Abandoned hotels sit at a strange crossroads of memory, money, and landscape. Grand lobbies that once smelled of polish and perfume now echo with dripping water and wind. Some properties fell to war or politics, others to bad timing or climate pressures that never made the brochures. A few still stand within sight of busy roads and vacation towns, drawing photographers, history fans, and locals who know when to keep a respectful distance from the quiet shells.
Kupari’s Bay Of Empty Hotels, Croatia
Along a calm bay near Dubrovnik, the old Kupari resort lines the shore with shattered glass, burned concrete, and stubborn palm trees that never got the memo. These were once military and holiday hotels for Yugoslav elites, later gutted by the conflicts of the 1990s and left in legal limbo. Sunbathers still use the public beach while walkers peer into ballrooms full of graffiti and pine needles, reading the ruins as a blunt reminder of how fast prosperity can disappear.
Haludovo Palace Hotel, Krk, Croatia
On the island of Krk, Haludovo Palace still looms above the Adriatic like a casino that missed its last act. Built with Penthouse money in the 1970s, the hotel mixed Cold War glamour with a strange mix of party guests and political visitors, then plunged into bankruptcy as the region changed. Today, its grand pool is dry, its chandeliers smashed, and its brutalist lines draw architecture fans who see ambition, excess, and hard lessons poured into the same concrete frame.
Monte Palace Hotel, Azores, Portugal
High above the crater lakes of Sete Cidades, Monte Palace was supposed to bring five-star tourism to a remote volcanic rim. Thick fog, isolation, and shaky finances closed it after only a short run, leaving carpetless corridors framing some of the most dramatic views in the Azores. Now, visitors on legal paths look up at balconies swallowed by moss and hydrangeas and wonder how a place with such scenery could ever fail. The building answers with silence and slow decay.
Ghost Palace Hotel, Bali, Indonesia
In the highlands near Bedugul, the so-called Ghost Palace crouches in mist, half finished and already half reclaimed by jungle. Local stories link it to political scandal, bad luck, and restless spirits, which only adds to the pull of its staircases and stone carvings wrapped in vines. Drivers on the nearby road glimpse terraces where guests never checked in, and occasional supervised visits reveal how quickly Bali’s lush climate turns unfinished luxury into something closer to a forgotten temple.
Kinugawa Onsen’s Bubble Era Ruins, Japan
Along the Kinugawa River north of Tokyo, skeletal hotel towers rise above steaming water and tidy streets still hosting active inns. These empty shells are leftovers from the economic bubble, built for crowds of domestic tourists who never quite came back after the crash and the changing travel habits. Rail bridges and river paths now offer close views of faded signage, cracked windows, and abandoned banquet halls. The contrast between thriving neighbors and hollow giants makes the story of overbuilding impossible to miss.
Hachijo Royal Hotel, Hachijo jima, Japan
On a subtropical island far south of Tokyo, the closed Hachijo Royal Hotel sits like a European palace dropped into dense green forest. Once marketed as a glamorous escape in the Hawaii of Japan, it ended up with dwindling guest numbers and high operating costs that the owners could no longer afford. The empty complex now peeks through vines and bamboo, visible from nearby roads and hiking routes. Its grand staircases and arches embody both optimism and the reality of remote island economics.
Former Hotel Del Salto, Tequendama Falls, Colombia
Perched on a cliff near Bogotá, the former Hotel Del Salto faces a plunging waterfall that once drew wealthy travelers in suits and evening gowns. Industrial pollution and changing travel patterns hurt the region, and the hotel eventually closed, feeding urban legends about ghosts and tragedy. Part of the building has since been reused as an environmental museum and viewpoint. Its preserved facades and restored rooms hold both river science and a careful nod to the glamorous past that slipped away.
Hotel Belvedere, Furka Pass, Switzerland
On a sharp bend of Furka Pass, Hotel Belvedere curves with the mountain road as if posing for every camera that ever drove by. For decades, guests could step out of the lobby and walk directly to the Rhône Glacier, then return for coffee with a view. Retreating ice, new traffic routes, and changing tourism patterns eventually pushed the business over the edge. The closed building still stands above the switchback, a quiet witness to both classic road trips and a warming climate.
El Algarrobico Hotel, Almería, Spain
El Algarrobico rises above a protected Spanish cove like a white staircase frozen mid-climb. Construction raced ahead in the early 2000s, promising jobs and seaside rooms, even as environmental groups argued it violated coastal and park protections. Court rulings halted the project, leaving nearly finished rooms empty and balconies facing a beach they may never legally serve. Locals and visitors now see the hulking structure as a real-time lesson in unchecked development and the long grind of legal cleanup.
Hotel Añaza, Tenerife, Spain
On the outskirts of Santa Cruz de Tenerife, the bare concrete of Hotel Añaza has become part of the skyline despite never opening for guests. The ambitious high-rise was meant to be a timeshare complex, but ownership tangles and changing markets turned it into a 22-story question mark. Authorities fenced it after accidents and illegal climbs, and calls for demolition grow louder. Drivers on the nearby highway still glance over at its open floors and imagine the resort that never was.
Echo Bay Resort, Lake Mead, Nevada, USA
At Echo Bay on Lake Mead, cracked motel slabs, lonely light poles, and surviving signs hint at a time when boat trailers and station wagons filled the parking lots. Falling water levels moved the shoreline farther and farther away, making it harder to run a profitable marina and motel. Federal priorities shifted as the drought deepened, and the resort was eventually closed and dismantled in stages. The remaining traces now feel less like a failure and more like a blunt climate record in concrete.
Ryugyong Hotel, Pyongyang, North Korea
The Ryugyong Hotel dominates the Pyongyang skyline, a sharp concrete pyramid later wrapped in reflective glass, yet still largely empty inside. Construction began in the late 1980s as a prestige project, stalled during the economic crisis, resumed in fits, and never turned into a regular working hotel. Foreign visitors see it from tour buses and city viewpoints, lit at night with shifting light displays across the facade. The sealed doors and missing guests say more about national priorities than any official slogan ever could.
Deserted Red Sea Resorts, Sinai, Egypt
Along parts of the Sinai coast, half-finished and abandoned hotels stand with empty pools, broken railings, and faded murals of blue water they never truly served. Political turmoil, security scares, and shifting airline routes pushed investors away, leaving concrete frames in places once marketed as easy winter sun. Small communities still live and work nearby, passing daily by reception desks that never checked anyone in. The contrast between lived reality and frozen fantasy is stark, especially when the sea is calm and clear.
