The Story of the Former Resort Valdonos

• Location: Valdanos Bay, Ulcinj, Montenegro

• Built: Late 1970s

• Abandoned: Early 2000s

• Purpose: Seaside military resort and retreat center

• Current status: Abandoned and overgrown; structures crumbling, sea still glittering beyond broken railings

The Former Resort Valdanos was constructed in the late 1970s as a seaside retreat for Yugoslav military and government elites — a sanctuary of status and silence, hidden in a pristine bay. It wasn’t for tourists. It was for insiders: soldiers on leave, party officials escaping the tension of a fractured state, leaders seeking calm.

In the 1980s, it was alive. Canteens buzzed with chatter. Beach chairs lined the shore. The restaurant overlooked the bay with a view you could lose hours in. It was the kind of place where everything felt still — even when the country beyond was in chaos.

In 1993, the Yugoslav Navy took control of the resort, aiming to convert it into a military base. But the public response was negative, and the Supreme Court (of Montenegro) ultimately blocked the project. From that point on, Valdanos began to slip into silence.

By the early 2000s, the buildings were abandoned. The gates didn’t close with ceremony — they just stopped opening.
Since then, the resort has remained under state control. Occasionally, it pops up in redevelopment plans, but none have moved forward. Meanwhile, the site continues to decay quietly — wrapped in olive groves, sea wind, and the ghosts of what used to be.

I didn’t plan to find this place. I was out for a walk through the olive groves, just following the path, amongst the olive trees, enjoying the calmness. It was quiet — the kind of quiet that makes you notice every crunch of your footsteps, every rustle in the trees, a few grass snakes defintely startled me.

Then I saw something in the distance — a small, crumbling building tucked between the trees. At first, I thought it was an old house or shed. But the closer I got I realised I'd stumbled across these chalets.

Past the chalets, a broken path led me to what used to be a full resort. Staircases going nowhere, balconies missing railings, and graffiti peeling off the walls. It was overgrown, falling apart, and completely fascinating.

When I stepped into the site, it felt like I was entering a sealed-off dream. Nature had crept in but didn’t rush — just slowly blurred the edges. Ivy spirals into cracked hotel walls. Fabric slid from abandoned roofs. The open areas, filled now with weeds and dust.

Back when it opened in 1983, this place must have been stunning.
It wasn’t just a resort — it was a full-on retreat, carved into the hillside above Valdanos Bay. Two private villas, 29 duplex homes, trailers and prefab houses — all spaced out just enough to give everyone their own slice of the view. There were campgrounds tucked into the olive groves, and from almost anywhere, you could see the sea.

They thought of everything: a supermarket for the basics, a pastry shop for morning coffee runs, and a restaurant perched with a 270-degree view of the bay. The restaurant even had a spiral staircase that led straight down to the water. You can just imagine people heading down for a swim after dinner, or sipping drinks while the sun dipped behind the cliffs.

Then vs Now: What It Was, What It’s Become

The villas are just hollow shells, their windows blown out, wildflowers growing through floor tiles. The spiral staircase is rusted, the railings barely holding on, but you can still make out the path it once led to. You stand there, and it’s easy to picture it all: the clink of plates in the restaurant, laughter from the balconies, the soft hum of conversation drifting over from the campgrounds.

The reception area is still there — barely. A wooden frame with compartments where room keys would’ve hung still clings to the wall. There’s a small office to the side, filled with old files and papers, curled and yellowed with age. You can feel the weight of time here. Not heavy, just… present. Like the air remembers.

Now? It's quiet. Still. Almost eerie - but beautiful in its own way.

I kept wondering who walked these halls. Who stood on that diving board? What secrets were spoken in these rooms, what love stories began on those balconies?
Places like this aren’t just abandoned — they’re paused. Frozen between what they were and what they’ll never be again.
The tragedy is that most people will never know this place existed. But standing there, among the broken doors and sea-washed silence, I felt more alive than I had in days. Connected — not to people I’d met, but to those I never would.