate the public – evidenced by popular TV documentaries, photo exhibitions of “modern ruins,” and even video games and VR experiences that simulate exploring decaying environments. Urban explorers will certainly keep seeking out new frontiers, whether that’s infiltrating the latest modern mega-skyscraper, rediscovering forgotten Cold War bunkers, or using drones to scout inaccessible sites from above. Technology may also blur the lines: we might see augmented reality applications that overlay historical imagery as you explore a ruin, or even remote robot explorations of places too dangerous for humans to enter.

However, the future isn’t all smooth sailing. Legal challenges loom large. In many countries, urbex exists in a grey area of the law – typically it’s treated as civil trespass (a minor offence) as long as nothing is damaged or stolen. But there have been growing calls in some places to crack down harder. In the UK, for instance, lawmakers in recent years have debated making intentional trespass a criminal offence rather than a civil matter, due in part to concerns about public safety and private property rights. Such changes, if enacted, could mean harsher penalties for getting caught climbing that fence​. Even without new laws, property owners are increasingly securing sites with alarms and cameras, and police have warned that what might start as harmless exploring could lead to charges like breaking and entering if a lock is pried or a door forced.

Ethically, the community continues to grapple with how to balance sharing and preserving. Most seasoned urbexers abide by the simple rule: “Take nothing but photographs (and memories), leave nothing but footprints.” This means no vandalism, no theft, and often no revealing of exact locations (to prevent vandalism by others). The last thing genuine explorers want is for a beautiful abandoned church to be trashed because too many people flocked there irresponsibly, or for someone to get injured because they went in unprepared.

The future of urbex will likely involve more discussions around safety, respect, and sustainability of exploration. Some explorers are even collaborating with historians or city planners, turning their illicit adventures into valuable documentation that can help preserve heritage. Others have suggested creating legal urbex-style parks or experiences, though purists argue that the illegality and secrecy are part of the magic.

In the end, urban exploration sits at the intersection of curiosity, history, and adventure. From the Romantic poets enchanted by ruins, to the cataphiles roaming under Paris, to the YouTubers scaling cranes for the perfect shot – all share a common spirit of discovery. The settings may change and the stakes may rise, but the core impulse remains the same: to peek behind the curtain of the everyday world and find wonder in the forgotten.

As long as cities keep growing, aging, and renewing, there will be hidden corners waiting to be discovered. Urban explorers, with torch in hand and heart in mouth, will certainly be there to discover them – and to remind the rest of us that even in our thoroughly mapped and security-patrolled world, mystery still lurks just out of sight.