--- title: The Forgotten Worlds of Eastern Europe. description: "*Note to editors: would be ideal to separate the sections by flashcards with an image of each site*\n\nThe year is 1985.\n\nThe 40-year anniversary of the fall of Nazi Germany and the resulting end of World War II has come and gone. But the toppling of the Nazis enabled the emergence of a totalitarian system of government which swept across much of Eastern Europe and which, in some places, is also celebrating its bicentenary. And the Soviet-dominated system which underpinned it seems healthy, more than capable of lasting another 50 more.\n\nBut all is not well. In fact, the cracks which will lead to the system's downfall have already emerged. In Soviet Russia, Mikhail Gorbachev has assumed the role of First Secretary, and his policies of Glasnost and Perestroika will — in the years to come — see the unravelling of the airtight system which dominated the Eastern Bloc for decades. In Poland, the underground Solidarnosc movement has taken shape, which will play a role in round table talks in early 1989. In other countries, talk of transition to democracy is beginning to occur more openly. The Eastern Bloc is ripe for change, and that change will see the entire system collapse in only a matter of years.\n\nFast forward to 2025, and that change has taken place 35 years earlier.\n\nBut some of the places affected — which thrived in the 1980s — have not advanced in the time since. Some, which saw their heyday at the height of the communist era, remain just as they did when it faltered.\n\nAnd some had decayed in the three decades since — a relic of a time long gone by.\n\nLet's take a look.\n\n## Akarmara, Georgia\n\nAkarmara is a town located on the southern fringe of the Caucasus mountains, and a district connected to the ailing city of Tkvarcheli. Internationally recognised as lying within the sovereign territory of Georgia, the region its constituent towns are under the de facto control of the Russian-backed separatist republic of Abkhazia.\n\nIn 1989, Tkvarcheli was a thriving industrial city. At 22,000 residents, it was one of the principal towns within the Abkhaz ASSR — and this, in itself, still represented a decrease in the number of residents in its absolute heyday in the 1970s — at around 25,000. Like the system which birthed it, the city seemed in good health. But soon, all would unravel.\n\nPart of the reason for this was economic. Akarmara began as a village close to Tkvarcheli, which was established on the cusp of World War II to house coal miners in the mountainous district of what was then Soviet Georgia. The population of municipality rose and rose in the coming decades, but coal mining was an industry which would become obsolete around the world towards the end of the century, as other natural resources took over. And when coal mining went out the window, Akarmara's prospects largely went with it.\n\nBefore this, the district was nothing short of sparkling. Unlike the socialist-built settlements dotted all over the Caucasus and the wider Eastern Bloc, Akarmara's houses featured an obvious resemblance to Western European architectural styles. As coal money flowed in, life in the town was really quite opulent. Set against the backdrop of the Caucasus mountains, Akarmara — complete with its ornate buildings — became a home for Soviet elites, and a highly-desired place to live.\n\nBut before even the worst of the coal decline took effect, history and politics took their own heavy toll. In 1991 the Soviet Union collapsed, and within months, the Abkhaz War began. What followed was a year of intense fighting between the fledgling Georgian state and Abkhaz separatists, buttressed by Moscow and by Armenian and Chechen paramilitary groups. In the course of the war, the district's only connecting road was cut off by a Georgian Army siege — one which lasted 413 and saw the town shrivel into destitution and ruins.\n\nUltimately, the war was won by the separatists and their backers. In 1993, the siege was lifted and Abkhazia became a pseudo-independent republic — albeit an economically-isolated one, deeply reliant on Moscow. But Tkvarcheli had been nearly flattened, and Akarmara was in ruins. Its once-great population had dwindled to a quarter of its former size, with many of the remaining residents living in the depleted shells of their once-prized structures, and in what was now a severely economically-depressed region in a just-as-poor semi-state. Much later, the Tkvarcheli municipality was issued Hero City status by the Abkhaz government — but this probably came as little comfort to Akarmara's few inhabitants, their houses still in forlorn condition — melting into the mountainside without any industry to stay the decline.\n\nAs the years passed, Akarmara sat frozen in time, and the population dwindled even further. Attempts were made to rekindle its former coal mining glory — but aside even from the faltering global demand for the resource, Abkhazia was crippled by an economic blockade from Georgia. This left its coal with little direction to flow towards except Russia — a country, despite major economic woes of its own, which didn't really need natural resource imports and especially not coal. Some attempts were made to introduce a startup tourism industry — especially by redeveloping local mountain spa retreats which had once been common in Abkhazia and other parts of Georgia. But the best the town got was a handful of urban explorers and adventure tourists, keen to document the crumbling buildings and abandoned Soviet-era vehicles being eaten up by foliage. Their wandering camera lenses soon became an irritation to the few remaining locals, whose homes the visitors would try to enter without realising that these structures were still being lived in.\n\nSo Akarmara continued to decay. According to the BBC, the number of residents remaining in its once-grand streets by 2018 had dwindled to around 35, or less one percent of its population in 1989.\n\nThe town's grand villas, public houses, santoria, and schools continue to sit derelict or in ruins, yearning for a time now long-past — and which will likely never be again.\n\n## The Buzludzha Monument, Bulgaria\n\nIn 1981, Bulgaria was entering what was then a significant year for the state.\n\nOne hundred years before, in 1891, a group of socialists led by Dimitar Blagoev founded an underground socialist movement on Buzludzha hill in central Bulgaria, which became the Bulgarian Social Democratic Party, and ultimately the Bulgarian Communist Party. The BCP took control of the country in 1946 — unusually, by way of a referendum, which saw the existing monarchy dissolved.\n\nSo in 1981, long term communist leader Todor Zhivkov announced the construction of the Buzludzha Monument, a hilltop structure built in a unique futurist architectural style upon the hill which had borne the Bulgarian socialist movement. The structure would feature 924 square meters of ornate mosaics — many of them dedicated to Marx and Lenin — as well as stone-carved party slogans, a giant illuminated red star, and a series of other communist-themed features. The project bore an enormous cost — 14 million Bulgarian Lev or around 35 million dollars today — but few would have been unwise enough to contest the eye watering expense at the time.\n\nWhen the monument was unveiled in August, Zhivkov crowed:\n\n> I am honoured to be in the historical position to open the House-Monument of the Bulgarian Communist Party (...) Let generation after generation of socialist and communist Bulgaria come here, to bow down before the feats and the deeds of those who came before (...) Glory to Blagoev and his followers; those first disciples of Bulgarian socialism, who sowed the immortal seeds of today's Bulgarian Communist Party in the public soul!\n\nBut Buzludzha could not have been built at a worse time or in a worse location.\n\nWithin 10 years, while final maintenance of the monument was still evolving, the communist system crumbled and the BCP faded from power. It was replaced by the emergent Bulgarian Socialist Party, whose share of parliament votes plummeted from a high of 43% in 1994 to little over 7% in 2024. The independent Bulgaria wanted little to do with its recent past — a past visibly encapsulated by the saucer-shaped vanity project sitting in plain view on top of Buzludzha hill. Funds for the preservation of the site quickly vanished, and the monument began to fall apart as the years progressed.\n\nWhile the momeument's location on a picturesque but inhospitable peak may have been significant in national historiography, it also made Buzludzha completely useless for any kind of regular use. The monument sits no less than 200 kilometres east of Sofia: then (as now) the capital and seat of the government of Bulgaria. This meant that despite its vast HOW LARGE interior, the site could serve little purpose other than as a tribute to a system no longer fondly-remembered, and it would — in practice — be out of reach entirely in the harsh months of the winter, to boot. But the location also meant that it was vulnerable to two types of attack — which, combined, would hasten its rather inglorious downfall.\n\nThe first was the aforementioned harsh weather. The same wintery conditions which made the site inaccessible also cyclically battered the concrete structure. Without any surrounding foliage to sheath it, the Buzluzdha monument felt the full force of winter winds, snowfall, rains, sleet, and frost. The structure quickly suffered discolouration and dilapidation, something which may have been only somewhat offset if there was a keen popular demand to preserve the monument (which there wasn't).\n\nThe second element, then, was by now pretty obvious but perhaps far less foreseeable for Todor Zhivkov and his cronies back in 1981. Although the Monument has gained some renown internationally for its unique features, this could not save Buzludzha from the revulsion felt by many Bulgarians for it. The Monument became the target of ransackers, looters, and vandals, with the distaste for the structure visible — not least — in the wide variety of graffiti which adorns both the exterior and the great hall within. The status of the monument is perhaps best encapsulated by dramatic red paint reading \"Forget Your Past\", splashed imposingly across the site's main entrance.\n\nToday, the Buzludzha Monument remains intact and visited, but highly vilified amid calls for its destruction or replacement.\n\n## Irbene, Latvia\n\nAll the way on the northwestern fringe of the Soviet Union's boundaries, sitting bronzing in the summer sun, is the ghost town of Irbene, Latvia.\n\nIrbene, like many other Soviet settlements, was a planned city built for military staff and their families. Just like other famous such sites like Siberia's Magnitogorsk and Kazakhstan's Semipalatinsk, it was a closed city — meaning that its function and location were strictly kept hidden from the public and Irbene did not appear on any local maps of the area. However, it did exist — and was at one time thriving. Built at the height of communism in 1971, it was home to a secret Soviet military radar center, and once had a population of some 3,000 residents. It boasted a kindergarten, a sports centre, a military officers' club, and a general store. Like Magnitogorsk and Chernobyl's Pripyat, it was well-stocked with provisions and amusements, which took its residents far beyond the common living standards of the time.\n\nNow, unlike some of the other places covered, Irbene did not collapse immediately following the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Although Latvia gained independence — like many other constituent republics — in 1991, Russian military staffers did not leave Irbene until 1993. It is suspected that the reason for this was that the Latvian Academy of Science wanted to move quickly to inherit the base's telescopes for their own use. Moscow dared not leave until assurances were made from Riga that the leftover infrastructure would not be used as spyware for later use against Russia. Once these assurances were made, the Russian army moved out — and the town promptly fell apart. But in all likelihood, Russia wasn't buying any assurances made by its neighbour and instead used the time before leaving to pack up or destroy what remaining surveillance equipment remained — including its RT-32, RT-16, and RT-08 super-telescopes.\n\nThe settlement was now of little use to the Latvian government, and like many post-Soviet states, it had its hands full with steadying its economy and confronting the long-accumulated economic rot which risked setting in, in more populated areas elsewhere.\n\nSo instead, looters and salvagers moved in on Irbene, and removed anything that could be used for repurposing or retail elsewhere. The buildings were stripped of metal, of pipes, of utilities, any remaining tools or hardware. The plundered buildings became little more than shells, and nature moved back in to claim what it had lost.\n\n## Pyramiden, Russia (Kind Of)\n\nEastern Europe? Well — culturally, perhaps.\n\nBut the abandoned Soviet coal mining settlement of Pyramiden is definitely not geographically within Eastern Europe. It is instead located deep within the Arctic Circle on the archipelago of Svalbard — where it has long shared the vast open space with settlements belonging to the Kingdom of Norway. The reason this was even possible is due to a unique arrangement dating all the way back to 1920, with the signing of the so-called Svalbard Treaty.\n\nIn effect, the Treaty attributed sovereignty over Norway to Svalbard, but allowed for other state signatories (of which there were an initial 14, later expanded to 48) to engage in commercial activities there if they wished to do so. Never one to miss out, the Soviet Union became the only signatory aside from Norway to exercise this right, and Pyramiden rose in 1927, when a small existing mining settlement was purchased by Moscow from Sweden.\n\nPyramiden saw its heyday in the 1950s, when around 2,500 people called the settlement home. It was never — by a stretch — any kind of megapolis, but the community in the 1950s was at that time larger even than the largest Norwegian settlement of Longyearbyen. Pyramiden managed to sustain a community for more than seventy years during the Soviet era, and even for 17 years before that — with the initial site having been founded by Sweden in 1910. Its amenities included a cultural centre and theater, as well as a library, art and music studios. It also had a sports complex with indoor gym and basketball court, and a food hall open 24 hours a day.\n\nPerhaps unlike the other sites in this list, it is hard to link the decline of Pyramiden directly to the USSR's graceless collapse in 1991. In reality, the population had been declining long before this — and the settlement even stubbornly limped on for seven more years after the end of the Soviet period before finally closing its doors in 1998.\n\nPyramiden was not the only Soviet settlement on Svalbard — in fact, its twin community of Barentsburg lingers on to this day. But given the unusual geography of the archipelago, Pyramiden lay somewhat isolated from Barentsburg, and much closer to Longyearbyen — which sits around 50 kilometres to Pyramiden's south. Although the Svalbard Treaty enforced limited military neutrality on the archipelago, relations between the neighbouring communities must have been about as warm as the brisk surrounding climate. Norway was a founding member of NATO — and there is little chance that the isolated settlements would have lived in the picture of neighbourliness despite the neutralising context of their Arctic surroundings. Moreover, living in Pyramiden — unlike the lush Akarmara and the opulence of Irbene — cannot have been much fun at the best of times. With an average summer temperature of around 5 degrees celsius, and a winter temperature plunging to around −12 degrees daily, the mining town coated in permafrost, subject to the continued hazard of roaming polar bears, would have done little to attract settlers (at least, of their own volition).\n\nSo when the coal industry began to decline, the locals would have been only too glad to abandon ship too.\n\nToday, Pyramiden sits frozen and derelict, its silence punctuated only by adventure tours from Longyearbyen, from where visitors enthusiastically take in the spectacle of the abandoned residences, mining infrastructure, the rotting social hubs and the bust of Lenin which sits solemnly on the town square.\n\n## Skrunda-1, Latvia\n\nNow, before proceeding, it stands worthy of mention that there are hundreds — if not thousands — of towns and cities across the former Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc which saw their best days before 1991, and have withered in the four decades since. Some that were established for special purposes in the hostile reaches of the Russian Far East and Central Asia have depopulated entirely — and others (even once-major urban areas) now cling on for dear life. Examples include the Siberian city of Vorkuta, adjacent to the notorious former Vorkuta Gulag in the far north of Russia's Komi Republic. Vorkuta's population may have declined by up to 70% in recent years but people do still live there — if not in anything close to the socioeconomic comfort which once made residency there once bearable, or perhaps even desirable.\n\nSuch is not the case with Skrunda-1, which has been abandoned entirely. Here, we journey back to Latvia — and to the former site of two Soviet radar stations which were home to a surveillance system known as Dnepr — but was more commonly known to the West by the NATO codename \"Hen House\".\n\nLike nearby Irbene, Skrunda-1 was one of the USSR's many secret settlements, built for military expediency at the height of the Cold War. The settlement was established in 1963 — in the wake of the Cuban Missile Crisis — and housed the Soviet Union's 129th Radio-Technical Unit, which monitored missile threats from the West. Skrunda-1 became one of the key surveillance sites for Moscow, but was characteristically classified — being, like Irbene, omitted from maps and surrounding road signs, and sitting neatly tucked away from any prying eyes.\n\nBut also like Irbene, life in Skrunda must have been rather comfortable. At around 5,000 residents, the settlement featured ten apartment blocks, a school, a gym, grocery stores, an officer's club, administrative offices, several canteens, a theatre, and a nightclub. Moreover, Skrunda-1 wasn't really a great unknown. Aside from the Latvian locals who would have suspected what was going on in this curious locality, Western populations quickly became perplexed as to the constant jamming of their television signals — which intelligence agencies soon traced back to a big old question mark located on a map of western Latvia.\n\nBy the time the Soviet Union fell, the suspected function of Skrunda-1 was more or less common knowledge. Russia quickly admitted the function of the town, and its residents shipped out as the system around them crumbled. By that time, the once-touted Dnepr radar systems had become obsolete, and were being phased out by more advanced radar surveillance systems in the East and West alike. The Latvian government later took great joy in blowing up what hardware remained to smithereens. With no further use for the site, and with the Latvian government and local nationalists on their back, remaining Russian forces pulled out entirely in 1998.\n\nSkrunda-1 lay derelict for years thereafter — too expensive to rebuild, and simultaneously too expensive to fully demolish. Like so many others, its buildings now sit rotting: uninhabited, and with its Soviet murals and mosaics fading into neglect with the passage of time.\n\nOver the years, once scavengers had plundered the site and salvaged what they could, Latvia attempted to auction Skrunda-1 to any willing buyers. It was sold off for around 2 million euros in 2010 — to none other than a Russian agricultural firm. But when the winning bidder failed to actually deliver on payments, the site was offered to the second and third-placed bidders: both of whom politely refused to take up the now-forested ghost town.\n\nThe site ended up reluctantly back in the hands of the Latvian government — which finally repurposed it in the late 2010s for military pursuits of their own. Today, most of the site is part of Military Training Area Mežaine, used by both units of the Latvian National Armed Forces and — perhaps ironically — by detachments of NATO troops.\n\n## Tskaltubo, Georgia\n\nLastly, we journey back to western Georgia and to the Imereti province basin — wherein sits the once-great spas and sanatoria of the Soviet resort of Tskaltubo.\n\nNow, in the context of today's video on forgotten worlds, Tskaltubo is a bit of an anomaly. Sitting around 11 kilometres northwest of Georgia's second city of Kutaisi, the site is hardly forgotten — becoming not only a popular destination for urban explorers but also living keenly in the memory of locals who remember its grandeur during the Soviet Era, and the troubles which immediately succeeded it. It is also not abandoned, although as photos will reveal, its facilities have — most certainly — seen better days.\n\nDuring communism, Soviet citizens were afforded at least two weeks' holiday per year — which many would use to travel on state-sponsored trips to picturesque resorts on the fringes of the Black Sea. Those who were in a position to do so went to Tskaltubo, which rose as a spa town favoured by elites — including none other than the Vozhd, Joseph Stalin himself.\n\nIn 1931, a decree by the government of the Georgian SSR designated Tskaltubo as a spa resort and center of balneology — or the practice of treating diseases through bathing in hot springs and thermal baths. The natural springs around Tskaltubo had long been heralded in Georgia as the \"Waters of Immortality\", lauded for their healing properties as early as in records from the 9th century. Over time, the Soviet state built no less than 22 glamorous sanatoria — and at its peak, Tskaltubo welcomed around 125,000 visitors per year, from Soviet citizens to foreign dignitaries alike. The single largest thermal bath — Spring Number 6 — was built in 1960 reportedly for the private use of Stalin, and private dachas belonging to Stalin and his sadistic sideact Lavrenti Beria were built and continue to stand at Tskaltubo to this day.\n\nBut then came the end of communism, and the aforementioned horror of the Abkhaz War. Tskaltubo would bear a brunt arguably far greater even than that of Akarmara, today located on the opposite side of a Russian-established boundary.\n\nDuring the course of the conflict, thousands of ethnic Georgians poured out of Abkhazia into the hinterland. Many of these arrived to a destitute country which struggled to accommodate its new arrivals. And so hundreds of families ended up in Tskaltubo — now no longer a prized retreat but an emergency shelter for the uprooted refugees from Abkhazia. The resort's hotels and sanatoria served as living quarters for the refugees in the following decades — and as the BBC noted, it wasn't 2010 that the government was even in a position to begin rehousing the arrivals elsewhere. As such, some youngsters spent practically their entire childhoods in the confines of the resort, by now a shadow of its former self — with ivy, tree trunks, and wandering wild animals being the only occupants of some parts of its once-hallowed complex.\n\nThe demise of Tskaltubo was one of the most prominent casualties of the postcommunist transition to democracy, and its faded temple-like bathhouses stand as perhaps the single-greatest testament to the system collapse across the entire post-Soviet space.\n\nBut on an optimistic note, life may yet be returning to Tskaltubo.\n\nRecent years have seen the resort buck the trend of practically all other locations described herein: as the Georgian government has begun to make strides to return the site to its former glory.\n\nThe Legends Spa Resort, located in one of Tskaltubo's original sanatoriums, reopened in 2011. Some of the bathhouses and indoor or outdoor springs have since also been revived — including Spring 6 — once an exclusive preserve for Stalin. In 2012, then-President Mikheil Saakashvili vowed to turn Tskaltubo into the \"best place in Europe\" within four years. The regeneration has since received grants from the World Bank and various forms of private investment. A four-star hotel and the site's theater and convention center were reopened, and in 2019, Tskaltubo received its biggest planned investment yet. Controversial politician and businessman Bidzina Ivanishvili — Georgia's richest man, with a private wealth of at least 2.7 billion dollars — announced plans to buy and refurbish all of the site's state-owned spas and sanatoria, as well as to build new housing for the refugees still there. That said, Ivanishvili's rival Saakashvili decried the plan as robbery, and as nothing other than a fresh example of oligarchic opportunism. Ivanishvili later clinched power through his party Georgian Dream, and had his rival flung into prison.\n\nBut in spite of this murky background, Tskaltubo is seeing new development and fresh visitation. Located only a handful of kilometres from Georgia's principal international airport at Kutaisis, and with the tourism industry in Georgia beginning to boom, the once-great resort may be on the verge of turning a new page in its storied history.\n\n## Key Takeaways\n\n- The Eastern Bloc's collapse in 1991 led to the decay of many once-thriving Soviet-era towns.\n- Economic shifts and political conflicts significantly impacted the decline of places like Akarmara.\n- The Buzludzha Monument in Bulgaria stands as a controversial symbol of the past, facing calls for its removal.\n- Secret Soviet military towns, such as Irbene and Skrunda-1 in Latvia, were abandoned after the USSR's fall.\n- Tskaltubo, Georgia, is undergoing revitalization efforts, aiming to restore its former glory as a spa resort.\n\n## Frequently Asked Questions\n\n### What is the current status of Akarmara, Georgia?\n\nAkarmara, Georgia, is a decaying town with a population of around 35 residents as of 2018, down from 22,000 in 1989. Its once-grand buildings and infrastructure are now derelict or in ruins.\n\n### What caused the decline of Tkvarcheli and Akarmara?\n\nThe decline of Tkvarcheli and Akarmara was caused by the obsolescence of the coal mining industry, the economic blockade from Georgia, and the Abkhaz War, which led to the destruction of infrastructure and a significant reduction in population.\n\n### What is the Buzludzha Monument and why is it in disrepair?\n\nThe Buzludzha Monument is a hilltop structure in Bulgaria built to commemorate the founding of the Bulgarian Communist Party. It is in disrepair due to lack of maintenance after the fall of communism, harsh weather conditions, and vandalism.\n\n### What was the purpose of Irbene, Latvia, during the Soviet era?\n\nIrbene, Latvia, was a secret Soviet military radar center built in 1971. It was a closed city with a population of around 3,000 residents, featuring amenities like a kindergarten, sports center, and general store.\n\n### Why was Pyramiden, Russia, abandoned?\n\nPyramiden, Russia, was abandoned due to the decline of the coal industry and the harsh living conditions in the Arctic Circle. The settlement closed in 1998, seven years after the fall of the Soviet Union.\n\n### What was the function of Skrunda-1, Latvia, during the Cold War?\n\nSkrunda-1, Latvia, was a secret Soviet radar station that monitored missile threats from the West. It was part of the Dnepr radar system, known as the 'Hen House' by NATO.\n\n### What happened to Skrunda-1 after the fall of the Soviet Union?\n\nAfter the fall of the Soviet Union, Skrunda-1 was abandoned. The Latvian government blew up the remaining radar hardware and the site was later repurposed for military training by the Latvian National Armed Forces and NATO troops.\n\n### What is the current status of Tskaltubo, Georgia?\n\nTskaltubo, Georgia, is seeing renewed development and visitation. The Georgian government and private investors are working to restore the site to its former glory, with some sanatoria and bathhouses already reopened.\n\n### What role did Tskaltubo play during the Soviet era?\n\nDuring the Soviet era, Tskaltubo was a popular spa resort favored by elites, including Joseph Stalin. It featured 22 sanatoria and welcomed around 125,000 visitors per year.\n\n### What challenges did Tskaltubo face after the fall of communism?\n\nAfter the fall of communism, Tskaltubo faced significant challenges, including the influx of refugees from the Abkhaz War, which led to the resort being used as emergency shelters for decades.\n\n## Sources\n\n- [Original Places video: The Forgotten Worlds of Eastern Europe.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foOj8KX_kqw)\n- [Hero image source](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/57/Oblique_aerial_landscape_view_%28AM_86148-2%29.jpg) by Collins, Tudor Washington, 1898-1970, photographer / openverse, by.\n\n## Related Coverage" url: https://places.site/article/the-forgotten-worlds-of-eastern-europe.md canonical: https://places.site/article/the-forgotten-worlds-of-eastern-europe datePublished: 2026-07-01 dateModified: 2026-07-01 author: - name: Simon Whistler url: https://places.site/author/simon-whistler publisher: Places image: "https://media.places.site/cdn-cgi/image/width=1600,height=900,fit=cover,quality=80,format=auto/articles/foOj8KX_kqw/hero.jpg" type: NewsArticle contentHash: 44f8f6f276c3d96f30c4b52a1afe575621a90f014486da86e3cf7c4760e97fb1 tokens: 7283 summaryUrl: https://places.site/article/the-forgotten-worlds-of-eastern-europe.md.summary.md --- *Note to editors: would be ideal to separate the sections by flashcards with an image of each site* The year is 1985. The 40-year anniversary of the fall of Nazi Germany and the resulting end of World War II has come and gone. But the toppling of the Nazis enabled the emergence of a totalitarian system of government which swept across much of Eastern Europe and which, in some places, is also celebrating its bicentenary. And the Soviet-dominated system which underpinned it seems healthy, more than capable of lasting another 50 more. But all is not well. In fact, the cracks which will lead to the system's downfall have already emerged. In Soviet Russia, Mikhail Gorbachev has assumed the role of First Secretary, and his policies of Glasnost and Perestroika will — in the years to come — see the unravelling of the airtight system which dominated the Eastern Bloc for decades. In Poland, the underground Solidarnosc movement has taken shape, which will play a role in round table talks in early 1989. In other countries, talk of transition to democracy is beginning to occur more openly. The Eastern Bloc is ripe for change, and that change will see the entire system collapse in only a matter of years. Fast forward to 2025, and that change has taken place 35 years earlier. But some of the places affected — which thrived in the 1980s — have not advanced in the time since. Some, which saw their heyday at the height of the communist era, remain just as they did when it faltered. And some had decayed in the three decades since — a relic of a time long gone by. Let's take a look. ## Akarmara, Georgia Akarmara is a town located on the southern fringe of the Caucasus mountains, and a district connected to the ailing city of Tkvarcheli. Internationally recognised as lying within the sovereign territory of Georgia, the region its constituent towns are under the de facto control of the Russian-backed separatist republic of Abkhazia. In 1989, Tkvarcheli was a thriving industrial city. At 22,000 residents, it was one of the principal towns within the Abkhaz ASSR — and this, in itself, still represented a decrease in the number of residents in its absolute heyday in the 1970s — at around 25,000. Like the system which birthed it, the city seemed in good health. But soon, all would unravel. Part of the reason for this was economic. Akarmara began as a village close to Tkvarcheli, which was established on the cusp of World War II to house coal miners in the mountainous district of what was then Soviet Georgia. The population of municipality rose and rose in the coming decades, but coal mining was an industry which would become obsolete around the world towards the end of the century, as other natural resources took over. And when coal mining went out the window, Akarmara's prospects largely went with it. Before this, the district was nothing short of sparkling. Unlike the socialist-built settlements dotted all over the Caucasus and the wider Eastern Bloc, Akarmara's houses featured an obvious resemblance to Western European architectural styles. As coal money flowed in, life in the town was really quite opulent. Set against the backdrop of the Caucasus mountains, Akarmara — complete with its ornate buildings — became a home for Soviet elites, and a highly-desired place to live. But before even the worst of the coal decline took effect, history and politics took their own heavy toll. In 1991 the Soviet Union collapsed, and within months, the Abkhaz War began. What followed was a year of intense fighting between the fledgling Georgian state and Abkhaz separatists, buttressed by Moscow and by Armenian and Chechen paramilitary groups. In the course of the war, the district's only connecting road was cut off by a Georgian Army siege — one which lasted 413 and saw the town shrivel into destitution and ruins. Ultimately, the war was won by the separatists and their backers. In 1993, the siege was lifted and Abkhazia became a pseudo-independent republic — albeit an economically-isolated one, deeply reliant on Moscow. But Tkvarcheli had been nearly flattened, and Akarmara was in ruins. Its once-great population had dwindled to a quarter of its former size, with many of the remaining residents living in the depleted shells of their once-prized structures, and in what was now a severely economically-depressed region in a just-as-poor semi-state. Much later, the Tkvarcheli municipality was issued Hero City status by the Abkhaz government — but this probably came as little comfort to Akarmara's few inhabitants, their houses still in forlorn condition — melting into the mountainside without any industry to stay the decline. As the years passed, Akarmara sat frozen in time, and the population dwindled even further. Attempts were made to rekindle its former coal mining glory — but aside even from the faltering global demand for the resource, Abkhazia was crippled by an economic blockade from Georgia. This left its coal with little direction to flow towards except Russia — a country, despite major economic woes of its own, which didn't really need natural resource imports and especially not coal. Some attempts were made to introduce a startup tourism industry — especially by redeveloping local mountain spa retreats which had once been common in Abkhazia and other parts of Georgia. But the best the town got was a handful of urban explorers and adventure tourists, keen to document the crumbling buildings and abandoned Soviet-era vehicles being eaten up by foliage. Their wandering camera lenses soon became an irritation to the few remaining locals, whose homes the visitors would try to enter without realising that these structures were still being lived in. So Akarmara continued to decay. According to the BBC, the number of residents remaining in its once-grand streets by 2018 had dwindled to around 35, or less one percent of its population in 1989. The town's grand villas, public houses, santoria, and schools continue to sit derelict or in ruins, yearning for a time now long-past — and which will likely never be again. ## The Buzludzha Monument, Bulgaria In 1981, Bulgaria was entering what was then a significant year for the state. One hundred years before, in 1891, a group of socialists led by Dimitar Blagoev founded an underground socialist movement on Buzludzha hill in central Bulgaria, which became the Bulgarian Social Democratic Party, and ultimately the Bulgarian Communist Party. The BCP took control of the country in 1946 — unusually, by way of a referendum, which saw the existing monarchy dissolved. So in 1981, long term communist leader Todor Zhivkov announced the construction of the Buzludzha Monument, a hilltop structure built in a unique futurist architectural style upon the hill which had borne the Bulgarian socialist movement. The structure would feature 924 square meters of ornate mosaics — many of them dedicated to Marx and Lenin — as well as stone-carved party slogans, a giant illuminated red star, and a series of other communist-themed features. The project bore an enormous cost — 14 million Bulgarian Lev or around 35 million dollars today — but few would have been unwise enough to contest the eye watering expense at the time. When the monument was unveiled in August, Zhivkov crowed: > I am honoured to be in the historical position to open the House-Monument of the Bulgarian Communist Party (...) Let generation after generation of socialist and communist Bulgaria come here, to bow down before the feats and the deeds of those who came before (...) Glory to Blagoev and his followers; those first disciples of Bulgarian socialism, who sowed the immortal seeds of today's Bulgarian Communist Party in the public soul! But Buzludzha could not have been built at a worse time or in a worse location. Within 10 years, while final maintenance of the monument was still evolving, the communist system crumbled and the BCP faded from power. It was replaced by the emergent Bulgarian Socialist Party, whose share of parliament votes plummeted from a high of 43% in 1994 to little over 7% in 2024. The independent Bulgaria wanted little to do with its recent past — a past visibly encapsulated by the saucer-shaped vanity project sitting in plain view on top of Buzludzha hill. Funds for the preservation of the site quickly vanished, and the monument began to fall apart as the years progressed. While the momeument's location on a picturesque but inhospitable peak may have been significant in national historiography, it also made Buzludzha completely useless for any kind of regular use. The monument sits no less than 200 kilometres east of Sofia: then (as now) the capital and seat of the government of Bulgaria. This meant that despite its vast HOW LARGE interior, the site could serve little purpose other than as a tribute to a system no longer fondly-remembered, and it would — in practice — be out of reach entirely in the harsh months of the winter, to boot. But the location also meant that it was vulnerable to two types of attack — which, combined, would hasten its rather inglorious downfall. The first was the aforementioned harsh weather. The same wintery conditions which made the site inaccessible also cyclically battered the concrete structure. Without any surrounding foliage to sheath it, the Buzluzdha monument felt the full force of winter winds, snowfall, rains, sleet, and frost. The structure quickly suffered discolouration and dilapidation, something which may have been only somewhat offset if there was a keen popular demand to preserve the monument (which there wasn't). The second element, then, was by now pretty obvious but perhaps far less foreseeable for Todor Zhivkov and his cronies back in 1981. Although the Monument has gained some renown internationally for its unique features, this could not save Buzludzha from the revulsion felt by many Bulgarians for it. The Monument became the target of ransackers, looters, and vandals, with the distaste for the structure visible — not least — in the wide variety of graffiti which adorns both the exterior and the great hall within. The status of the monument is perhaps best encapsulated by dramatic red paint reading "Forget Your Past", splashed imposingly across the site's main entrance. Today, the Buzludzha Monument remains intact and visited, but highly vilified amid calls for its destruction or replacement. ## Irbene, Latvia All the way on the northwestern fringe of the Soviet Union's boundaries, sitting bronzing in the summer sun, is the ghost town of Irbene, Latvia. Irbene, like many other Soviet settlements, was a planned city built for military staff and their families. Just like other famous such sites like Siberia's Magnitogorsk and Kazakhstan's Semipalatinsk, it was a closed city — meaning that its function and location were strictly kept hidden from the public and Irbene did not appear on any local maps of the area. However, it did exist — and was at one time thriving. Built at the height of communism in 1971, it was home to a secret Soviet military radar center, and once had a population of some 3,000 residents. It boasted a kindergarten, a sports centre, a military officers' club, and a general store. Like Magnitogorsk and Chernobyl's Pripyat, it was well-stocked with provisions and amusements, which took its residents far beyond the common living standards of the time. Now, unlike some of the other places covered, Irbene did not collapse immediately following the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Although Latvia gained independence — like many other constituent republics — in 1991, Russian military staffers did not leave Irbene until 1993. It is suspected that the reason for this was that the Latvian Academy of Science wanted to move quickly to inherit the base's telescopes for their own use. Moscow dared not leave until assurances were made from Riga that the leftover infrastructure would not be used as spyware for later use against Russia. Once these assurances were made, the Russian army moved out — and the town promptly fell apart. But in all likelihood, Russia wasn't buying any assurances made by its neighbour and instead used the time before leaving to pack up or destroy what remaining surveillance equipment remained — including its RT-32, RT-16, and RT-08 super-telescopes. The settlement was now of little use to the Latvian government, and like many post-Soviet states, it had its hands full with steadying its economy and confronting the long-accumulated economic rot which risked setting in, in more populated areas elsewhere. So instead, looters and salvagers moved in on Irbene, and removed anything that could be used for repurposing or retail elsewhere. The buildings were stripped of metal, of pipes, of utilities, any remaining tools or hardware. The plundered buildings became little more than shells, and nature moved back in to claim what it had lost. ## Pyramiden, Russia (Kind Of) Eastern Europe? Well — culturally, perhaps. But the abandoned Soviet coal mining settlement of Pyramiden is definitely not geographically within Eastern Europe. It is instead located deep within the Arctic Circle on the archipelago of Svalbard — where it has long shared the vast open space with settlements belonging to the Kingdom of Norway. The reason this was even possible is due to a unique arrangement dating all the way back to 1920, with the signing of the so-called Svalbard Treaty. In effect, the Treaty attributed sovereignty over Norway to Svalbard, but allowed for other state signatories (of which there were an initial 14, later expanded to 48) to engage in commercial activities there if they wished to do so. Never one to miss out, the Soviet Union became the only signatory aside from Norway to exercise this right, and Pyramiden rose in 1927, when a small existing mining settlement was purchased by Moscow from Sweden. Pyramiden saw its heyday in the 1950s, when around 2,500 people called the settlement home. It was never — by a stretch — any kind of megapolis, but the community in the 1950s was at that time larger even than the largest Norwegian settlement of Longyearbyen. Pyramiden managed to sustain a community for more than seventy years during the Soviet era, and even for 17 years before that — with the initial site having been founded by Sweden in 1910. Its amenities included a cultural centre and theater, as well as a library, art and music studios. It also had a sports complex with indoor gym and basketball court, and a food hall open 24 hours a day. Perhaps unlike the other sites in this list, it is hard to link the decline of Pyramiden directly to the USSR's graceless collapse in 1991. In reality, the population had been declining long before this — and the settlement even stubbornly limped on for seven more years after the end of the Soviet period before finally closing its doors in 1998. Pyramiden was not the only Soviet settlement on Svalbard — in fact, its twin community of Barentsburg lingers on to this day. But given the unusual geography of the archipelago, Pyramiden lay somewhat isolated from Barentsburg, and much closer to Longyearbyen — which sits around 50 kilometres to Pyramiden's south. Although the Svalbard Treaty enforced limited military neutrality on the archipelago, relations between the neighbouring communities must have been about as warm as the brisk surrounding climate. Norway was a founding member of NATO — and there is little chance that the isolated settlements would have lived in the picture of neighbourliness despite the neutralising context of their Arctic surroundings. Moreover, living in Pyramiden — unlike the lush Akarmara and the opulence of Irbene — cannot have been much fun at the best of times. With an average summer temperature of around 5 degrees celsius, and a winter temperature plunging to around −12 degrees daily, the mining town coated in permafrost, subject to the continued hazard of roaming polar bears, would have done little to attract settlers (at least, of their own volition). So when the coal industry began to decline, the locals would have been only too glad to abandon ship too. Today, Pyramiden sits frozen and derelict, its silence punctuated only by adventure tours from Longyearbyen, from where visitors enthusiastically take in the spectacle of the abandoned residences, mining infrastructure, the rotting social hubs and the bust of Lenin which sits solemnly on the town square. ## Skrunda-1, Latvia Now, before proceeding, it stands worthy of mention that there are hundreds — if not thousands — of towns and cities across the former Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc which saw their best days before 1991, and have withered in the four decades since. Some that were established for special purposes in the hostile reaches of the Russian Far East and Central Asia have depopulated entirely — and others (even once-major urban areas) now cling on for dear life. Examples include the Siberian city of Vorkuta, adjacent to the notorious former Vorkuta Gulag in the far north of Russia's Komi Republic. Vorkuta's population may have declined by up to 70% in recent years but people do still live there — if not in anything close to the socioeconomic comfort which once made residency there once bearable, or perhaps even desirable. Such is not the case with Skrunda-1, which has been abandoned entirely. Here, we journey back to Latvia — and to the former site of two Soviet radar stations which were home to a surveillance system known as Dnepr — but was more commonly known to the West by the NATO codename "Hen House". Like nearby Irbene, Skrunda-1 was one of the USSR's many secret settlements, built for military expediency at the height of the Cold War. The settlement was established in 1963 — in the wake of the Cuban Missile Crisis — and housed the Soviet Union's 129th Radio-Technical Unit, which monitored missile threats from the West. Skrunda-1 became one of the key surveillance sites for Moscow, but was characteristically classified — being, like Irbene, omitted from maps and surrounding road signs, and sitting neatly tucked away from any prying eyes. But also like Irbene, life in Skrunda must have been rather comfortable. At around 5,000 residents, the settlement featured ten apartment blocks, a school, a gym, grocery stores, an officer's club, administrative offices, several canteens, a theatre, and a nightclub. Moreover, Skrunda-1 wasn't really a great unknown. Aside from the Latvian locals who would have suspected what was going on in this curious locality, Western populations quickly became perplexed as to the constant jamming of their television signals — which intelligence agencies soon traced back to a big old question mark located on a map of western Latvia. By the time the Soviet Union fell, the suspected function of Skrunda-1 was more or less common knowledge. Russia quickly admitted the function of the town, and its residents shipped out as the system around them crumbled. By that time, the once-touted Dnepr radar systems had become obsolete, and were being phased out by more advanced radar surveillance systems in the East and West alike. The Latvian government later took great joy in blowing up what hardware remained to smithereens. With no further use for the site, and with the Latvian government and local nationalists on their back, remaining Russian forces pulled out entirely in 1998. Skrunda-1 lay derelict for years thereafter — too expensive to rebuild, and simultaneously too expensive to fully demolish. Like so many others, its buildings now sit rotting: uninhabited, and with its Soviet murals and mosaics fading into neglect with the passage of time. Over the years, once scavengers had plundered the site and salvaged what they could, Latvia attempted to auction Skrunda-1 to any willing buyers. It was sold off for around 2 million euros in 2010 — to none other than a Russian agricultural firm. But when the winning bidder failed to actually deliver on payments, the site was offered to the second and third-placed bidders: both of whom politely refused to take up the now-forested ghost town. The site ended up reluctantly back in the hands of the Latvian government — which finally repurposed it in the late 2010s for military pursuits of their own. Today, most of the site is part of Military Training Area Mežaine, used by both units of the Latvian National Armed Forces and — perhaps ironically — by detachments of NATO troops. ## Tskaltubo, Georgia Lastly, we journey back to western Georgia and to the Imereti province basin — wherein sits the once-great spas and sanatoria of the Soviet resort of Tskaltubo. Now, in the context of today's video on forgotten worlds, Tskaltubo is a bit of an anomaly. Sitting around 11 kilometres northwest of Georgia's second city of Kutaisi, the site is hardly forgotten — becoming not only a popular destination for urban explorers but also living keenly in the memory of locals who remember its grandeur during the Soviet Era, and the troubles which immediately succeeded it. It is also not abandoned, although as photos will reveal, its facilities have — most certainly — seen better days. During communism, Soviet citizens were afforded at least two weeks' holiday per year — which many would use to travel on state-sponsored trips to picturesque resorts on the fringes of the Black Sea. Those who were in a position to do so went to Tskaltubo, which rose as a spa town favoured by elites — including none other than the Vozhd, Joseph Stalin himself. In 1931, a decree by the government of the Georgian SSR designated Tskaltubo as a spa resort and center of balneology — or the practice of treating diseases through bathing in hot springs and thermal baths. The natural springs around Tskaltubo had long been heralded in Georgia as the "Waters of Immortality", lauded for their healing properties as early as in records from the 9th century. Over time, the Soviet state built no less than 22 glamorous sanatoria — and at its peak, Tskaltubo welcomed around 125,000 visitors per year, from Soviet citizens to foreign dignitaries alike. The single largest thermal bath — Spring Number 6 — was built in 1960 reportedly for the private use of Stalin, and private dachas belonging to Stalin and his sadistic sideact Lavrenti Beria were built and continue to stand at Tskaltubo to this day. But then came the end of communism, and the aforementioned horror of the Abkhaz War. Tskaltubo would bear a brunt arguably far greater even than that of Akarmara, today located on the opposite side of a Russian-established boundary. During the course of the conflict, thousands of ethnic Georgians poured out of Abkhazia into the hinterland. Many of these arrived to a destitute country which struggled to accommodate its new arrivals. And so hundreds of families ended up in Tskaltubo — now no longer a prized retreat but an emergency shelter for the uprooted refugees from Abkhazia. The resort's hotels and sanatoria served as living quarters for the refugees in the following decades — and as the BBC noted, it wasn't 2010 that the government was even in a position to begin rehousing the arrivals elsewhere. As such, some youngsters spent practically their entire childhoods in the confines of the resort, by now a shadow of its former self — with ivy, tree trunks, and wandering wild animals being the only occupants of some parts of its once-hallowed complex. The demise of Tskaltubo was one of the most prominent casualties of the postcommunist transition to democracy, and its faded temple-like bathhouses stand as perhaps the single-greatest testament to the system collapse across the entire post-Soviet space. But on an optimistic note, life may yet be returning to Tskaltubo. Recent years have seen the resort buck the trend of practically all other locations described herein: as the Georgian government has begun to make strides to return the site to its former glory. The Legends Spa Resort, located in one of Tskaltubo's original sanatoriums, reopened in 2011. Some of the bathhouses and indoor or outdoor springs have since also been revived — including Spring 6 — once an exclusive preserve for Stalin. In 2012, then-President Mikheil Saakashvili vowed to turn Tskaltubo into the "best place in Europe" within four years. The regeneration has since received grants from the World Bank and various forms of private investment. A four-star hotel and the site's theater and convention center were reopened, and in 2019, Tskaltubo received its biggest planned investment yet. Controversial politician and businessman Bidzina Ivanishvili — Georgia's richest man, with a private wealth of at least 2.7 billion dollars — announced plans to buy and refurbish all of the site's state-owned spas and sanatoria, as well as to build new housing for the refugees still there. That said, Ivanishvili's rival Saakashvili decried the plan as robbery, and as nothing other than a fresh example of oligarchic opportunism. Ivanishvili later clinched power through his party Georgian Dream, and had his rival flung into prison. But in spite of this murky background, Tskaltubo is seeing new development and fresh visitation. Located only a handful of kilometres from Georgia's principal international airport at Kutaisis, and with the tourism industry in Georgia beginning to boom, the once-great resort may be on the verge of turning a new page in its storied history. ## Key Takeaways - The Eastern Bloc's collapse in 1991 led to the decay of many once-thriving Soviet-era towns. - Economic shifts and political conflicts significantly impacted the decline of places like Akarmara. - The Buzludzha Monument in Bulgaria stands as a controversial symbol of the past, facing calls for its removal. - Secret Soviet military towns, such as Irbene and Skrunda-1 in Latvia, were abandoned after the USSR's fall. - Tskaltubo, Georgia, is undergoing revitalization efforts, aiming to restore its former glory as a spa resort. ## Frequently Asked Questions ### What is the current status of Akarmara, Georgia? Akarmara, Georgia, is a decaying town with a population of around 35 residents as of 2018, down from 22,000 in 1989. Its once-grand buildings and infrastructure are now derelict or in ruins. ### What caused the decline of Tkvarcheli and Akarmara? The decline of Tkvarcheli and Akarmara was caused by the obsolescence of the coal mining industry, the economic blockade from Georgia, and the Abkhaz War, which led to the destruction of infrastructure and a significant reduction in population. ### What is the Buzludzha Monument and why is it in disrepair? The Buzludzha Monument is a hilltop structure in Bulgaria built to commemorate the founding of the Bulgarian Communist Party. It is in disrepair due to lack of maintenance after the fall of communism, harsh weather conditions, and vandalism. ### What was the purpose of Irbene, Latvia, during the Soviet era? Irbene, Latvia, was a secret Soviet military radar center built in 1971. It was a closed city with a population of around 3,000 residents, featuring amenities like a kindergarten, sports center, and general store. ### Why was Pyramiden, Russia, abandoned? Pyramiden, Russia, was abandoned due to the decline of the coal industry and the harsh living conditions in the Arctic Circle. The settlement closed in 1998, seven years after the fall of the Soviet Union. ### What was the function of Skrunda-1, Latvia, during the Cold War? Skrunda-1, Latvia, was a secret Soviet radar station that monitored missile threats from the West. It was part of the Dnepr radar system, known as the 'Hen House' by NATO. ### What happened to Skrunda-1 after the fall of the Soviet Union? After the fall of the Soviet Union, Skrunda-1 was abandoned. The Latvian government blew up the remaining radar hardware and the site was later repurposed for military training by the Latvian National Armed Forces and NATO troops. ### What is the current status of Tskaltubo, Georgia? Tskaltubo, Georgia, is seeing renewed development and visitation. The Georgian government and private investors are working to restore the site to its former glory, with some sanatoria and bathhouses already reopened. ### What role did Tskaltubo play during the Soviet era? During the Soviet era, Tskaltubo was a popular spa resort favored by elites, including Joseph Stalin. It featured 22 sanatoria and welcomed around 125,000 visitors per year. ### What challenges did Tskaltubo face after the fall of communism? After the fall of communism, Tskaltubo faced significant challenges, including the influx of refugees from the Abkhaz War, which led to the resort being used as emergency shelters for decades. ## Sources - [Original Places video: The Forgotten Worlds of Eastern Europe.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foOj8KX_kqw) - [Hero image source](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/57/Oblique_aerial_landscape_view_%28AM_86148-2%29.jpg) by Collins, Tudor Washington, 1898-1970, photographer / openverse, by. ## Related Coverage