Urban Exploration - The summer camp

We received photos from a traveler and compiled them into a historical summary.

The "Camp of the Airplanes" is a former summer camp located deep in the Alpine mountains. The premises are watched over by a caretaker living on-site, along with a dog. This place was once used to host children for rock climbing in the summer and skiing in the winter. It isn’t entirely clear what went wrong. Scattered papers suggest administrative difficulties regarding the operation of the site. One can almost hear the familiar tune of the administration harassing, blocking, and poisoning the project. We are in the heart of a National Park, where the regulations are often surreal.

As a result, camps haven't been hosted here for several years at least. At first, I thought the building was abandoned, but by the end of my visit, I realized it is simply unoccupied and for sale. Old photos show hideous graffiti, which has since been carefully erased. Furthermore, the building is listed for sale with regularly updated advertisements. The status of the property is perfectly explicit; there is no room for confusion.

There is virtually no damage in this camp, so do not count on my goodwill to share the location. I will inevitably hear the usual "I don't vandalize" and so on, and yet every wasteland is besieged by hideous tags within weeks. One becomes hardened by such radicality: I will not share it.

The camp was established in 1953. At the time, the building was in very poor condition. It was replaced by a much more suitable chalet a few years after the acquisition. The renovation, followed by bringing the center up to electrical standards, turned it into a mountain destination much loved by children. In recent years, a treetop adventure course was even added.

I receive many emails from former campers telling me they spent wonderful moments here. The testimony is universal; everyone enjoyed it immensely—pure childhood happiness. It is this, above all else, that I want to bear witness to, and it is precisely why I produce these reports: to preserve the memory of what was beautiful. It is a far cry from the black masses and murder rituals the press bombards us with regarding urbex. No, it is also about marveling at childhood.

I was stunned to see the table set for the children, the bowls still in place. There is a certain melancholy in not hearing their shouts. It must have been wonderful for them. Filled with gratitude, I head off into the silence of the mountains, hoping that this place may once again experience such beautiful times.