Tskaltubo Sanatoriums: Georgia's Soviet Spa Town in Transition

Tskaltubo is a small town about 12 kilometers northwest of Kutaisi, in Georgia, the country in the South Caucasus, whose identity was built entirely around one resource: natural mineral water rising from the ground at a constant 33–35°C, mildly radioactive with the radon and carbon-dioxide content that Soviet balneologists held to be therapeutic for a range of circulatory, musculoskeletal, and nervous-system conditions. During the Stalin era and through the Soviet decades, the town became one of the most prestigious health-resort destinations in the entire USSR, its neoclassical and Stalinist sanatorium buildings constructed on a scale and with an architectural ambition that reflected the ideological weight placed on worker rehabilitation — and the personal interest Stalin, who reportedly kept a dacha and used a dedicated facility nearby, took in the place.

What Tskaltubo is today is something quite different from what it was designed to be — and, importantly, it's now changing fast. It is not a frozen ruin but a town in active transition: part grand Soviet decay, part working spa, part construction site, and still, in part, home to families displaced by war a generation ago.

What are the Tskaltubo sanatoriums?

The Tskaltubo sanatoriums are the grand Soviet-era spa and rehabilitation buildings of Tskaltubo, a thermal-spring resort town near Kutaisi in western Georgia. At its Soviet peak the town had around nineteen large sanatoriums, built in monumental neoclassical and Stalinist styles, drawing well over 100,000 state-sponsored guests a year. After the USSR collapsed in 1991 most were abandoned, and from 1992–93 many became shelter for thousands of people displaced by the war in Abkhazia. Today the town is a striking mix: several spectacular crumbling sanatoriums (famous among photographers and "ruin tourism" visitors), a working spa resort and bathhouses still using the thermal water, a major redevelopment turning some buildings into hotels, and a dwindling number of displaced families still living in the ruins. It's about 15 minutes from Kutaisi and is commonly combined with the nearby Prometheus Cave.

The sanatoriums and their decline

At the height of the Soviet health-resort system, Tskaltubo had around twenty large sanatoriums, each built to house hundreds of guests and each in the architectural language of Soviet institutional grandeur — broad facades, grand entrance halls, ceremonial staircases, colonnaded terraces, decorative plasterwork and mosaics. The central park and its radiating avenues connected the sanatoriums to the bathhouses, and the whole urban plan was organized around the logic of therapeutic leisure: the daily walk from accommodation to bath, to park, to dining hall and back. Direct trains from Moscow delivered guests, and at its 1980s peak the resort received well over 100,000 visitors a year.

The collapse of the Soviet Union ended this system abruptly. State funding stopped, the flow of sponsored workers ceased, and most buildings were left without maintenance or purpose. Many have stood empty since the early 1990s — decades of neglect during which roofs leaked, plaster fell, vegetation grew through floors and up walls, and the grand spaces acquired the particular quality of decay that only prolonged abandonment produces. Walking through an accessible sanatorium — the ceremonial staircase still intact, plasterwork still showing its original decoration beneath the staining, a ballroom open to the sky through a collapsed roof — produces an experience hard to categorize within ordinary tourism. It isn't "historical" in the conventional sense, because this history is within living memory; it isn't romantically ruined like medieval walls. It's something more uncomfortable: the physical evidence of a system that existed, that mattered to the people who used it, and that simply stopped.

The displaced families — and why this is not just "urban exploration"

The sanatoriums took on a profound human dimension in 1992–93, when waves of internally displaced persons (IDPs) fleeing the war in Abkhazia arrived and moved into the empty buildings — an estimated 9,000–12,000 people. Families settled into rooms designed for weekly medical guests; treatment rooms became bedrooms, ballrooms became living quarters, chimneys were punched through walls. What was meant to be temporary became, for many, permanent: a generation has grown up in these buildings, in conditions that have always been difficult.

This is the most important thing to understand before visiting. These are not empty ruins to be treated as a photographic playground. Real people live here — fewer now than before, but still present — and they are among the most vulnerable in Georgian society, carrying the trauma of displacement and, often, decades of poverty and uncertainty. Any visit should be made with that firmly in mind: enter only where access is clearly open, ask permission before entering any occupied building, respect no-entry signs and people's privacy and homes, don't photograph residents or their living spaces without consent, and behave as a respectful guest rather than a thrill-seeker. Many residents are willing — even glad — to share their stories, because they want the wider world to understand what happened in Abkhazia; that human encounter, approached with respect, is far more meaningful than the architecture alone. Going with a local guide who knows the residents is the most responsible way to visit, and supports the community directly.

A town in transition — and a closing window

Tskaltubo is not, in fact, simply "abandoned," and that framing is increasingly out of date. Several developments have changed the picture and continue to:

• The displaced families are being rehoused. Since around 2010 the Georgian government has steadily moved IDP families into new housing, and the number still living in the sanatoriums has fallen sharply — by recent accounts to a small fraction of the original population. (A street of new apartment blocks in the town is named, poignantly, for Abkhazia.) The process has been slow and is not finished, but the era of the sanatoriums as mass shelter is ending.
• Redevelopment is underway. Under the "New Life for Tskaltubo" initiative, a number of sanatoriums have been auctioned to domestic and foreign investors; several are now properly fenced off, and reconstruction has begun on at least one (Sanatorium Tbilisi, reportedly to reopen as a Marriott). Some of the most photographed buildings may become hotels or be off-limits in the coming years.
• The town is alive. The refurbished Tskaltubo Spa Resort and several bathhouses operate, drawing spa guests, and the town has working markets, cafés, and guesthouses like any Georgian town.

The practical upshot: the "frozen Soviet ruin" that draws photographers is a transitional moment, not a permanent state — buildings are being fenced, sold, restored, or demolished, so what's accessible changes from year to year, and the window to see the sanatoriums in their decayed state is genuinely closing.

The working baths

Tskaltubo's original purpose continues alongside the decay. Several bathhouses and the refurbished spa resort operate using the natural thermal water that made the town significant — offering the radon–carbon-dioxide mineral bath experience that was the basis of its reputation (one historic bathhouse, where Stalin reportedly bathed, still functions). The therapeutic claims made for the water in Soviet times are best treated as a wellness tradition rather than proven medicine, and visitors should rely on a doctor for any health concerns — but the baths offer a genuine connection to the town's original purpose for those who want to experience the water rather than only observe the decay around it.

Visiting practically and responsibly

Tskaltubo is not a museum: there are no official guided routes through most abandoned buildings, no systematic visitor facilities within them, and access depends on what's physically open, which changes as buildings are fenced or restored. Caution is genuinely necessary — floors weakened by water damage, unstable roofs, and other hazards mean the structural safety of these buildings should never be assumed. Visit in daylight, wear sturdy footwear, watch for structural dangers, and don't take risks for a photograph. And, again: where buildings are occupied, treat them as people's homes, ask before entering, and respect no-entry signs. Going with a knowledgeable local guide is both safer and more responsible.

Practical information

• Location: Tskaltubo town, Imereti region, western Georgia — about 12 km (≈15 minutes) northwest of Kutaisi.
• Getting there: By taxi/private transfer or marshrutka from Kutaisi (~15–20 min); most naturally a half-day, often combined with the nearby Prometheus Cave or Sataplia Nature Reserve.
• Access: Town streets and exteriors freely accessible anytime. Individual sanatoriums vary — some informally accessible in daylight, others fenced off, under reconstruction, or occupied; this changes frequently.
• Admission: Streets/exteriors free; entry to abandoned buildings is informal and free where open; working bathhouses/spa charge for services.
• Responsible visiting: Some buildings still house displaced families — ask permission, respect homes and privacy, don't photograph residents without consent. A local guide is the recommended, most respectful way to visit.
• Safety: Structurally unsound buildings — daylight only, sturdy footwear, stay alert, don't take risks.