The Joy of Desolate Places

And their inherent irony

When I was in fifth grade, my mother sent me to an alternative school in Pasadena, California, which was nominally a Montessori-like program, but in fact consisted of two poncho-wearing stoners, Rich and Lilly, an absentee librarian, and a mostly abandoned school next to a fully abandoned church.

We were told to stay away from the church, but I was never the kind of kid that did what she was told. I found my way inside and spent hours—hours—reading in those abandoned pews with the soaring apse and intact stained-glass windows and the ghosts-of-services-past crowding the aisles.

Along with the thrill of the forbidden, I’d bask in the perfect stillness, watching dust motes tumbling through shafts of golden light. No one knew I was there, which added to my delicious sense of aloneness. To this day, one of my greatest joys is to sit inside an Italian church with its doors open to the afternoon sun, and have the place all to myself—which I usually do. Italians are incurably casual churchgoers. Even the sumptuous 17th century Duomo at the top of our hill is usually empty.

Ever since—and fortunately, I’m not alone in this weird enthusiasm—I’ve sought out abandoned places. Always, there is that same joy in solitude, but now that I’m an adult, it’s coupled with something darker. As I stand in front of some no-man’s land of weedy desolation, especially one previously full of cheer like an amusement park, mall, or vacation spot, I find myself reveling in the sheer bleakness of it. There is grim satisfaction to to be had seeing Nature reclaim what we, in our hubris, had once taken from her.

We are frail and finite. She is a life force that will continue long after we have exterminated our species.

There’s also a creepy, nightmarish quality to abandoned spaces that confirms my deepest held beliefs that life is creepy and nightmarish on a microbial level, a level unperceived by the human eye. David Lynch explores some of these ideas in his psychosexual hallucinatory film, Blue Velvet, when his protagonist, Jeffrey, discovers a human ear in the field behind his house.

Also appealing to the darkest part of me is my dystopic fascination with the reasons for these abandonments: economic collapse, natural or man-made disaster, pestilence, natural resource depletion, war. Most of these are preventable. When Nature reabsorbs our monstrosities, I am reminded that nothing built by man stands the test of time.

Lest you think I am a grim, humorless person with a scarcely concealed death wish … okay, you wouldn’t be wrong about the first part, but my interest goes deeper than that. Abandoned places feel like truth to me. We come into this world alone, we exit this world alone, so beholding an eerie wasteland feels as though I’m seeing life in real time. Truth is always beautiful in its way, if you’re open to it.

Without further ado, I give you a curated list of my favorite photos with the hope that you find them as fascinating as I do.

The Land of Oz theme park in in North Carolina, abandoned in 1980 after fires devastated the attractions. For irony, kitsch, and eeriness, few things can rival a desolate amusement park.

Berlin, to the best of my knowledge. Once the delight of German youngsters; now a rusting, snow-covered hulk

Photographer Seth Lawless, an enthusiast of urban decay like me, discovered two abandoned Disney parks, took thousands of awesome photos, and got hit with a cease and desist order from Disney. They demanded that Seth turn over his photos, which he refused to do. Seth has a great book out, by the way: Abandoned: Hauntingly Beautiful Deserted Theme Parks, which I would LOVE to read.

I’m guessing China, but this photo is unattributed.

Pripyat Park near Chernobyl in Ukraine. The whole place is a cautionary tale. Its grand opening was supposed to be on May 1st, 1986, in time for the May Day celebrations, but those plans cratered on April 26, when the Chernobyl nuclear reactor started melting down a few kilometers away.

Miracle Strip Amusement Park in Panama City, Florida, which opened in 1963 and closed in 2004 due to lack of interest by tourists. Many rides were sold or simply disappeared, but others remained, slowly decaying.

By the looks of it, somewhere near the Painted Desert or possibly Route 66.

What does this sign really say? Murder, drugs, illicit affairs, human trafficking and prostitution. Come on in!

Malls are capitalism in a vacuum-seal: over-lit, aggressively cheerful … until they’re not.

I’m pretty sure this is a Seth Lawless photo. Many malls in North America are considered "dead" (for the purposes of leasing) when they have no surviving anchor store. But by 2025, more than 25% of all American malls will be more than dead. They’ll be permanently closed.

Kalyazin Church, also called the Flooded Belfry standing alone in the Uglich Reservoir Kalyazin, which was submerged when a dam was built in in 1939.

The now derelict Owings Mills Mall, photo by Business Insider

The Maunsell Sea Forts built in the Thames and Mersey Estuaries. They were designed for anti-aircraft defense during WWII. Decommissioned in the 1950s, the forts were briefly reoccupied in the 1960s as a pirate radio station.

Abandoned East German property, photo by Christian Richter. When the wall fell, many East Germans simply left and no attempt made to recover their possessions.

What’s your feeling about abandoned places? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Be sure to leave your comments below.