Traveling solo, especially as a woman, can be nerve-racking enough. But imagine accidentally stumbling across entire abandoned resort towns while exploring alone in foreign countries. That’s when the vibes shift from “Eat Pray Love” to “First 10 minutes of a Netflix horror film where you pray you’re not the backstory.”
From crossing an active military buffer zone to see luxury high rises and hotels frozen in time, to stumbling across an abandoned mega resort on a remote island hike, these stories and images are sure to spook you out this October!
So, in honor of spooky season, the time for ghosts, ghouls, and bad travel decisions, here’s a deep dive into a few once-glamorous resort towns that were the place to be… until everyone suddenly vanished, and not exactly by choice.
I explored a celebrity resort town Varosha in Cyprus that was abandoned overnight and sealed off for nearly 50 years
A few years ago, I crossed a literal no-man’s-land to get to a city called Varosha in Cyprus. Like, literally a United Nations-controlled buffer zone that felt less “tourist attraction” and more “spy movie opening scene.”
Varosha is a district of Famagusta in Cyprus, and it was once a sun-drenched Mediterranean playground for the rich, the famous, and the lucky few who knew about the hidden gem. In the 1960s and early ’70s, this place was it. Think Elizabeth Taylor sipping martinis, Brigitte Bardot sunbathing topless (probably), and Hollywood royalty checking into seaside suites. Imagine South Beach back when it was super glam—but with clearer waters and fewer, like, drug dealers. Anyway!
Then, in 1974, following the Turkish invasion of Cyprus, the entire area was evacuated—overnight. Residents left in such a rush that dinner tables were still set. Boutique hotel lobbies were frozen in time. Beach towels reportedly flapped in the breeze for decades, and dust-covered guest books sat open on reception desks like someone had just stepped away.
Once locked away for half a century as a forbidden urban jungle, Varosha is now partially open, where you can wobble through its decaying Art Deco ghosts on a flimsy ’70s rental bike
Varosha was sealed off for nearly 50 years, turning it into a forbidden urban jungle. But recently, certain parts have reopened, and now you can actually rent a (rickety ’70s) bike and pedal around its crumbling Art Deco skeletons. I did exactly that—half-expecting a zombified bellhop to emerge and offer me a complimentary cocktail, and half-expecting a building to topple on me.
Nature has gone full anarchist here. Palm trees grow through cracked tile floors, vines creep up elevator shafts, and faded “Happy Hour!” signs haunt the ghostly facades. You can even peer into once-luxurious condos, some still eerily untouched, complete with mid-century furniture and pots left on the stove. There’s even an old Toyota showroom, with cars from 1974 still on display.
Nature has taken over Varosha completely, with palm trees piercing floors, vines swallowing buildings, and untouched 1970s relics, from condos to car showrooms, frozen in time
The beachfront, however, is probably the most haunting—miles of pristine shoreline where the sea dances on untouched sand, as if nothing ever happened, and as if the nearly hundred abandoned luxury condos and hotels in front of it weren’t slowly decaying.
Honestly? It’s beautiful in a heartbreaking, eerie, should-I-even-be-here kind of way.
Travel Note: I visited Varosha as part of a social media collaboration with a local photographer, who advised me on crossing the buffer zone and then brought me to the abandoned city. It is still very much under military control, so I’d highly recommend booking a tour if you want to see it.
I went to Boracay expecting piña coladas and beach time, but ended up discovering a creepy abandoned resort instead
Boracay is the kind of tropical island that shows up in your daydreams uninvited, but warmly welcomed. White sand so bright it’s borderline obnoxious, and turquoise water so photogenic it looks filtered in real life. This, of course, is what made it one of the most popular islands in the Philippines, and also one of the most overcrowded with tourists.
But after being shut down for a while (read on for why) and hearing that the crowds had diminished, I went there in between work trips, expecting piña coladas and some laptop-by-the-beach time.
I did not expect to stumble upon an abandoned, half-demolished resort (along with several other hotels and restaurants), straight out of a foreign horror movie. Honestly, I’m pretty sure there are several movies with this exact plotline.
Half-falling-apart resorts and empty beaches in Boracay revealed a government crackdown that left behind ghostly ruins
Long story short: I decided to take a short work break, slash get some extra content (AKA keep working, but make it look like adventure), because what could possibly go wrong on a solo stroll along a sketchy coastal path in the Philippines, right? I knew the usual white-sand beaches were to the left of my hotel, but I noticed people coming and going on a shadier path to the right, so naturally my adventurous soul veered that way. Immediately I knew it was a bad idea, yet I kept going—smh at myself.
I walked until I noticed chunks of the path were missing and could see the clear blue water below. Did I stop? Of course not. I hopped over the gaps and carried on. Then I saw a massive, terrifying-but-artistic face sculpture—trees growing from its crown and a staircase spiraling up its side. Yes, I have the photo to prove it.
At this point, full horror-movie scenarios were playing in my head, and I found myself mentally planning how I’d fight off an attacker—spoiler: I was gripping my selfie stick like it was a life-saver.
Then I turned a corner, and shock hit me. Before me stood what had once been an enormous waterfront resort, now half demolished, half crumbling, and completely deserted. My brain tried to ignore the warnings from my soul as I took in the stunning, untouched beaches below, where posh vacationers had probably once lounged in luxury. Reality snapped back when I remembered the risks: potential squatters or a collapsing bridge. So I half-ran—not just back to my hotel, but to the very end of the path and then back again. Perplexed and curious, I eventually rented a clear kayak to investigate the ruins from the water.
Why is this Boracay resort abandoned? A few years ago, the Philippine government cracked down after several massive resorts were built too close to the shoreline, violating environmental laws. These resorts were likely also behind the infamous incident where shocking levels of bacteria and fecal matter were found in the waters, forcing beach closures. In a rare enforcement twist, the president ordered demolitions and evacuations—but many buildings were only partially demolished, leaving decaying ruins that are, in my opinion, dangerous for overly curious humans like me.
Travel Tip: Don’t hike there like I did. Take the safer route and rent a kayak—preferably with a guide.
I traveled to Havana for my heritage and ended up staying in a fading mansion that felt haunted by its past
If ghosts ever learned to salsa, this is where they’d do it—well, unless they belonged to one of the many people who had their mansions taken away overnight.
When I first traveled solo to Cuba, it was for a writing project: I was supposed to learn about the local culture, explore my Cuban heritage, and write about it for a magazine. To comply with U.S. travel regulations, we stayed in a casa particular—a non-governmental homestay that directly supports the Cuban people.
The homestay was in Vedado, Havana’s once-flashy, now-fragmented district. Walking through the neighborhood felt like stepping into a forgotten Gatsby party right after the champagne ran out and the revolution arrived—or, more realistically, like Beverly Hills’ mansions transplanted into a horror movie, block after crumbling block.
I explored Vedado, a neighborhood where crumbling luxury mansions whisper of Havana’s Vegas-like glamour before 1959
The streets of Vedado are lined with massive, crumbling mansions, their neoclassical facades slowly being overtaken by tropical vines and mold. The only decor? Endless clotheslines drying heavily worn laundry from nearly every window, a classic sign of Cuban tradition, but not exactly what the original residents had in mind.
So why does it look like this? Once upon a time, before 1959 (the year my grandparents fled Cuba), Vedado was the playground of corrupt elites, international mafiosos, and Hollywood’s finest, who called Havana “the Vegas of the Caribbean.” Casinos, cabarets, brothels, and all-night parties oozed cigars, scandal, and excess.
Then came Fidel Castro, Che, and the Revolución.
The difference between families with foreign support (bottom floor) and without it (top floor)
With the Revolución, Cuba flipped the hypothetical Monopoly board. The rich were exiled or fled, leaving their grand villas behind, unless, of course, they wanted to share them. The government took over, converting the mansions into multi-family apartments, dividing spaces equally among residents (except, of course, government officials). In theory, it was equal. In practice? Not so glamorous—or functional.
Communism gave everyone the same (very minimal) pay and zero resources to maintain literal palaces. So these once-opulent estates began crumbling from the inside out. Today, some still house multiple generations of families under collapsing roofs. Others have been saved by international relatives or reborn as paladares (private restaurants) or casas particulares, where tourists like me can stay inside these ghosts of luxury past. And yes—I was terrified AF sleeping there.
I’ll never forget having to get the key to my place by yelling up to the older couple who was hosting me, and them dropping it down to me from the second-floor window. Or the time I stayed out a little too late "studying" the salsa dancing culture, and they waited up for my like my abuelos.
Have you ever encountered an abandoned area that spooked you? Let me know about it in the comments!
