Hidden in the forested mountains east of Tkvarcheli, Akarmara survives in an uncertain state between habitation and abandonment. Apartment blocks emerge from dense vegetation, staircases lead to occupied homes beside empty flats, and traces of everyday Soviet life remain scattered through buildings that have not been maintained for decades. Settling still requires following the winding roads of the former coal-mining district, crossing rivers and bridges that once connected one of the most important industrial regions in Abkhazia. Although often described as a ghost town, Akarmara is not entirely deserted. A small number of residents continue to live here, maintaining gardens, raising livestock and occupying fragments of a settlement that was once built to serve a major mining economy.
Video
Historical Context
Akarmara was founded in 1938 as a mining settlement within the coal-producing district of Tkvarcheli, in what was then the Abkhazian Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic. The strategic importance of the area grew sharply during the Second World War: after the German invasion cut Soviet access to large sections of the Donbas coal basin, the Tkvarcheli mines became a critical alternative source of industrial fuel. The settlement was formally incorporated into the wider Tkvarcheli urban area in 1942 and expanded steadily as part of a broader Soviet programme of industrial development. Post-war construction in the district relied heavily on prisoner labour — reliable historical sources confirm that German and Italian prisoners of war participated in building projects throughout the region.
At its peak, the cluster of villages and urban centres surrounding Tkvarcheli housed an estimated 40,000 people. Akarmara was one node in a dense network of settlements connected by roads, railways and industrial infrastructure, all oriented around coal extraction. During the Soviet period, the area was genuinely multiethnic: Russians, Greeks, Abkhazians, Georgians and Armenians lived and worked side by side, their daily lives shaped by mining employment and the rhythms of Soviet industrial culture.
The decisive rupture came with two overlapping crises: the collapse of the Soviet Union and the War in Abkhazia of 1992–1993. During the conflict, Tkvarcheli endured a siege lasting 413 days — one of the most prolonged and severe of the entire war. Because the only main road connecting the area passed through contested territory, Akarmara was effectively sealed off. Supplies arrived by helicopter, predominantly from Russian and separatist forces. Many residents left during the siege and never returned. According to local accounts recorded during the visit, the siege of Tkvarcheli remains the deepest collective trauma the population carries from the war years.
The conflict was followed by economic collapse and the terminal decline of the mining industry. A settlement that had once supported tens of thousands was reduced, by the time of the visit, to approximately 35 permanent residents — mostly Russians and Abkhazians. The multiethnic fabric of the Soviet era had dissolved entirely. In summer months, a steady stream of 4x4s arriving from the Black Sea coast brings informal tourism to the area, visitors drawn by the visible ruins of the mines and the ghostly residential blocks. There has been occasional talk of converting Akarmara into a heritage resort, but Abkhazia’s status as an unrecognised republic makes foreign investment effectively impossible — no serious redevelopment has materialised.
Architecture and Space
Akarmara belongs to a distinctive category of Soviet industrial settlements built in mountainous terrain. Although not monumental in scale, its urban form reflects the planning logic of the post-war Soviet coal industry. Residential blocks, public facilities and transport infrastructure were arranged along narrow valleys carved by rivers and steep slopes.
The surviving apartment buildings include several examples of Soviet residential architecture commonly described as khrushchyovkas. Their concrete frames remain structurally dominant in the landscape even as vegetation advances across balconies and rooftops. Cobbled streets, retaining walls, staircases and bridges continue to define movement through the settlement. The railway infrastructure that once connected the mines to the wider region survives only in fragments.
What We Found
I reached Akarmara from Tkvarcheli with a local father and son who offered me a ride shortly after my arrival.
I close the door, and off I go through the steep streets of the Abcase mountains, passing over bridges and rivers over and over again, meeting faces very surprised by our presence. The physical features of the locals are close to those of the peoples of the Caucasus, Chechnya and Georgia. Thick and black eyebrows, noses of a certain thickness, bushy black hairs with two deep eyes like endless wells. During the journey through the mountains, they described local traditions, including a nearby sacred mountain and places of pilgrimage known within the community.
After the last bridge, the driver stops and shows me his home. As usual in those parts, he invites me to his house, but unfortunately, I have to refuse because of the little time I have left.
So I begin to explore the city, starting with a staircase that almost seems to have no end. It takes me to a building of which I can only visit the ground floor. In the adjacent courtyard, two families live with their children and pets. Life goes on.
Large Soviet concrete buildings, Khruschevkas (five-story buildings built in the early 1960s), are in ruins. They are considered densely populated even if only one or two families live there.
Before the war, life in the village was lively, with community centres and nursery schools. Even now, among the ruins are cobbled streets and magnificent buildings. The people who once lived here and played a central role in the Soviet economy have now fled.
Most people work for a small Turkish coal mining company – Tkuarchalugol. Each family grows vegetables and raises cattle, pigs, and chickens on its own. Before the war, they did not usually cultivate and raise animals. Now they are forced to do so to survive.
Demand for goods in the local store is low, so to buy food or household items, people must first call the shopkeeper, who lives nearby, and ask if he is at home. In winter, the district administration provides candles and free bread to the villages.
Once a week, residents go to the Tkuarchal market. Twice a week, a bus leaves from the upper part of the district to Tkuarchal. A bus also takes children to school.
On the side, I take a small road that leads me to two other buildings where, apparently, two families live. The doors of the building are closed with a padlock, and therefore I leave it alone. Following a staircase, I go back down, and here locals chat without ever losing sight of each other. A pickup truck passes by to give a lift and then disappears into the void behind an abandoned building.
Return to my starting point and then continue downhill. I meet some farm animals. A family of pigs, turkeys, some dogs and goats. All are free to roam wherever they want.
Continuing to walk, I come across a wrought iron gate with a very special coat of arms. As a curious explorer, I approach and unroll the wire that keeps it closed.
The interior is a simple condominium garden that now houses a beehive for bees. In Abkhazia, on my way, I met many beekeepers, and I must admit that the honey they make is very good.
Going on, I bump into a little truck rusting but probably still working, a couple of scooters and a tractor. Two dogs guard a house isolated from the rest of the apartment buildings. They raise their heads, move their ears, bark and then get up. One of them will be my protective guide for the rest of the exploration.
I turn to the right, and I get closer and closer to the river in flood.
An apartment building, now without windows and doors, with lush grass growing on the terraces, invites me to go and explore it.
Rubble and garbage are everywhere and obstruct the passage. The stairs are in very bad condition, with steel rods and rubble that are about to fall at any moment. The rooms were covered with moss, dust and debris. In some, there are still beds, in others, there are ornaments and furnishings. The upper floors, being very unstable, I reserve them for another time. Coming out of the building, I find the dog waiting for me impatiently.
I decide to let myself be led, and so we cross a bridge from which I have the sight of the impetuous river that crosses the city of Akarmara.
Going a little higher, I have the possibility of having a better view of the surroundings and the city. In the distance, I see other establishments, and even more distant, there should be the famous abandoned mines. The city of Akarmara does not stop there, but gets lost in the thick vegetation, passing from village to village. As mushrooms sprout in the buildings, which brutally made their way into the mountain, but now perish and die in silence. The only ones keeping them on the deathbed are the locals.
