To my right, across the overgrowth and past the adjacent fence – a car. Then, a familiar sound – someone is mowing the grass in the main compound – the only place that still sees the occasional human presence. Slightly crouching in a half-hearted attempt not to be noticed (though I hardly think it would make a difference), I move across the field, camera in hand, into the small building in front of me.

A little over a year later, I am once again back inside the confines of the ex-military grounds in Aytos.

For many years, wild rumors circulated around the city, that NATO was intent on using the old tank brigade compound to establish a base. The speculations, however, never materialized into action – the grounds continued to sink into oblivion. Perhaps it was all just another way to maintain the illusion that the city would finally take measures to deal with the enormous open space that had been sitting unused for decades. At present day, all that the grounds have to offer is more and more ruins. It was just a matter of what type of decay I would find in this particular wing of the base. As I entered the small shack that looked nothing more pretentious than the ubiquitous Bulgarian multi-purpose building, I veered left into the first compartment.

Remains on the wall testified to a pipe stove that was once here. It must have been necessary to guard against the piercing autumn winds sweeping through the open field and the winter snows that cover the Aytos plains on occasion. From experience, I know that the shabby construction and poor insulation of this type of building demand it

Turning toward the direction of the road, I saw my reflection gazing back at me from a faded and jagged mirror. An adjacent pair of dead reading glasses added to the apocalyptic scene.

And even in this tiniest of rooms, all around me showed quiet scenes of chaos and destruction, rent from the once living fabric of the not-so-distant past.

I came back to the small hallway, and navigated to room number two, where wild colors and even wilder decay reigned. 

It seemed that the walls of this room had changed garb many times, perhaps to suit political or higher-command whims. But as colorful as the multiple layers of paint, now all exposed, were, there was nothing much to see here.

The blue-hued room across the small hallway seemed to be enamored with more charm and substance. The variety of color on display, and specifically the different paint scheme featured in every space in this building I found definitely unusual. But I remembered seeing a similar lack of decorative uniformity in the 24th Tank Brigade’s quarters inside the main city compound during our 2016 visit, and deduced that maybe I was witnessing a strange recurring pattern. A tiled sink that looked not only out of harmony with its surrounding colors but also of strangely recent construction, greeted me on the way in:

My excitement over the discovery of what seemed like old medicine bottles diminished only slightly upon finding out they were actually once an oil and vinegar set:

I did appreciate dramatic look of the wall opposite, artistically veiled in half-shadow and adorned by the strategic placement of a lonely towel. Found aesthetic and scenes of apocalyptic art are hard to resist:

And yet another color combination on the way out – a maimed door with a fresh-looking coat of dark brown paint to bid me farewell:

As I exited, I immediately found where the missing stove from room one was now living. The light stream from the long-gone main entrance door was bathing its dark corner in dramatic shadow:

Traces of the stove’s once fulfilling life was what I first glanced upon my entrance, and coming full circle, it was now sending me on my way as I exited the small building. This strange contraption was planted right in front of the main entrance – I had no clues as to its purpose:

No one seemed to be around on this fine autumn day, and I thought I’d try to take a walk inside the perimeter. Heading west across the vast field parallel to the road, it wasn’t long before I was able to see into the main compound just next door – and next on the list for exploration:

As I continued across the field, an unfriendly-looking and sounding dog appeared out of the ruins, thus managing to cut short my wanderings in this particular spot. Not wanting to draw attention to my presence or contend with the animal, I headed back to my original point of entry and headed out.

I crouched into the small tunnel under the asphalted main road and proceeded to the fields next to the railroad tracks. An interesting fact about the former military installation in Aytos is that it was of gargantuan proportions, definitely so when compared to the relatively small town it existed in. In addition to the main post next door and the enormous barracks and exercise grounds of the 24th Tank Brigade inside the town iteslf, the fields adjacent to the road leading from Aytos to Karageorgievo also held training grounds, obstacles, trenches and various contraptions. Much remains of these installations even today, and I thought I’d take a look, since the inside of the complex had proved temporarily unfriendly to a random visitor like me.

It wasn’t long before a gathering of tank obstacles appeared out of the overgrowth:

Next to the ranks of stone, an entrance to a trench complex, long forgotten and now unceremoniously inhabited by leafy occupants:

Once filled with soldiers, the training grounds were now empty. The autumn hues and dried up vegetation left an even somber impression of a place that was once vibrantly alive. A large concrete-lined open space added to the mystery, as I moved further down the tracks, walking back toward the city:

And finally, at this sad junction of decayed past and living present, a fitting visual commentary on the uneasy coexistence emerged from the grasses. I understood. The time had come to leave it all behind and head back home.

—————————–

It’s another day and I am back where I started. Well, almost. This time, I decided to circle all the way around, behind the main post. I’m walking along the compound’s barbed-wire fence and looking for any sign of a breach in the flimsy defenses. The trek had started out with a walk through the adjacent fields at the base of the Hisarya peak on the outskirts of Aytos, braving dung from cows, sheep the nearby gypsy camp’s horses and the resulting invasion of flies. Once clear of the camp, I ascended the small hill that led to one of the main post’s rear entrances. It once served both vehicles and personnel, but now, its decrepit state and the still-erect, camouflage-hued watchtower stood in sad silence, observing from afar the city they once helped guard. I must admit, the view toward the town was impressive, even on this overcast afternoon:

The fallen corpse of a once-functioning streetlight lay nearby:

I continued my walk. There was not a soul in sight and I passed by the outer perimeter unperturbed: Aside from the gutted buildings, there was nothing much of interest either, and I could observe no suitable place for a possible entry. That, combined with the fact that I was alone, dissuaded me for trying to enter the compound itself. Instead, I thought I would walk all the way around, down the other side of the hill and see if I could explore the tank shooting range and garages that lay in close proximity to the main road and the building I had already visited. The walk down was not easy, as there was no clear path through the overgrown shrubs and it took me a while before I found myself on flat ground. Once I did, however, the destination soon revealed itself:I was a bit anxious crossing the open field, but encountered no trouble and was soon in front of what seemed an observation post, right next to the tank garages:

To my right – a faded and barely discernible slogan. It read: “United and undefeatable in peace and in the fight for defense of the deed of socialism”

Past the blue fence, decaying tank garages lined the open space in direct defiance to the slogan’s optimism:

Another sign nearby denoted that I was now at the “beginning of post number 4”:

I decided to see if I can breach the meager defenses of the observation post and rounded the building cautiously, lest an unfriendly canine, or an unfriendly local emerge from the unknown. They did not, though signs that I was not the only visitor to these once-forbidden areas were plainly visible:

And a tribute to the city of Silistra was emblazoned upon a garage wall:

Up the short stairwell to see if the door would let me in, then. The decrepit sign roughly translates to “firing observation posts”:

The door did give way without much protestation and I now laid eyes upon what military commanders once observed from this slightly elevated position:

Sheep were grazing in the nearby field and the voice of the shepherd could clearly be heard from where I was standing. I was well camouflaged, however, and did not have any reason to expect any trouble anyway, since the sheep and shepherd were just as much trespassers as I was. But no one seemed to care. I looked around the room and found some interesting design details about. Remains of intricate plastic roof tiling:

And a Mediterranean-looking arch, leading to a secondary, smaller compartment. Very much out of place in the spartan, cookie-cutter world of socialist military construction:

Further in, another observation room, quite like the first, and in an equally-advanced state of decomposition:

There was only so much to see here. I exited and headed down the stairs to see if anything else of interest lay behind the tank garages. I quickly came upon the usual graffiti, left over from soldiers that once served here:

Through a gap in the wall I was soon able to get a good look at the inside of the tank garage compartments:

It was strangely peaceful in the old compound, forgotten by time and by man. I had hardly felt the advance of the day, but time been marching on and I had to return to the outside. I looked around for an exit strategy and soon found a gap in the once-solid stone-slab wall. The egress was made difficult by yet more overgrowth that had filled in the hole, but I managed to escape intact.

As I walked back to my car on the grassy shoulder next to the road, I caught a glimpse of the gates that used to keep intruders out of the very place I had so easily entered a few hours ago. The desolation and decay were total. I could not help but feel a little bit sad that this is what the proud military past of Aytos was now reduced to. But nevertheless, there it all was – an old ruined shell, in so many ways emblematic of the state of the city and the country in which it was now breathing its last. Time does not forgive and change is the only constant in life. Nowhere are those two clichéd yet painfully true dictums more clearly illustrated than in the military ruins of my home town.

Few, however, are acquainted with the alternative destinations also part of the local terrain, that offer an experience in many ways more genuine and representative of the overall, complex history of the San Francisco Bay Area. Even fewer still, are aware of the immense military presence that has also been part of Northern California’s history – a presence that has shaped the region for decades and left its indelible, still-visible legacy throughout. 

If one starts down this alternate path of exploration, there soon manifest the usual, highly-visible suspects – the infamous Presidio, the Civil War era grandeur of Fort Point, and the vast array of permanent posts and batteries, still watching over Land’s End and the Marin Headlands. But just across the water, tucked away in a nondescript part of the Bay Area and much reduced from former glory and size, still rest the remains of one of the region’s most significant historic sites. With an abundance of famous places in close proximity, it is easy to see why one could very easily overlook the Richmond Shipyards.

This proud engine of wartime production has been much transformed in the tumultuous decades since its foundations were laid by Henry J. Kaiser – the man whose name it once bore. Nevertheless, it still stands as one of the gems of Bay Area history, both for its contribution to the war effort and the gigantic role it played in changing the social and economic fabric of the San Francisco Bay Area.

At the onset of World War II in 1940, Kaiser’s decision to build the massive shipyard complex on the outskirts of Richmond would ultimately change the city’s demographics for good. The mass assembly-line type operations of his revolutionary shipbuilding process opened up jobs to unskilled workers and allowed minorities, women and the handicapped to enter the workforce in large numbers for the first time. An influx of Americans from the economically-stagnated climate of the South and Southwest United States descended on Richmond, exploding the population of the small city from 23,600 residents in 1940 to almost 100,000 by 1943. 

Today, even though some remains of Kaiser’s original empire can still be seen, not much is left of the shipyard operations that produced 747 ships from 1941 to 1945 (a production rate still unmatched by any shipyard in history) and helped propel the Allies to victory. Having always been intended as temporary installations, Shipyards One and Two were completely demolished after the war years, taking most of their stories to the grave.

But amidst the modernization, the unyielding march of time and the all-engulfing building frenzy that is the madness of the San Francisco Bay Area, one structure still stands, almost exactly the way it appeared when construction was completed in June 1942. It was a building that provided a vital service to vessels produced at the shipyards before they set off to war, and if you have ever visited Richmond’s Shipyard Number Three, you know it is hard to miss the imposing concrete mass that is the General Warehouse. When I first visited the shipyards in 2015, I took this picture of the General Warehouse building. I did not then know its name, its origins or its purpose, but I immediately became curious when I stumbled upon it in the dark that night. After that first visit, I just had to know more about this unique-looking structure. However, I soon found out that information was extremely hard to come by, and a few years had to elapse before the archives finally divulged their secrets. 

It turns out that the design for this monumental structure started out as a rough sketch on the back of an envelope, made by chief Shipyard Number Three architect, Morris Wortman, as he was returning to California after a visit to Kaiser offices in New York. The most important building designed for the third shipyard in the series, was built in by Cahill Bros. in the Streamline Moderne style (a late variation of Art Deco), with curved corners, horizontal banding and decorative porthole windows. Driven by the urgency of war, the General Warehouse took only 120 days to be completed – another feat of expediency in production that was starting to become the norm at the Richmond Shipyards. 

Shipyard Number Three was laid out by Henry Bernat, Kaiser’s marine design engineer, who organized the zones of work in lines, following the construction progress of the ships produced. The General Warehouse was the last in a series of facilities that were laid out sequentially from north to south, and was a part of the Outfitting zone of operation (the other three being Engineering, Hull Construction and Administration). As the name suggests, buildings in this zone were directly associated with vessel outfitting activities that occurred post-launch.

As the last stop for newly-produced ships, the huge storehouse provided them with their final furnishings. Here, the vessels received any material goods and equipment, such as stoves, blankets, waste baskets, mops, and anything else that they would need for full functionality.  It was a few years before I finally returned to the shipyards – this time, to visit the SS Red Oak Victory museum – a Victory Ship that was a 1944 product of the Richmond Number 1 Yard. The General Warehouse is located right next to the ship, and I decided to take a walk around before my visit, to see if there was any change in its state of appearance. I started my tour around the periphery of the building, walking on the raised platform that surrounds it. Surely enough, when I turned the corner, one of those infamous white pickup trucks headed my way. It wasn’t until we were midway through the usual conversation about private property, trespassing etc., that I realized that I absolutely had to find a way to see the inside of this building.

Unwilling to yield to the harassment, I pushed back, asking about the owners of the building whose platform I was being asked to vacate. She promptly informed me that the Port Of Richmond, whose offices were just around the corner, was now the owner of the warehouse and any permission to be on its grounds would have to come from them.

I very rarely ask consent to visit any of the sites I frequent, for the simple reason that there is often no one to ask from – these places are often abandoned and frequented only by ghosts and individuals such as myself. But whenever there is a chance to talk to a person in charge or a property owner, I always make sure to obtain their permission to enter and photograph, explaining the reason for my interest. Therefore, I now decided to try my luck with the people from Port Of Richmond operations.

No sooner had I entered the offices (which are housed in what once used to be the Riggers Loft, another original Shipyard Number Three building), than I came face to face with a gentleman, who happened to be Jim Matzorkis, the director of the Port Of Richmond. Kind enough to hear me out and present me with his business card, Jim mentioned that if I was to send him an e-mail explaining my intentions and interest in the building, he would consider my request.

Somewhat in disbelief at the receptivity exhibited, I must admit that I was a bit skeptical about my chances when I did send the message that same evening. My years of experience in documenting abandoned historic sites had taught me otherwise.

To my great surprise, a few days later I received an e-mail from Jim, stating that they would provide access to the warehouse on a day of my choosing. It seemed that I was going to be granted a rare glimpse into the historic Richmond Shipyards’ past after all. 

…

It was a grey, cold and rainy day when I arrived at Shipyard Number Three a few weeks after setting our date. I parked the car and headed over to the port office, where I was literally handed the key to the building and told to bring it back when finished. Not wanting to waste time when presented with such a rare opportunity, I waded through the puddles toward the General Warehouse. 

I did not know what to expect when I opened the door, but in the back of my mind I somehow thought that there would be light inside the building. My subconscious inklings were soon dispersed, as upon stepping inside, I was at once enveloped in total darkness. The concrete behemoth had been sitting unused for decades, and it seemed that all electrical power was now disconnected. It looked like my work would have to be done by torch light and tripod.

Making out the outlines of doors and windows, I headed to what seemed to be the first-floor office area directly to my left. My headlamp illuminated the corner office space, the first part of a larger chamber. I could now hear the sound of water seeping through unseen gaps and echoing throughout the structure. The curved corner of the building’s northwestern side was clearly visible, as was the decay of the roof’s surface:

It felt like being in a giant damp, cold sarcophagus. But signs of life were all around:

The walls still displayed safety notices from the State Compensation Insurance Fund that seemed very recent:

And an apocalyptic still-life scene greeted me at the other end of the hall:

On the wall opposite, a window looked out toward the northern loading dock:

I headed out into the loading dock area, even though I knew there was more to see inside the office enclosure. At this point, I did not yet know how much of the building I would be able to access and I was quite randomly moving from place to place, trying to absorb it all. Even in the darkness the dock seemed strangely alive, as if the workers had just now left everything in place and stepped out for a lunch break:

However, I was now realizing the true nature of my endeavor. The task of photographing had become more time and energy-consuming than I had anticipated. It took a long time to set up and shoot even a single scene, as I was working in complete darkness, with the camera on a tripod, light-painting with my torch to achieve the desired exposure. When I first entered the building, I had seen a chain link fence directly opposite the office enclosure, seemingly blocking off the rest of the enormous ground floor and it had briefly crossed my mind that the office space and dock area might be the only part of the building I would be able to explore. I finished photographing the dock and turned around, noticing that the area between the offices and the fence was filled in with different colored barrels and what looked like used paint canisters:

Refusing to give up so easily and hoping that I would at least be able to take some shots through the fence, I headed over to examine the situation at the dividing line. I sensed that the adventure might not end so quickly after all, but I was still pleasantly surprised to observe a large opening cut into the chain link. There was a way in after all!

I was soon on the other side of the barrier, with nothing restraining my further progress. The enormous, gaping cavern that was the first floor of the General Warehouse now lay before me. Gratefully, there was some available light seeping from the windows and I wasted no time in putting it to use. The fence enclosing the office space and storage area can be seen on the left of the photograph:

Gigantic columns stood in perfect rows, mutely holding up the massive concrete roof. All around them was nothing but empty space:

On the other side of the hallway I discovered a boarded up window that had once offered a view toward the adjacent graving basins of Shipyard Number Three:

As soon as I got closer and looked left, I saw what I had been hoping for all along – an open door! It was time to make history again:

And, behind the door, a stairwell leading up the floors of the old colossus – now things were starting to look real interesting:

As I started up the stairs, I noticed that the light began to increase. I soon found myself at the source of it – a large, partially broken window:

It offered a view toward the SS Red Oak Victory, docked just outside the warehouse:

The stairs kept winding up and up through the remaining floors, but for now, there was an interesting-looking room directly to my left that I had to explore:

What looked like a pair of car seats decorated the adjacent wall:

The scene was completed by a lonely chair, placed in just the right spot to create a perfect frame – perhaps I was not the first visitor to witness these scenes after all:

Sensing that there was more to see, I continued up the stairs. My elation at being able to temporarily shoot without artificial light was soon cut short. The second floor was enveloped in total darkness and the headlight and torch resumed their duties once more:

The “No Smoking” sign was attached to a door that led into another huge chamber. I suddenly felt the dampness increase, as if this floor was somehow more susceptible to being permeated by the rainwater. It was time to see what level two had on offer:

For the first time, I saw an electric light. It appeared there was some power available to the warehouse after all, and that limited lighting was still in place here and there. Illumination notwithstanding, the warehouse spirits soon made their appearance:

I soon had my first encounter with one of the huge freight elevators that once served both sides of the warehouse:

Moving about the enormous open space of the second floor, I began to see where the dampness was coming from – water puddles all around alluded to the multitude of leaks to which the structure was now succumbing. I also cast my first glance upon one of the building’s emblematic porthole windows:

On my left, a long-abandoned fire hose lay uncoiled from its reel:

The walls all around were numbered – a diligent categorization that served a now long-forgotten purpose:

I was now on the side of the building opposite from the one I had entered. I carefully snuck through a door that led to the other main stairwell, minding my step, for the floor was fairly flooded. The birds were also beginning to make themselves known, both by the copious markings they had left on the ground and their cries echoing through the pitch-black staircase.

Making full use of my headlamp, I slowly navigated to one of the circular windows on the eastern end of the warehouse, facing the rear parking lot. A ghostly still-life installation greeted my presence:

The window offered not only nice, diffused light for photographs, but also a view to the outside:

Braving the assault of the ever-increasing water and darkness, I decided to press on and see if I could climb all the way to the top. Despite the foul weather, I wanted to see if there was any chance to exit to the roof. Not only would the elevated location offer up a view of the surroundings but I was curious as to what the very top of this historic structure looked like. I climbed up on abysmally wet stairs, generously infused with bird droppings. The air was heavy with the smell and dampness of the old building.

Mercifully, it wasn’t long before the darkness began to assume a grayish tint, until, it finally became evident that light was once more slowly vanquishing its presence. As I inched toward the topmost level, I began to see bright yellow electrical cables snaking up the stairwell. They were attached to light fixtures with new, power-efficient bulbs installed. There was not light, nor a way to produce it using the equipment in sight, but evidently, there was some sort of human presence here on occasion.

I continued toward the dim glow and was soon at a clearing, a sort of wooden enclosure attached to the concrete walls of the warehouse. It appeared to be part of the frame of the fourth floor roof, which, unlike the lower three, was constructed out of wood and supported by wooden posts :

The source of light was soon revealed – another level above, a skylight illuminated my surroundings and part of the stairwell that had led me here:

Another fire hydrant, in an equally-somber state, guarded the lonesome compartment, permanently attached to one of its walls:

As my eye followed the unfolded tentacles of the dead fire hydrant, I began to realize that they lead to a place other than the one in which I was now standing. Extending their length, they breached the confines of the wooden shed and protruded through an opening in the structure – at last – a door!

I didn’t waste time – leaving the tripod behind and tucking the camera away into my jacket in a vain attempt to shield it from the brutal rain-assault, I ventured onto the roof. Turning back, I saw the place that I had exited from:

The rain and wind were unrelenting. I could see the enormous NYK Lines cargo ship to one side of the warehouse and the nearby hills on the other, but despite my interest I knew I couldn’t stay long. I ran to one side of the roof to check out the view and get an overall shot or two. The termini of the two main stairwells protruded on either side of the structure, a seagull sentry posted on each:

Directly behind me lay the bay’s edge and the end of Shipyard Number Three. The yards’ lone surviving whirley crane stood off to the right:

And to the left, Harvest Leader dwarfed all presence around it, resting unperturbed in the falling rain:

I was fairly soaked, though. Under different circumstances, I could have easily spent an hour on the roof alone, but the weather was beginning to permeate both my clothing and my photographic equipment, neither of which would be of much use to me waterlogged.

I headed inside to shake the water off myself and dry the camera as best I could. Afterwards, I descended the stairs once more, to see what I could find on the topmost floors that I had not yet visited. I soon noticed an epic shadow play on one of the round windows, with a strategically-placed pigeon completing the scene:

I was now on floor four. Once again, there was a presence of light, dimly making itself known. I soon discovered its origin – a separate wooden compartment constructed within the concrete shell of the outer building, featuring two levels. It was well-lit by two fluorescent light fixtures:

An old ladder rested against a graffiti-filled wall – an uneasy coexistence of two different generations:

I did not see anything of interest on the second level of the wooden structure, so I headed back out into the semi-darkness to see what else I can find on level four. The wooden roof and supporting post construction, different from the first three floors, was evident in this space:

Not encountering anything but open space on floor four, I descended down one level. On the third floor, I came upon a door leading into what seemed like another secondary compartment built-out on the far left side of the warehouse. It had the look of a meat-locker and a shiny, metal door with not one, but two locks attached:

The interior of the space itself was unremarkable, but one of the slit vents in the wall offered an interesting view toward the adjacent Machine Shop building – also an original period piece from The War – now part of the Port of Richmond Auto Facilities. With the rain and smoke in the background, this made for an interesting point of view:

There was not much more to see here, but a lonely “No Smoking” sign hanging right outside the door had the look and feeling of another era:

No sooner had I turned away from the once-restricted area than I set eyes on the dim silhouettes discernible on the eastern wall. This particular spot was once again marked by doors – I had found the restrooms. Or so I thought. As it turned out, these were only the ladies’ facilities, housed in a wooden enclosure of sorts:

The inside of the ladies’ room offered some interesting content as well:

Evidently, this is where system control took place:

An old paper dispenser, keeping company with the bathroom’s circular window, presented a picture of loneliness and decay:

Near the restroom facilities, I also came face-to-face with the smaller passenger elevator that once operated on the premises, for the first time:

In close proximity, its larger sibling kept vigil over the antiquated remains of a once productive and alive floor number three:

Doors were certainly a recurring theme. This one, with its unconvincing warnings and vintage typeset was going to lead me back down to base level. For it had been nearly four hours since I had entered the infamous warehouse and I had not felt the time pass. But I was beginning to feel the physical and mental weariness of exploring and concentrating for such an extended period and it was time to head back to ground level:

I wanted to finish off the day by re-visiting the ground floor and taking a few photos in the office spaces next to the entrance that I had neglected on my way in. An old Nitsuko America desktop computer (complete with paper user manual contained in the folder right below it) and a dead-looking office chair greeted me as I made my way back into the sarcophagus:

It would appear this one was the network room, so to speak. A dedicated wall space featuring phone jacks, punch down blocks and various electrical connections all testified to its purpose:

Looking around, I noticed a TNT Reddaway Truck Line calendar still plastered on a nearby wall. According to its display, time here had stood still since the year 1995:

In a hurry on the way in, I had neglected to notice that there was a second “floor” to the office section – it was accessible by an external wooden staircase. I climbed up to take a look around. As below, so above – the office tunnel on the second level also ran the entire width of the first floor. On my way to the other wall, I passed by three windows that looked straight out of the World War II era:

I was ultimately led into a large space that appeared to have once been a file-storage room. Additional wooden shelves of various size and color, as well as the odd file cabinet, now stood empty and alone, left behind by man, who in his infinitely whimsical nature had once again moved on:

I exited through the white door on the right and stood at the stairwell. I was granted a bird’s eye view of the first floor. It was well-stocked with various wares, machinery and materials, likely belonging to the shipyards or its tenants:

And just like that, I realized that my time at the General Warehouse had now come to an end. While there surely was more that I could have explored, the clock had advanced and I had more or less documented the entirety of the mammoth enclosure. I had walked the concrete ground, climbed through four floors of darkness and decay and had met the building’s occupants, either in spirit or matter, who spoke of the history of this once magnificent and important structure. I will admit that it was not without some reluctance that I gathered my gear and headed toward the exit. In a way I did not want to leave, at least not yet, and I definitely did not want to return the key that the nice people at the Port Of Richmond offices had so generously entrusted me with. 

As I emerged into the gray, rainy afternoon, many thoughts crowded my mind. Chief among them was the nagging, unanswered question of what will happen to this historic place. Will it survive the changing times around it without an immediate purpose to fulfill, or would this orphan of war become another victim of so-called modernization and ceaseless new construction? In an environment where preservation and reverence of history often take a back seat to over-development, profit and greed without regard for heritage, nothing is guaranteed. 

World War II presented a massive shift in consciousness, development and industry that, for better or worse, changed American society and the fabric of the country in significant ways. The San Francisco Bay Area was no exception. But today, it feels like the legacy, culture and physical presence of the generation that is often called The Greatest, are slowly fading into oblivion. It might seem silly to presume that the preservation and utilization of material remnants of an era will help keep its other more important and subtle legacies alive, but I do believe (often against common sense and logic) that there is great value in not letting the physical symbols of our history die.

Sites like the General Warehouse, the SS Red Oak Victory and the Richmond Shipyards as a whole (what little is left of their original form), can bring a whole new dimension to the Bay Area’s appeal, if maintained, marketed and presented for all who wish to visit a living piece of history. For visitors seeking an alternative to the usual crowded, clichéd, selfie-stick-wielding touristic experience, the existence of places like the General Warehouse could potentially generate a whole new level of interest in the San Francisco region. 

I did end up returning the key after all. As I sloshed through the multitude of puddles on the way back to the car, I was struck once again by the imposing exterior of the building that I had just departed from. For the first time, I noticed that a portion of the original “General Warehouse” metal sign still remained, maimed and rusted, above the entrance at 1324 Canal Boulevard. It was only fitting that I end my experience with a few shots to document the outside of the warehouse. And now, as I end this article, I believe it is also fitting that these images have the last word in this tale of ghosts of past and present. It is my hope that it will be a tale that still has a few chapters left. 

With gratitude to Jim Matzorkis and The Port Of Richmond for their generous assistance, without which, this experience would not have been possible. And, to Jon Haeber, for providing invaluable historical information on the General Warehouse and Shipyard Number Three. 

SOURCES:

The City Of Richmond, CA
The National Park Service
Berkeley Heritage

-Wiss, Janney, Elstner Associates, Inc. (2010). HISTORIC STRUCTURE REPORT, Richmond Shipyard Number Three, Consolidated History and Architectural Description, Richmond, California.

In a misled and confused modern city, this is what remains of its legacy:

I spent many a day (mostly while stuck at my perilously monotonous job, contemplating escape and the many places that I hadn’t yet checked off my travel list) theorizing, planning and trying to figure out a way to sneak in a week-long vacation to Hawaii. I finally figured, that I could not miss the opportunity of visiting this time around. I had been putting off the trip for too long, the 75th anniversary of the attacks was coming up, and for once, I had a bit of a head start on ticket and hotel prices, having begun to plan the trip early in the year (instead of being startled into remembering the occasion every time December 7th would roll around, and the Pearl Harbor events would get their tiny share of media coverage). Without formally slotting in a vacation week, I went ahead and made reservations, figuring I had enough time to take care of the details later. And, just like that, I was finally booked to Oahu.

It just so happened that circumstances aligned perfectly to my plan, and come December, finding myself with ample free time at my disposal, I was able to properly plan out and accommodate my trip. I flew out of SFO, and already at the gate, I encountered my first, shall I say ‘celebrity’ sighting – an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair, wearing a Pearl Harbor Survivor cap. I did not want to bother him, as it was early and he was with his family, but I realized that we were going to be sharing a flight. As it happened, at the end of the week, we ended up sharing the return flight to San Francisco also. It was only then that I found out who this man was. Virgin America airlines announced that we have Mr. Harold ‘Hal’ Conrad,  a WWII veteran and Pearl Harbor survivor on board, and were kind enough to update Mr. Conrad to first class, in gratitude for his service. It was a nice gesture to witness.

Upon landing in Honolulu, I picked up my car and headed to my hotel, where another surprise awaited me. The front desk clerk – quite the chatty and accommodating fellow – asked what brings me to Hawaii. When I told him that I was there to visit the Pearl Harbor sites and photograph the events surrounding the 75th anniversary of the attacks, he mentioned that there was a WWII veteran that he might be able to connect me with. This man, he said, was accompanied by his friend and the friend happened to be staying in the same hotel I was in the process of checking into. If I wanted to meet with him and interview him, I should leave my contact info, so he could pass it on, and see if they were interested. I left my card at the front desk, and said they could call me to schedule a brief meeting. I had barely begun to unpack, when my phone rang. It was thus that I got to meet Ed Heddy.

Ed was not at Pearl Harbor, but fought in Phillipines and was stationed at San Fernando. He was born in 1926, and enlisted in 1945, when he was 18 years old. Ed’s service in the Philippines ended when he was he was hit by an American motorized vehicle. The accident left him with two broken legs and internal organ damage and badly injured both of his knees, but Ed eventually made a full recovery. Upon returning to civilian life, he became a successful building contractor in the San Fernando Valley (where he still lives today), working on many big projects, including repair work on Hearst’s Castle and Henry Mancini’s house. Ed told me that he is a Christian, and that his faith was very important to him during the war. Without it, he said he wouldn’t have made it through. I found Ed to be a very nice and gracious man, who seemed very happy to have my company. We spent almost an hour talking about his life. I was glad I was presented with the opportunity to get to know a member of the Greatest Generation – it was certainly a welcome start to my trip.

I turned in early that evening, knowing that I had to get to the Pearl Harbor Historic Sites very early the following morning if I wanted to see the USS Arizona memorial. Demand is immense, and the 4500 first-come, first served tickets issued at the visitor center are gone by mid-morning. I had to be at the gates at 6am at the latest, to be in line for a ticket when the doors to the visitor center opened at 7am. Having come this far, I did not want to miss out on visiting one of the most important memorials at Pearl Harbor.

Come next morning, having successfully made it into the compound and secured my USS Arizona memorial ticket, I took some time to look around before the scheduled time the boat was to depart for the monument.

The USS Arizona’s anchor was recovered and is now displayed on site.

Quotes by those connected with the Pearl Harbor events are inscribed into metal plates all around the compound. I found the one by Ensign Paul H. Backus from the USS Oklahoma, particularly powerful. The USS John C. Stennis is in the background.

It was at last, time to join the line for the USS Arizona memorial tour. We were first led into a theater where we watched a very well-made short film on the history of the battleship. Afterwards, we were ushered into the boat, which was to take us to the memorial itself.

Our escorts:

It’s quite powerful when the white outline of the memorial finally comes into sight.

And then a somber entrance under the white arches and into the memorial shrine.

The barbette of one of the USS Arizona’s gun turrets remains visible above the water line, as a stark reminder of the magnitude of the disaster and the size of the battleship itself

Another interesting thing about the wreck is that the USS Arizona is still seeping out oil, 75 years later. The ‘tears of the Arizona’, though toxic and a source of pollution for the harbor, form beautiful patterns on the surface of the water.

Upon our return, I set out walking about the historic sites complex, and contemplated where to head next. Many Pearl Harbor veterans were around for the occasion and I was glad to see them. This is Mr. Jack Evans of the USS Tennessee.

Most, if not all Pearl Harbor veterans are in their 90s, and inevitably, their numbers are decreasing with every passing year. So, I was especially glad when I noticed a line of people waiting to meet a few of the survivors of the attack on the USS Arizona, as they are an especially exclusive group. I joined the line, and after a bit of a wait, I got to very briefly talk to Mr. Louis Conter:

And Mr. Lauren Bruner, whose story you can read in this excellent article. And you can purchase his book about his experiences during the war and on the USS Arizona at his site

Mr. Don Stratton, whose book, ‘All The Gallant Men’, I ended up purchasing, was also present. His book is very well written and presents an excellent first-hand account of the attacks on the USS Arizona and the aftermath for the author who was badly injured but managed to survive.

As I had purchased the ‘Passport to Pearl Harbor’ ticket, I next decided to head to the USS Bowfin submarine museum, admission to which was included in the deal. The Bowfin is very well preserved and it feels like stepping back in time. All the compartments, like the galley, still very clearly convey the presence and energy of the people that served on the ship.

The torpedo room:

The GE engine controls:

And back on top. where the guns, though long-silenced, still aim off into the distance.

When I got back to land, I got to take a few more portraits of the veterans that were on the grounds. I regret that I was not able to get this gentleman’s name, although I believe he was part of the crew of the USS Arizona and was also in the process of writing a book about his experiences at Pearl Harbor and during the war:

This man was also very nice and kind enough to let me take his portrait. Unfortunately, I did not get his name, either.

Next, I headed over to the submarine museum, right across the way:

I then proceeded to another part of Ford Island by bus, to see the USS Missouri, site of the Japanese surrender that ended World War II. Admiral Nimitz greeted us on the way in, perched amidst throngs of tourists and rows upon rows of Old Glory:

The ship herself is a sight to behold, especially when bedecked in celebratory finery, with the view of Oahu in the background:

Active or not, the guns are fairly imposing also.

The spot over which the formal surrender of the Empire of Japan took place:

Marine detachment headquarters:

Ship’s kitchen:

Dentist’s ‘office’:

Sherman’s immortal quote:

And, of course, the computer center (the Missouri was in service until March of 1992, well into the personal computer era).

The views from the ship are breathtaking:

Time was running out and I wanted to make it to the Pacific Aviation Museum before it closed at the day’s end. I headed over to another boarding area, where buses were ferrying loads of visitors to Ford Island. There, the museum sits amidst the same hangars, buildings and flight control towers that witnessed the events of December 7th, 1941. I was looking forward to seeing those very same places and structures and entering the time machine once more, if only for a short while.

Stepping out of the bus, we were greeted by the control tower. The tower and the S84 Operations Building were both brand new at the time of the attacks. In fact, they were not even finished. The tower was restored in 2011. You can read its story here.

Since time was of the essence and I could not afford to miss the last bus back to the visitor center, I decided to forgo the main museum hall and instead, chose to wander around the buildings and see the outdoor exhibits. I headed toward Hangar 79.

On the way, I couldn’t help but notice that not much had changed in the 75 years that had passed. The buildings looked more or less the same as they did in 1941. It was quite surreal to wander around – truly, a small trip back in history.

Air strips were once crisscrossing these same grounds. The turbulent tropical atmosphere provided a fitting backdrop of weather for my images and for the occasion. Oddly, there was a strange peace about in this environment – a place marked by such a tremendous and violent conflict that changed the course of history.

The Pacific Aviation Museum features a C-47 Skytrain!

These are the same buildings that withstood the Japanese attacks.

Outside Hangar 79, I ran into a fascinating ‘graveyard’ for vehicles waiting to be restored for display in the museum.

I could hardly tear myself away from the machinery, but now it was really time to get moving, as Father Time shows no mercy and I was cutting it close. Hangar 79 was just around the corner.

It was time to see what the inside of this enormous structure held. The hangar was a maintenance and repair facility for aircraft serving in the Pacific Theater. It was fully functioning in that capacity throughout the duration of the war and its capable crews worked 24-7 to keep airplanes in the fight. Hangar 79 and its crews were key to winning the war in the Pacific. It is still a fully functioning shop today, with a focus on restoration and maintenance of aircraft that are to be featured in the museum’s collection.

The windows of Hangar 79 still bear the marks of Japanese strafing!

A B-17 Flying Fortress was waiting to be restored! Very cool to encounter one of those – a true classic. This B-17 has the serial number #41-2446 and was piloted by Fred Eaton of the Royal Australian Air Force. The bomber was recovered from New Guinea and has quite the fascinating story. You can read it in the full gallery, at the very end of this post.

I didn’t want to leave, as I felt I had run across a treasure trove. There was so much more to see at the Pacific Aviation Museum and Hangar 79, but the working day for the historic sites was drawing to a close. I had to head out.

It would only be fitting to close with a few shots of the Pearl Harbor parade that took place in Waikiki the next evening. I was glad to see that a few of the ‘Rosies’ were also there, as they were a big part of the war effort and made a huge contribution to its successful outcome. Many of them, right next door in Richmond, CA!

Cliché as it may sound, my visit to Pearl Harbor was truly an unforgettable one. Maybe the long wait, all these years, had something to do with it. But most of all, I believe it was the living presence of the place, which still feels like a veritable time capsule in so many ways (before seeing it in person, I was kind of hoping it would!). It easily conveys to the visitor the memories and atmosphere of an unique place and an unique time in history. I was surprised at how little seems to have changed since the war years (to me, a good thing!). Buildings, vehicles, roads, fields and infrastructure, still bear the marks, sometimes obviously physical, other times more implied or felt energetically, of the war that changed the world and the generation that fought it. The added bonus of coming in close contact with the people that were actually present on December 7th, 1941 and lived through those momentous days and years, further intensifies the experience and brings to reality the fabled annals of history, recent as they may be. For people my age, far too young to have really come in contact with much ‘living proof’ that World War II even took place, it is fairly surreal to encounter, in person, remnants of that era that are still very much alive. It brings the concept of time and space into perspective and, on a more material level, it presents a reminder that the events of 1939-1945 took place not all that long ago. Even though they are in the dawn of their earthly lives, numerous veterans of that conflict worldwide, are still living witnesses to the war that nearly buried civilization as we know it. But today, it is hard to remember. It is often, even hard to appreciate what happened, how momentous it was, and how grateful we should be to those that helped to bring about a desirable end to a very grave conflict, at the expense of life and limb. Paying a visit to places such as Pearl Harbor, that still do well to keep the memory alive, definitely helps. To me, it is something that everyone should experience at least once. In a lot of ways, subtle and informal an occurrence as it seems, coming in close contact with all of this, really is a life-changing event. I always had a feeling it might be. And, I suppose that’s what made the long wait sometimes difficult to bear. But I wait no longer, and though perhaps it goes without saying, I am more than glad that I finally took the time to check this one off my list. It was well worth it.

Til’ next time, Pearl Harbor!

—

You can check out the full gallery below:

На път за града, докато разговаряхме, започнах да осъзнавам, че нашата събеседничка е доста интересна и впечатляваща личност, с непримирим дух и енергия присъща на много по-млад човек.

От 35 години, баба Веса се храни само с плодове. Смесва най-различни сезонни плодове и прави каша от тях. Като допълнение към диетата, всеки ден, баба Веса ходи на айтоския парк, събира разнообразни билки, накисва ги във вода и ги оставя да седят през нощта. На другия ден се получава билков чай, който тя пие три пъти дневно, заедно с плодовата смес, и това е храната и за целия ден.

Баба Веса следва ученията на британския доктор Норман Уокър – проповедник на суровоядството и захранването с плодови сокове. Според баба Веса, Уокър твърди, че при нагряване над 50 градуса по целзий, всички живи сили в храната се разрушават. Той също казва, че тялото е временно, но душата, и разума са вечни. Когато говорих с нея, баба Веса ми каза: “Всичко, което вие ядете е мъртво, няма енергия. Лойта от свинята, мазнината от агнето, олиото в манджата, запушват порите и задушават клетките. Кръвообращението се нарушава, организма не може да диша и да се пречиства и заболява”. Според нея, консумирането на главно сурови храни предразполага към оптимално здраве.  

Баба Веса ходи всеки ден в айтоския парк. Взема си дюшек, ляга на една от пейките и прави дихателни упражнения. Тя също практикува метод на Тао лечителя Хонгчи Джао, който чрез разтягане и пляскане по ставите заздравява тялото, повишава тонуса и спомага лечението на най-различни болести.

Баба Веса твърди, че докторите не разбират нищо и само тровят хората с лекарства. “Ако знаеха как да лекуват”, каза ми тя, “защо измират и те както всички други? Къде са сега всичките доктори? И те са ей там, горе, в гробищата”. Баба Веса не взема никакви лекарства, и твърди, че е в отлично здраве. По мое наблюдение, и имайки предвид възрастта и, действително изглежда да е така. Синът и е бил доктор и се е отказал, след като е осъзнал, че модерните лекове не работят, а точно обратното, натравят допълнително организма. Баба Веса прави слънчеви бани на цялото тяло, и казва, че организма трябва да се препотява за да може да се пречистват порите и да излизат отровите и наслоените замърсения. Тя казва, че човек диша не само с носа и устата, а може, и трябва да диша със цялото тяло, със всички пори.

Баба Веса получава 150 лева собствена пенсия, и още около 100 лева за починалия и съпруг. Допълнително, тя взема около 50 лева аренда от земя, която притежава, по нейни думи, близо до Нефтохим Бургас. Като цяло, някак си се справя с тези пари, и с каквото допълнително синът и получава, понеже те живеят заедно. Преживява скромно, защото няма избор, но също и защото диетата и е много семпла. Казва, че допълнителните 50 лева от местата и помагат да си купи дърва за зимата. Според нея, преди местата до Нефтохим са били много хубави, но след като дошла демокрацията, каза, че “циганята” всичко заграбили и разрушили.

Моята среща с баба Веса ми даде възможност да се запозная с една наистина интересна личност от Айтос. Беше ми любопитно да науча детайлите от битието на един уникален и жизнен човек, който определено ще остане в спомените ми!

In the town, at least from what I can remember, the otherworldly and highly-intriguing complex was known simply as ‘the barracks’. These ‘barracks’ actually began life as the buildings of a hospitality and agriculture school for girls in the 1940s. In 1951, the newly-formed 21^st Infantry Regiment of the Bulgarian People’s Army moved into the complex of the former school. The 21^st Infantry Regiment existed until the changes of 1958-1960, when it was replaced by the 21^st Mechanized Infantry Regiment, as part of the Third Army. The 21^st Mechanized Infantry Regiment was itself disbanded in December of 1960, vacating the military base it was housed in. The 24^th Tank Brigade, created in the beginning of 1961, took over the complex, remaining there until the end of its existence in 1998. During that year, the center was converted into a basic training center for recruits of the then still mandatory military service.

This final transition marked the beginning of the end, and the complex closed its doors permanently a few years later, giving way to a slow-but-certain disintegration and oblivion at the hands of time. During the years, my fascination with this place, first awakened when I was still a child in my home town of Aytos, never left me. On the contrary, the desire to explore the abandoned stories of the past and, once and for all, verify for myself the contents of the world behind the fence, grew even stronger after the closure of the military base. During the summer of 2016, along with my friends and colleagues from Urbex.bg, I decided that it was time to finally investigate the remains of Aytos’ glorious military past. The former home of the 24^th Tank Brigade has long been sitting in abandonment,  and time forgives not. Weeds have now completely taken over the grounds, some rising well-above a person’s height, and almost completely obscuring what were once impressive and grand-looking structures. It is obvious that the buildings will soon give way under the constant pressure exerted by the elements. But despite the ruined and dismal state of what was once the home of a proud part of the Bulgarian Army, I was glad that I was finally able to see behind the infamous fence, before time completely buries the memories in its inevitable finality.    

I will let the images present what we discovered on the other side:

В града, поне от това, което аз си спомням като дете, наричаха чудният и така интересен комплекс „казармите“. Тези „казарми“ всъщност, започват съществуването си като сградите на девическо земеделско-домакинско училище през 40-те години. През 1951 г. новосформираният 21-ви стрелкови полк е настанен в комплекса на бившото училище. Неговото съществуване трае до промените на 1958-1960 г., когато полкът е реорганизиран, и на негово място е създаден 21-ви отделен мотострелкови полк, подчинен на 3-та армия. 21 ОМСП е разформирован през декември 1960 г., предоставяйки войсковата си база на 24-та танкова бригада, създадена през началните месеци на 1961 г. Бригадата става постоянен обитател на военния комплекс в Айтос, и остава такъв, до края на неговото съществуване, което идва през 1998-а година, когато домът на 24-та танкова бригада е преобразен в учебен център за новобранци.

Няколко години по-късно, комплексът напълно затваря вратите си, давайки път на едно постепенно, но сигурно, потъване в разруха и забрава. С минаването на времето, интересът към това място, развил се още през ранните ми години като дете в Айтос, не ме напусна. Напротив – желанието да разгледам останките на миналото и един път завинаги лично да се убедя за съдържанието на света зад оградата, даже се усили след затварянето на поделението. През лятото на 2016-та година, заедно с мои приятели “изследователи”, решихме най-после да разследваме останките от славното военно минало на Айтос. Земите на поделение 26200 и 24-та танкова бригада вече отдавна са изоставени. Времето не прощава. Тревите и бурените, които достигат над човешки ръст, почти изцяло крият някога така-внушителните сгради. Очевидно е, че постройките скоро ще поддадат под непрестанния натиск на елементите, и въпреки разрухата, аз се радвам, че най-после имах възможност да надникна зад прословутата ограда, преди времето да погребе спомените изцяло.

Нека снимките разкажат за това, което открихме от другата страна:

This time, the endpoint was the Ropotamo Nature Reserve – a protected area of rich natural habitats and biodiversity, sprawling around the winding bed of the river known by the same name. I was headed there in an attempt to relieve the monotony of a lazy and much-too-hot Sunday afternoon.

I had picked my point of interest somewhat randomly after examining a road map, but in the back of my mind there lurked the subconscious draw of another objective that had been sitting unchecked on my to-do list for far too long. Unsure about ease of access or exact coordinates, I had unofficially dismissed this one as “too difficult”. But now, driving to Ropotamo in the middle of a scorching July afternoon, I was acutely aware of the fact that this particular object of interest lay somewhere quite nearby.

The Arkutino Home for Gifted Children began as the brainchild of Lyudmila Jivkova, daughter of the long-standing head of state of the People’s Republic of Bulgaria, Todor Jivkov, and a determined individual, who had previously used her father’s influence and the taxpayers’ levs to bring a number of cultural projects to fruition. An idea for a vacation and education complex designed to accommodate gifted children of all nations, came about in the late 1970s, partly as a result and continuation of Lyudmila’s previous cultural endeavors, namely the “Flag Of Peace” children’s festival, hosted in Bulgaria in 1979. This ambitious architectural project was to be situated in a scenic location and punctuated by unique architecture. To those who made the final decision, the Arkutino sand dunes, located roughly halfway between the vacation towns of Sozopol and Primorsko, marked the perfect spot.  

In the early 1980s, soon after Lyudmila’s sudden death, a foundation named after her and created by the state, decided that the time had come to finally bring the Arkutino project to life. The land above Arkutino beach was appropriated and construction began in 1985, sparing no cost for materials or manpower, in order to bring the fallen first daughter’s grand dream to life.

For reasons that are still not completely clear, construction ground to a halt in 1989, amidst political changes in Bulgaria and the death throes of the socialist regime. According to one theory, “Ekoglasnost” – an ecological preservation organization that was somewhat influential during the period, had a hand in freezing the project’s progress, deeming the huge concrete structures as obstacles on the flight and migration paths of birds.

Ever since, the land and the half-finished buildings on it have been frozen in time, suspended in a perpetual limbo – a reminder of a dream world that was never to become reality. Ownership has been passed back and forth between the Ministry of Culture, the Ministry of Education, private construction firms and even foreign investors, bent on morphing the existing infrastructure into a modern vacation village.  

But the skeletons still remain. Weathered by time and the elements, and beginning to be reclaimed by the nature that grows all around it, the deserted dream of a dictator’s darling still watches over the bay of Sozopol, more than thirty years after its inception.

…

I had arrived. Parking at the improvised Ropotamo Nature Reserve dirt lot next to the main road, I walked over to the information sign to find out more about the reserve, and then headed back to the car to pick up my camera gear. As I was walking back, facing east toward the sea, the very smallest bit of evidence – barely the edge of a tall concrete structure – revealed itself in the midst of the foliage just across the road and to the left. It didn’t take many moments of deliberation for me to realize what had subconsciously prompted me in this direction all along. The Ropotamo trip was just a pretext. I walked across the roadway and headed off into the sand dunes.

…

After making my way through sand, vegetation and other obstacles, I was greeted by the first of many concrete giants, once I made it up the hill.
This is how the monolith looked from the front Access to the inside proved easy and I immediately came face-to-face with the ubiquitous graffiti and random artifacts- the only residents of the ghostly compoundThe famous “soft” socialist door…And small signs of at least some presence of life…One of the large halls further down is overwhelmed by decay Despite its unfinished and broken-down state, the spiral staircase looks truly impressive Looking up also presents an unique view As does the view toward the Black Sea!The spiral staircase led me up the floorsSky above, death-drop belowA view facing the beach, looking out the uniquely shaped windowsAnother large hall, where the red (either by design, or courtesy of the march of time) roof fit in perfectly with the retro socialist atmosphereOne of a few different dates I came across (all in 1989), that were likely carved in the concrete by workers in the last days before construction came to a haltI found myself wondering what these numerous large, open spaces were intended for…The dead, rusted metal of the unfinished construction site contrasts starkly with the living nature in the backgroundI am guessing this was “the stage”…A look left from the upper level of the stage compoundAnd a look down, where only chaos and destruction now reignA look at some of the other buildings, through the eyes of one of their mutilated and abandoned brethren A view from the roof. Perhaps this was supposed to be the topmost floor, but it was never to bePatriotic graffiti And a viewpoint encompassing most of the complexOne of the top story windows frames the scenery of Arkutino beach belowAnother date of doomThe spiral staircase as seen from the top down. I had to be quite careful not to slip through one of the many openings right next to the steps, as I climbed up. My guess is that the gaps were supposed to contain windows, but the project never made it to that stage of completion. A variety of structural breaches abounded…
A part of the roof, exhibiting the unusual architectural design of the buildings And a look to the other side, toward the beach strip and sand dunes The stage, from the audience’s point of view. This is the same stage from the previous images – for those, I was on the upper level’s left side, shooting down. 
Outside again, where I encountered remains of a railway, overgrown with shrubs. Quite likely, this rail line was used for transporting construction material to the massive site. Farewell, Arkutino!

Този път, крайната точка беше резервата Ропотамо. Упътих се към него с цел да разнообразя една скучна, ленива и прекалено гореща юлска неделя.

Бях избрал резервата някак си случайно, след като го открих на картата, но въпреки, че се запътвах натам, образът на едно друго място бе обсебил подсъзнанието ми. Поради липсата на информация относно достъпа и точното местоположение, до голяма степен бях изключил въпросния обект от списъка на места, които бих искал да посетя. Но сега, на път за Ропотамо през един горещ юлски следобед, аз бях изцяло наясно, че тази моя цел, постижима или не, се крие някъде в околноста близо до резервата.  

Началото на домът за надарени деца в Аркутино е свързано с Людмила Живкова, дъщерята на бившият първи. Амбициозна и разполагаща с влиянието и възможностите на знаменития си баща, както и с парите на данъкоплатците, към края на 1970-те години Людмила вече е осъществила много нейни идеи под формата на културни мероприятия и проекти. Може би най-известната от тях е международната детска асамблея “Знаме на Мира”, състояла се в специално създаденият парк-комплекс “Камбаните” през 1979-а година. Грандиозната идея за ваканционно селище за надарени деца от България и цял свят се заражда след успешният завършек на популярната асамблея, и в известна степен представлява нещо като продължение или по-нататъшно развитие на идеологията за братство между децата на света. Планирано е този амбициозен проект да бъде реализиран на живописно място и да се отличава с интересен и уникален архитектурен стил. Хората около Людмила Живкова решават, че пясъчните дюни на Аркутино между Созопол и Приморско представляват перфектното местоположение.

В началото на 1980-те, след внезапната смърт на Людмила, фондация носеща нейното име е създадена от българската държава. Тя решава, че времето да се осъществи проектът Аркутино най-после е дошло. Площта над плажа в Аркутино е иззета, и строежите започват през 1985-та година, без да се пести каквото и да било от гледна точка на материали и работна ръка, за да може да бъде реализирана мечтата на бившата първа дъщеря.  

Поради причини, които все още не са изцяло известни, строителната дейност е прекратена през 1989-та година, през периода на политическите промени в България. Според някои източници, организация “Екогласност” повлиява на бъдещето на проекта, като настоява конструкцията да бъде прекратена, понеже исполинските сгради пречат на полета на птиците в района.  

От тогава до сега, полузавършените постройки седят замразени във времето, потънали в забрава, напомняйки за една мечта която остава неосъществена. След промените, земята и недовършените имоти върху нея се прехвърлят между Министерството на културата, Министерството на образованието, частни строителни фирми и дори чуждестранни инвеститори, желаещи да превърнат съществуващата инфраструктура във модерно ваканционно селище, но този път, не за надарени деца.   

Днес, скелетите все още стърчат, надвиснали зловещо над една от най-красивите плажни ивици на южното черноморие. 30 години по-късно, изтощени и износени от времето и морския климат, те бавно но сигурно биват превзети от природата, безцеремонно навлязла в битието на едно минало, осеяно с разбити мечти.

…

Най-сетне стигнах. След като паркирах Форда на импровизираната отбивка, която служеше за паркинг на резерват Ропотамо, излязох да погледна информационната табела и да се запозная с околността. Връщайки се обратно към колата за да взема фото-екипировката, и вървейки към морето в посока изток, изведнъж съзрях едно малко, много малко, но страшно познато късче бетон, надничащо тайнствено над зелените хребети на растителността обрасла дюните отвъд пътя. Не се колебах много, осъзнавайки какво наистина ме беше подбутнало да се отправя в тази посока, надолу по Републикански път II-99. Оставяйки резерват Ропотамо зад гърба си, аз пресякох пътя и се устремих към дюните.

…

След като си проправих път през пясъка и растителността, поех нагоре по хълма, където не след дълго бях посрещнат от първият от много бетонни  гиганти, които ме очакваха

Така изглеждаше първият исполин отпредЛесно се озовах вътре, където веднага се появиха графитите и разните артефакти – единствените обитатели на призрачният комплексЗакъде без меката соц-врата…Признаци на поне някакъв вид “живот”Едно от големите помещения тъне в руиниВъпреки окаяното и незавършеното си състояние, витата стълба изглежда наистина впечатляващоА погледът нагоре също е уникаленС изглед към Черно море!Витата стълба ме отведе нагоре по етажитеНагоре небосвод, надолу безднаИзглед към плажа през уникално оформените прозорциЕдна от другите зали, където червеният (по дизайн или по принуда) таван напълно допада на ретро соц атмосфератаЕдна от няколко различни дати (всички през 1989-та година), която видях, най-вероятно издълбани от работници в последните дни преди замразяването на строежаКакво ли е щяло да бъде предназначението на всички тези огромни, отворени пространства…Мъртвите железа на недовършената конструкция контрастират с живата природа в заден планТова явно е било “сцената”Поглед наляво от горния етаж на сценатаИ поглед надолу, където сега цари само хаос и разрухаЧаст от другите сгради, през погледа на една от техните изтърбушени и изоставени сестриИзглед от покрива. Може би това е трябвало да бъде последният етаж, но той никога не е бил завършен напълно.Патриотични графитиИ един изглед към целия комплексЕдин от прозорците на последният етаж поставя рамка около пейзажа на Аркутинският плаж Още една гибелна датаВитата стълба погледната отгоре надолу. Трябваше да внимавам да не се изсипя през зеещите дупки в стената, докато се катерех нагоре. Предполагам, че там са трябвало да бъдат поставени прозорци.Зеещи ями всякакви….
Част от нестандартната архитектура на покриваИзглед на другата страна, към плажната ивицаТака изглежда сцената от гледната точка на публиката
Отново навън, където останки от релси се подават из храстите. Вероятно, тази линия е била използвана за превозване на строителни материалиДовиждане, Аркутино!

На път за село Злати войвода от Сливен, отивайки на посещение при роднини, решихме да се отбием до сливенските минерални бани, които са на път. Буквално до влизането ни в самия обект, аз нямах представа, че баните не работят. Това само по себе си бе голяма изненада за мен – всеки път когато съм минавал покрай баните на път за София от Айтос, съм виждал знака обозначаващ влизането и излизането от техният район, и винаги съм мислел, че те все още функционират. Но още по шокиращо бе самото състояние на сградите, съоръженията и комплексът като цяло.

Всичко е залостено, до голяма степен разбито и разядено от човеците и от елементите, и невероятно жалко, на фона на това което е било “едно време”. Научих от роднини и други хора, които срещхнахме там, че преди години сливенските минерални бани са били едно невероятно място – не само с много ценна лечебна вода, но и с много други екстри, като почивни станции, футболни игрища, санаториуми и детски лагери. Комплексът е бил красив и озеленен, с градинки и площадки, предлагащ богатство от лечебни процедури и занимания за всички.

Един господин, който срещнахме докато се разхождахме наоколо, ни уведоми, че в момента комплексът е собственост на “някакъв богат циганин” на име Сали/Салим(?), който го е купил преди няколко години, но след време се е отказал да го стопанисва. Не мога да потвърдя казаното, но ако наистина е така, от къде на къде такъв ценен, държавен (или поне трябва да е) обект, е за продан, и може да се предоставя на частни лица срещу пари? Да, знам, защото “това е България”, но все пак, въпроса трябва да бъде зададен.

Съжалявам, че нямам снимки за сравнение, може би някой някъде има, за да се види ярко контраста между миналото и настоящето. Наистина е потресаващо. Ще оставя думите дотук, снимките говорят много по ясно от тях!