Hidden Madrid: The ghost station

One evening in November 2012, I was on the metro heading home after work. As the train whizzed between Iglesia and Bilbao, for a brief moment the blackness of the tunnel gave way to dim light and I glimpsed the familiar logo of Metro de Madrid. And then it was gone. I glanced at the other passengers, but no-one so much as looked up. Perhaps I had imagined it? It turns out that I hadn't. Instead, I had just discovered Estación de Chamberí, Madrid's very own ghost station.

Opened in October 1919, Estación de Chamberí was one of the eight stations that made up Madrid's first-ever metro line, the other seven being Cuatro Caminos, Ríos Rosas, Martínez Campos (now called Iglesia), Glorieta de Bilbao (now just Bilbao), Hospicio (now Tribunal), Red de San Luis (now Gran Vía) and Puerta del Sol. The stations were designed by Galician architect Antonio Palacios Ramilo (1872-1945), who was also responsible for the wedding cake-like Palacio de Comunicaciones (Cibeles Palace, now Madrid's City Hall).

In the early 1960s, La Compañía Metropolitana de Madrid decided to increase the number of carriages on the trains, which meant lengthening the stations from 60 m (197 ft) to 90 m (295 ft). Chamberí's proximity to Iglesia made this an impossibility and so in May 1966, after almost 47 years of service, Chamberí was closed forever.

In 2008, the station was given as a new lease of life when it was turned into a museum (Plaza Chamberí, s/n; Metro: Iglesia, L1; Bilbao, L1/L4; Alonso Martínez, L4/L5/L10). The museum is open to the public every Friday 11:00-13:00 and 17:00-19:00, and every weekend 10:00-14:00. Entry is free.


The surprisingly bright entrance, designed to persuade city folk to use this new form of transport

While the southbound platform is not accessible, the stairs leading to it are. And the old painted signage is definitely worth a look. I particularly liked the way it had been designed to fit with the stairwell.

One of the original signage boards

Signage pointing to the (now inaccessible) southbound platform

Entry to museum gives you full access to the northbound platform. Walking along the near-empty hallways really brings home the fact that you're in a ghost station – something frequent users of the current Metro de Madrid will appreciate.

The painted route map for the northbound platform



The logo was inspired by that of London Underground, but it uses a diamond instead of a circle

Long, deserted passageway



Signage pointing to the northbound platform

Stepping onto the platform was a surreal experience. Bar a handful of tourists, the place was empty. But every few minutes, the Line 1 metros rushed and rattled by on their way to Iglesia or Bilbao. I briefly wondered how many of the passengers would look up from their books or phones in time to catch a glimpse of the station that no longer is.

For safety reasons, the platform is separated from the tracks by a barrier made of toughened glass. This glass, with metal supports at right angles, doubles up nicely as a camera steady. Indeed, were it not for this barrier, ALL of my photos would be completely out-of-focus as you are not allowed to use flash.

The logo has changed very little since 1919



Hand-painted advertising, this one for Philips lightbulbs, apparently 'la mejor del mundo' (the best in the world!)

The rather appealing old route map

An old advertisement hand-painted onto tile

Unlike today's stations where you can access or leave the platform by the same stairs, at Chamberí you entered via one set of stairs and left by another. Huge painted signs saying 'prohibido el paso' (passage prohibited) and directional arrows alerted you to the fact.


Station name near the entrance to the northbound platform

The sign at the foot of the exit stairwell

Most visitors to the platform take their photos (and ruin a few of yours), watch a train or two go past, and then leave. So it wasn't long before I had the station to myself. And with the iPhone-toting rabble gone, I was fully transported to a different era... On the opposite platform old adverts were projected onto large screens, while 1920s music drifted across the tracks. If there had been a bench, I'd have happily sat there revelling in the moment.

All too soon my reverie was broken by the arrival of a rather large tour group. Since entry to the museum is limited to around 80 people, I thought it was only fair that I leave and give someone else a chance to experience metro life in the 1920s. So I walked up the (correct) stairs and back into the entrance hall, pausing to photograph the exit gates with built-in bins for used tickets.

The exit gates with bins for used tickets

Since learning about the existence of the ghost station, I have actually come across a couple of blog posts about it. But seeing photos online is entirely different from actually being there. I would definitely recommend visiting in person. I, for one, shall be going back, but first I need to invest in a tripod.