One warm summer evening, we decided to explore a long-abandoned Soviet-era chemical factory in Armenia. The place wasn’t easy to access—guard patrols roamed the area, and numerous stray dogs ran freely around the complex. The dogs were a real concern; they’d bark at the slightest noise, and their commotion could easily attract unwanted attention.
After carefully scouting the perimeter, we found a building wrapped in layers of barbed wire. It didn’t seem like the most inviting option, but it was the only way in. We had to be quick and quiet. From a staircase, we climbed along the outside of the building, balancing on narrow ledges, until we found a single unlocked window. It was risky, but we managed to slip inside undetected.
Once inside, we began exploring the dimly lit corridors, eventually finding our way into what can only be described as a time capsule: the factory’s operational room. The walls were lined with faded control panels, covered in switches and gauges that seemed frozen in time. Soviet-era posters from the 1980s still hung on the walls, reminding us of the era this place once thrived in.
Despite the building being abandoned, some rooms still had lights on, adding an eerie element to the whole experience. It made us wonder if the complex occasionally had visitors—or perhaps even current occupants. We moved cautiously, photographing the beautiful, decaying room, when a noise caught my attention.
I saw a flicker of light across the window and knew something was outside. I peeked out and spotted two guard dogs sniffing around outside. Luckily, after a few minutes, the dogs moved on.
We finished our exploration and carefully made our way back out the way we came. Somehow, we managed to slip away unnoticed, leaving the hauntingly beautiful operational room behind us.
