A deep dive into a place that is not as abandoned as it appears, revealing much about Georgia’s Soviet past, the enduring tragic legacy of the Abkhazia war and hopes for investments in a patrimonial country.
On a sunny day in January, we are in the small town of Tsqaltubo and as in many places in Georgia, it doesn't take long for the first stray dog to appear, which then makes it its mission to stick by our side all day and guide us around. In recent years, this town in western Georgia has become a popular tourist destination, almost a must-see for those visiting Kutaisi, the country’s third-largest city just a few kilometres away. Decades ago, Tsqaltubo already attracted large numbers of visitors, as throughout the Soviet period, it was a thriving spa resort, even one of the most prestigious in the Soviet Union. Today, however, visitors like us mostly come for different reasons: Urban exploration, defined as the practice of visiting mostly vacant, uninhabited, or abandoned places, which already hints at what has become of Tsqaltubo’s sanatoriums. The fascination with forgotten or derelict sites has experienced a boom in recent decades, a subcultural phenomenon that attracts tourists worldwide. Georgia, like many post-Soviet countries, has gained quite a wealth of such treasures following the Eastern Bloc’s collapse and processes of deindustrialisation, while the appeal of Soviet architecture adds another layer of attraction.
But while urban exploration actually implies that the places being explored are deserted, things are a little different in Tsqaltubo.
Sanatorium Gelati and Tsqaltubo's Soviet past
In the vast Sanatorium Gelati, the sense of abandonment becomes tangible. Walking along corridors full of shards of glass and piles of debris, past ceilings where the plaster is peeling and looking through broken windows into the overgrown courtyard, the glorious past can only be guessed at: Once, life flourished here, as the Soviet elites and nomenklatura came here to be pampered in the many sanatoriums and hotels built from the mid-1920s onward. Owing this to its warm, radon-containing mineral springs, mythologized as the “Waters of Immortality.”, Tsqaltubo was turned into one of the largest spa resorts in the Soviet Union.
But it was not only a place for the elites: Sanatoria held a particular significance in the Soviet Union, not just because of their long tradition in Russia going back to the tsarist enthusiasm of spa resorts. Considered an important tool of socialist regime’s policy, designed to maintain high productivity and loyalty among citizens, they acquired a political function. In that sense, sanatoriums were not just places of medical treatment, but institutions for state-run recuperation, constructed in large numbers across the Soviet Union. The right to rest was enshrined in the constitution, and workers were obliged to spend at least two weeks at a sanatorium each year, where they had to follow a strict program of sometimes obscure treatment methods from electrotherapy to cupping.
But with the end of the USSR, all of this collapsed and Tsqaltubo shared the fate of most Soviet sanatoriums: gradual abandonment and decay. In addition, Georgia was hit by wars and economic crises, thus not exactly the ideal place and time for spa holidays.
An unsettling discovery
As we roam through the seemingly deserted building, the appeal of urban exploring is undeniably taking hold of us too: the slow decay, but also the objects that appear to have been suddenly left behind, drawing us into a past era and creating a haunting atmosphere.
Everything feels already eerie enough, but we are suddenly startled when footsteps are heard. Sounds that are not imagined and do not belong to other tourists. It begins to make sense why some doors are fitted with locks, while further up the stairwell, an entire floor seems barricaded. Because in this partly decayed, run-down place, people actually live.
Suddenly, everything takes on a different thrill, but also a different meaning, a certain undertone: What we are wandering through for personal excitement is also someone else’s home, a place we have invaded. And behind every closed door we no longer dare to open, there could be an apartment, a life, a fate. Is urban exploring turning into poverty tourism? It is slowly becoming clear that this place is marked by a fate far more tragic than the mere decline of a spa resort, but this will become more apparent just a few minutes’ walk away, at the next sanatorium.
Gallery (6 photos)
Just as we are heading outside, we are shocked once more. “Our” dog gets attacked by a whole group of stray dogs and ends up with a wound at the stomach. As we later read online, this sanatorium already gained an infamous reputation among visitors due to the groups of “aggressive” “territorial” dogs. We try to comfort our brave but battered companion with at least a few pieces of lobiani, an act that seals the bond of his loyalty for the rest of the day.
Sanatorium Metallurgist and the story of Georgia's displaced persons
At the Metallurgist, its name reveals this was the sanatorium for metalworkers, the atmosphere is far less ghostly. In fact, things are about to take a quite different turn when an elderly woman spots us from a window and waves us over. For five lari each (about 1.60 Euro), we are allowed to come in, only the dog has to stay outside. Five lari to witness how people live in misery? But the “entrance fee” will prove to be money well spent. The lady guides us through the building and judging by how routine her actions are, she must have led countless tourists here before. From a small hatch in the wall, she switches on the massive chandelier in the entrance hall and gestures for us to take a quick photo. We don’t hesitate to obey before the tour continues, down long, dim corridors where one could get a brief glimpse into the room that seems to be her apartment. Here, the site’s glamorous past is much easier to imagine; the building appears not only more magnificent, but also in far better condition. And outside, on the vast terrace, bathed in sunlight, with a view of palm trees and the mediterranean-looking rear façade, it is easy to forget the place’s obscure reality that we are about to grasp.
A tragic story looming over Tsqaltubo
Using a mix of Russian and Georgian, the woman manages to explain that she is from Abkhazia and has been living in this sanatorium with her family since 1992. Her fate is shared by tens of thousands of Georgians who were forced to flee their homes and became internally displaced persons (IDPs) as a result of the wars in Abkhazia and South Ossetia in the early 1990s.
Back then, Georgia itself scarred by civil war, was overwhelmed by the large influx of refugees and ten thousand people ended up stranded here in Tsqaltubo.
The abandoned sanatoriums were used as temporary emergency accommod-ation, but decades of uncertainty passed, and what was meant to be a provisional solution turned into a permanent condition.
To this day, some people continue to live here in the ruins of the decaying sanat-oriums, sometimes under barely imag-inable conditions, waiting for the long promised solution.
Abkhazia War
In 1992, the long-simmering conflict over Abkhazia erupted in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union, when Georgia's nationalist government sent troops into Abkhazia to prevent its secession. The region in northwestern Georgia is home to the ethnic Abkhaz, who, however, constituted only a minority there at the time. The brutal war claimed around 10,000 lives and resulted in the de facto victory of Abkhaz troops supported by Russia, as well as the expulsion of around 200,000 Georgians (and some minority groups) - One of the most severe cases of ethnic cleansing in post-WWII Europe. As a result of the 2008 war, Georgia lost control of the last remaining part of the region. Since then, Abkhazia has been de facto independent, albeit scarcely recognized, and under strong Russian control and dependency. Under international law, Abkhazia is considered an integral part of Georgia and is commonly regarded a Russian occupation. Today, only a small number of ethnic Georgians continue to live in Abkhazia under marginalized conditions. A political solution or the prospect of the displaced population returning is not in sight.
What was meant to be a provisional solution turned into a permanent condition
Only in recent years, a large number of IDPs in Tsqaltubo got resettled, making the situation of those left behind seem even more isolated. Some say that they still haven’t been offered a better alternative, while others struggle to imagine having to leave the places that nevertheless became their home over the years. But life here seems to epitomise a complete lack of prospects, with neither Georgian society offering them any real perspectives nor a return to their Abkhazian homeland appearing likely in the near future. Whatever hopes remained were dashed when the war in 2008 led to Georgia’s complete loss of Abkhazia and cemented its de facto separation.
Instead, they find themselves trapped in a surreal world. In some places, they live among utter dereliction; in others, among the crumbling remains of a glorious past, between green-marbled walls, neo-classical columns or theatre halls where nobody performs anymore.
Gallery (7 photos)
But also among tourists like us, who walk through their homes taking photos, impressed by the scenery and tempted to mystify this world and to forget the meaning it has taken on as a harsh lived reality, demanding much of them to survive. In the case of the woman here, this tourist interest may have something positive to it:
A chance to earn a few coins where there are hardly any job opportunities, and an example of how some have found ways to adapt to life here. But for most IDPs, it hardly brings any benefit, rather an intrusion into their already stigmatized private sphere.
A precarious life in internal exile
Seeing all this confronts us with the still highly relevant situation of IDPs in Georgian society: It is not that their issue has not been addressed politically, but integration has been inadequate until today, not least because political efforts long bet on a swift return, thus fostering a state of limbo. This was not entirely without political calculation as by highlighting their difficult situation, the former governments aimed to maintain pressure for conflict resolution and keep attention on Georgia’s violated territorial integrity. Ultimately, the IDPs were turned into kind of hostages in a geopolitical conflict.
There are estimated 300,000 internally displaced persons in Georgia, who make up about 8% of the total population.
The conditions in Tsqaltubo seem to highlight many of the problems faced by IDPs in Georgia. Especially the problem of housing is eminent, with some reports indicating that just about half of IDP families have been provided with permanent accommodation. Housing IDPs in often remote, isolated settlements has further hindered access to employment opportunities and integration. As a result, many have become left-behind and stigmatized communities, dependent on insufficient state support.
In hindsight, it dawns on us that the issue of IDPs is actually more prominent than we thought, even though they are often pushed to the margins, including in public discourse. At a large lake on Tbilisi’s outskirts, popular for swimming and camping, a standalone building with a worrying look of disrepair once caught my attention. It later struck me that this building is also a former sanatorium housing IDPs, who have repeatedly protested against their living conditions. In 2022, a male resident committed suicide by jumping from the roof, allegedly due to these reasons. This was not the only case of extreme actions born out of despair: In January 2025 a man displaced from Abkhazia set himself on fire in Tbilisi, suffering severe injuries, allegedly because the government repeatedly refused to offer him adequate housing. New light was shed on the situation later in July, when tensions arose around a forced eviction of IDPs and other vulnerable groups from shelters in Tbilisi.
Gallery (3 photos )
Traces of an improvised life
As we walk through the sanatorium, we see not only the traces of the Soviet past, but also of the lives of former IDP residents, reminding us that this place was far more vivid not even that long ago. After all, two generations of children have grown up here. Today, the lady and two family members are among the very few still remaining at the Metallurgist.
Parts of the long balconies were separated with scrap metal sheets and used as makeshift kitchens, while in some rooms the parquet flooring was torn up and used as firewood. It shows how an improvised life was built here over the years. But it also bears witness to the harsh conditions of the early 1990s, when local residents came here before the IDPs arrived, to loot whatever was useful.
The elderly lady has to leave us, as new “customers “are arriving. On this weekday in the middle of off-season, we are not the only tourists roaming around and we soon meet the new arrivals, a young Russian woman and a group of Australians. We can't help but wonder what this place will look like in summer.
Having taken enough pictures, we leave the lady and her world behind, like all the countless tourists before us. She will remain the only IDP we encounter throughout the entire day.
Gallery (13 photos)
Links:
Hotel Metalurg (2024)
Documentary film about the fate of seven displaced women at the Metallurgist sanatorium
Trailer: https://youtu.be/E2_cqdVkX4M?si=w2n721DTvMeYGDf9
The Kartli Kingdom (2025):
Documentary film about the life of IDPs in the Kartli sanatorium at Tbilisi Sea
The Kartli Kingdom (2025) | IDFA Festival
No Place to Live (2020)
Short reportage by Georgian online media outlet OC Media on the situation of IDPs
No Place to Live - IDPs in Georgia
Regularly updated guide to Tsqaltubo by Georgia-based travel blog Wander-Lush
The Ultimate Guide to Tskaltubo, Georgia’s Soviet Spa Town
Sources:
Tskaltubo, Stalin’s spa resort: the decay of a Soviet past in Georgia | Georgia | The Guardian
https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/photographing-former-soviet-sanatoriums
Georgia: In the waiting room: Internally displaced people in Georgia: Report summary
Abkhazia - An Overlooked European Shore - GEOpolitics