Exploring the History and Abandonment of Varosha: A Haunting Tale of a Once-Thriving City

Once a glittering seaside resort on the island of Cyprus, Varosha was a place where the world came to bask in sun-drenched luxury—until everything stopped in 1974. Frozen in time after a military invasion, this once-vibrant district of Famagusta became a ghost town, sealed off behind barbed wire and left to the elements. Nature crept in. Buildings crumbled. The echoes of holidaymakers were replaced by silence, broken only by the wind off the sea.

One of Varosha's many abandoned buildings

Exploring the abandoned town of Varosha in Cyprus offers a profoundly different experience from exploring other abandoned areas such as Chernobyl or Fukushima. Unlike the radioactive exclusion zones of Ukraine and Japan, where nature has slowly reclaimed the land in the wake of nuclear disasters, Varosha’s desolation is rooted in political conflict and enforced military occupation. Long fenced off, its decaying hotels and sun-bleached shopfronts serve as a haunting reminder of sudden displacement and unresolved tensions. While Chernobyl and Fukushima are marked by invisible, scientific dangers, Varosha carries a different heavy human and emotional weight—its silence is political, its emptiness guarded not by radiation, but by soldiers and barbed wire.

An abandoned street in the centre of townWh

Why was Varosha abandoned?

After a coup d’état in Cyprus backed by the Greek military junta sought a unification with Greece, Turkey launched a military intervention, citing its role as a guarantor of power under the 1960 Treaty of Guarantee. As Turkish forces advanced, residents of Varosha fled the area, expecting to return once the situation stabilized. However, the town was fenced off by the Turkish military and has remained uninhabited since, falling into disrepair over the following decades. The status of Varosha has remained a sensitive issue between the Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot communities, and its wider fate continues to be shaped by broader geopolitical considerations.

Another deserted street with vintage shop fronts

Exploring Varosha now

On 8 October 2020, Varosha was re-opened to visitors, allowing people from all generations to visit the dilapidated area. Often referred to as ‘dark tourism,’ the opening of Varosha invites visitors of all generations to engage with its layered history. Older individuals who once lived there can reconnect with a place from their past, while younger generations are offered a space for reflection and learning.

Now, the abandoned streets and vintage shop fronts of Varosha stand as eerie, sun-bleached time capsules, perfectly preserving the commercial heart of a once-bustling resort town. Behind cracked glass and rusting shutters, original shelves contain very little, or nothing at all and shop signs advertise long-forgotten brands, frozen at the exact moment life came to a halt in 1974. Faded posters, display cases of outdated electronics, and price tags in obsolete currency offer a rare and haunting glimpse into the consumer culture of the era. Unlike museums, where objects are curated and interpreted, Varosha’s storefronts remain untouched by narrative—silent witnesses to sudden abandonment, decay, and the passage of time, capturing a poignant snapshot of life that paused mid-sentence.

A laneway lined with former shops

With regards to hotels, homes and domestic spaces, these interiors are often hollow shells, emptied of their stories and belongings. Nature has begun to reclaim the spaces, with vines creeping through windows and trees growing in rooms, giving a slight sense not just of abandonment, but of erasure. What remains is a ghostly framework of a city, its essence long since faded.

A former apartment complex

The future of Varosha

As international dialogue slowly evolves and the wounds of division begin to scar over, the resort town hovers between decay and renewal. Will it remain a relic—an open-air museum of abandonment—or will it be reborn through cooperation and reconciliation? The future of Varosha depends not only on political will, but on a shared vision of healing. Whether it becomes a symbol of unity, a revived coastal destination, or a preserved ruin that warns against the costs of division, Varosha's next chapter will shape more than Cyprus’s skyline—it will shape how Cypriots from both sides remember, and how they move forward together.