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Summer once poured into these places in station wagons, charter buses, and package tours. Boardwalks thumped with music, motel pools shimmered with sunscreen, and neon signs promised one more round of fun before school or work called everyone back. Then economies shifted, wars broke out, storms rolled in, and fashion moved on. What remains now is a strange off-season that never ends: peeling paint, locked lobbies, and silence where jukeboxes and cicadas used to compete for attention.
Varosha, Cyprus, The Frozen Mediterranean Resort
In the 1960s and early 1970s, Varosha was a glamorous corner of Famagusta, lined with beachfront towers, boutiques, and hotels that drew celebrities such as Elizabeth Taylor. After the 1974 Turkish invasion of Cyprus, the district was abruptly fenced off, its residents forced to flee and never allowed to return. Sun loungers sat exactly where guests left them, wardrobes stayed full, and decades of salt air turned a buzzing resort into a surreal time capsule.
Bombay Beach, California, Salton Sea’s Beached Dream
Bombay Beach once sold sunny weekends to Californians who wanted boating, fishing, and cocktail hours along the Salton Sea. By the 1970s and 1980s, rising salinity, toxic runoff, and mass fish die-offs pushed tourists away and left trailers and motels to rot in the desert heat. Today, rusted swings, salt-encrusted foundations, and art installations sit where speedboats and water-ski shows once filled postcards and billboards.
Salton Sea Shores, California, A Whole Coastline Left Behind
Along the same shoreline, communities marketed as Salton Sea Shores and other small resort tracts promised affordable waterfront vacation homes and RV escapes. As the lake grew more polluted and the stench of dead fish settled in, property values collapsed and families left. Visitors now find streets that still appear on maps but end in sand, boarded-up houses, and marinas that never see boats. It feels less like a former boomtown and more like a half-finished dream abandoned mid-build.
Grossinger’s, New York, Borscht Belt Royalty Turned Rubble
For much of the 20th century, Grossinger’s was a Catskills status symbol, a kosher resort where New York families escaped summer heat for pools, floor shows, and endless buffets. The property closed in 1986, and its grand lobbies, ski hill, and Olympic-size pool slowly surrendered to mold and vines. Urban explorers documented collapsing corridors and mossy ballrooms until demolition crews finally cleared most remaining structures in 2018, ending decades where laughter and decay overlapped.
The Pines Resort, New York, A Catskills Favorite Lost To Fire
The Pines was another Borscht Belt standby, a place of talent shows, summer romances, and family reunions clustered around pools and shuffleboard courts. Economic decline in the region hit hard, and the resort finally closed in 1998, leaving hulking towers and indoor pools to quietly deteriorate. Nature crept through broken windows, carpeting hallways with leaves, until a major fire in 2023 finished what neglect had started, turning much of the site into scorched concrete and ash.
Coco Palms, Hawaii, A Tropical Icon Locked In Time
On Kauai, Coco Palms hosted stars such as Elvis Presley, who filmed scenes from “Blue Hawaii” among its coconut groves and lagoon-style pools. Hurricane Iniki smashed into the island in 1992, shredding roofs and gutting rooms, and the resort never reopened. For decades, its shell sat behind fences, overgrown and graffitied, while competing proposals to rebuild stalled. Tour guides once led visitors through lobbies where chandeliers hung crooked and tropical birds nested above empty reception desks.
Kupari, Croatia, Tito’s Riviera Retreat In Ruins
South of Dubrovnik, Kupari was built in the 1960s as a luxurious seaside complex for Yugoslavia’s military elite, with several modernist hotels facing a calm Adriatic bay. During the Croatian War of Independence, shelling gutted the buildings, leaving exposed stairwells, shattered baths, and scorched ballrooms. For decades, the resort sat open to the sea and the wind, attracting photographers and urban explorers while redevelopment plans repeatedly stalled. Only recently have serious efforts begun to transform the crumbling relics into a new high-end retreat.
Tskaltubo, Georgia, Soviet Spa Palaces Gone Quiet
Tskaltubo was once a prized Soviet spa town, where workers came on state-funded holidays to soak in mineral baths and wander lush parklands between grand sanatoriums. After the collapse of the USSR, funding dried up and many complexes emptied almost overnight. Some buildings later sheltered refugees from nearby conflicts, while others simply decayed, their ornate staircases and mosaicked halls open to rain and tree roots. Recent art projects and small hotels hint at a gentler future, but much of the town still feels frozen between eras.
Great Keppel Island Resort, Australia, Party Island To Ruined Shell
In the 1980s, Great Keppel Island off Queensland sold itself with the promise to “get wrecked,” drawing young Australians for cheap beds, beach sports, and loud nights under palm trees. The main resort closed in 2008 during the global financial crisis, leaving empty bars, smashed windows, and overgrown pathways behind fences. Cleanup plans and proposals for eco-resorts come and go, but for now much of the site still sits sun-bleached and slowly collapsing beside one of the region’s prettiest beaches.
Brampton Island, Australia, Cyclone-Damaged Paradise
Brampton Island once offered postcard-perfect holidays on the Great Barrier Reef, with modest hotels, tennis courts, and quiet trails. After closure in 2011 for redevelopment, Cyclone Debbie in 2017 tore into the already neglected complex, ripping roofs away and scattering debris through the bush and along the shore. Locals describe the current remains as eerie and vandalized, a private island where mangled resort structures peek through tropical greenery like a half-forgotten shipwreck.
Dunk Island, Australia, Storm, Battered Retreat In Limbo
Dunk Island had a long history as a reef getaway, with ferries bringing families and honeymooners to a low-rise resort framed by palms and coral sand. Cyclone Yasi in 2011 inflicted severe damage, shuttering much of the operation and leaving a scarred mix of beach beauty and exposed concrete. Multiple ownership changes and bold revival promises followed, but stretches of the property remain fenced, weather-stained, and lifeless while investors and planners argue over what comes next.