The air here is salty and heavy, as if from another time. People once came here as a last resort — with chronic pain, after injuries, in search of a chance to return to a normal life. Now, there is only silence, broken windows, and empty corridors. The author of the YouTube channel “Adventures with Mauser” visited the Kuyalnyk Mud Clinic in Odesa and captured the state of a place that is literally crumbling before our eyes.
From the First Mud Clinic to the Hall
The Kuyalnyk Liman is the lowest point in Ukraine and one of the country’s most famous resort locations. The first mud clinic appeared here in 1833 under the leadership of Erast Andriyevsky and quickly gained recognition in the medical community of that time. The estuary turned into a true cultural and healing center.
The new mud clinic — the same large complex that can be seen today — was built by architect Talvinsky between 1890 and 1892. For that era, it was a lightning-fast pace of construction: two years for an entire medical quarter with full infrastructure. Four wings, four courtyards, four towers, symmetrical architecture — and the “Imperial Hall” in the center, where, according to legend, Nicholas I rested while visiting wounded soldiers of the First World War.
The name “Kuyalnyk,” by the way, has two versions of origin: from the Turkic “kuanlyk” — thick, due to the water being extremely dense with salt, or from the Slavic word for “pier” — as this place was a convenient harbor until the 14th century.
Destroyed Dam and Rebirth
During World War II, the hospital suffered serious damage. In 1941, Soviet troops, retreating from Odesa, blew up the Khadzhibey Estuary dam: a torrent up to one and a half meters high flooded everything up to the second floor. After the victory, starting in 1947, the resort began to revive and experienced another heyday.
In Soviet times, Kuyalnyk turned into an all-Union health resort — vouchers were issued by enterprises, people were sent en masse, and no one really asked “do you want to or not.” The complex was designed for thousands of patients simultaneously: dozens of departments, baths, hydromassage, gas-mud treatment, and even rectal tampons with healing mud.
Mechanization Eaten by Salt
A special feature of Kuyalnyk was its extremely advanced mechanization for its time. Healing mud was supplied through pipes directly to the treatment rooms using piston pumps from the basement. An extensive system of aqueducts drained the used mud. Powerful washing machines processed the linens. In the basements, there is an entire labyrinth of pipelines, arched passages, and reservoirs.
The problem is that all this mechanization was made of steel, and Kuyalnyk salt is ruthless. It hangs in the air, penetrates the bricks, corrodes concrete, and turns metal into dust. Even stainless steel corrodes in such conditions. Concrete floors collapse on their own — not from missiles, but from erosion. Three of the four towers have already been destroyed. Trees are growing inside some of the rooms.
What Remains and Why It Is Perishing
Today, the Kuyalnyk sanatorium continues to receive patients, but only in one modern building — this is enough for all those who wish to come. The grand old medical complex has stood empty for about seven years. During this time, it has decayed catastrophically.
The reason, according to the author, is not only indifference — it also lies in market logic: maintaining a giant complex for a small number of patients is simply not cost-effective. The Soviet model of “everyone — for treatment” disappeared along with the Union, and the mud treatment market in Ukraine has not revived on a sufficient scale.
During the exploration, the author found in the semi-ruined rooms logs of mud quality analysis from 2004 and 2008, a medical report of the sanatorium for 1906 with a list of treated diseases, an annual medical report for 1970 — and even a vial of ASD-fraction, the smell of which, according to him, resembled “the concentrated smell of a corpse.”
“This is a place that could save people, that could work and live,” the author concludes. “But now it is almost on the brink of oblivion. It is slowly fading, like a kerosene lamp without fuel. But as long as we remember Kuyalnyk, it still has a chance.”