It’s bone-white. That is the first thing you notice when you step out of a car near the edge of the lake. Not a normal, sandy white, but a chalky, skeletal remains-of-a-civilization kind of white. Everything—the trees, the staircases that lead to nowhere, the rusted bedframes—is coated in a thick, crusty layer of salt. Villa Epecuén Buenos Aires Argentina is not your typical "ruins" site where things feel old or ancient. It feels like everyone just left five minutes ago, but they left in a hurry because the world was ending.
The story of this place is honestly a bit of a tragedy mixed with some really bad engineering decisions. Back in the 1920s, it was the place to be. If you were wealthy and living in Buenos Aires, you took the train out here to soak in the water. The Lago Epecuén has salt levels that are second only to the Dead Sea. People swore it cured depression, rheumatism, skin conditions, you name it. It was a booming tourist hub with 5,000 residents and dozens of hotels.
Then it disappeared.
The day the wall broke
In November 1985, a rare weather pattern brought massive, relentless rains to the region. This wasn't just a heavy storm. It was a biblical deluge that lasted for days. A massive seawall had been built to protect the town, but the water level kept rising. Eventually, the dam gave way. It wasn't a flash flood that swept people away in their sleep, thankfully. It was a slow, agonizing drowning of a city. Residents had enough time to pack their suitcases, grab their cats, and watch their homes vanish under the salt water.
Within a few years, Villa Epecuén was under 10 meters of water. It stayed that way for a quarter-century.
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What happens when salt eats a city?
Imagine soaking your house in a brine solution for 25 years. When the waters finally started to recede around 2009 due to a change in the regional climate, what emerged wasn't a preserved town. It was a ghost. The salt had killed every single tree, leaving behind these jagged, silver forests that look like something out of a Tim Burton movie. The buildings didn't just crumble; they dissolved and recrystallized.
Walking through Villa Epecuén Buenos Aires Argentina today is a trip. You'll find yourself standing in what used to be a kitchen, looking at a pile of shattered tiles that still have 1970s patterns on them. It’s eerie. It's quiet. Most of the time, the only sound is the wind whipping off the lake and the crunch of salt under your boots.
Pablo Novak: The man who wouldn't leave
You can’t talk about this place without mentioning Pablo Novak. For years, he was known as the "World's Loneliest Man." When the water went down and the ruins were revealed, he was the only person who moved back. He lived there with his dog, a basic stove, and a pile of old newspapers until he passed away recently in early 2024 at the age of 98.
Pablo was a legend. He used to ride his bike through the ruins, chatting with the few tourists who ventured out that far. He remembered where every shop was. He remembered the names of the neighbors who never came back. His presence gave the ruins a soul. Without him, the place feels significantly more desolate, though his house remains a focal point for those trying to understand the human cost of the flood.
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Why people still flock to the ruins
Is it "dark tourism"? Maybe. But there is something deeply meditative about the site. It’s a reminder that nature doesn't really care about our zoning laws or our luxury hotels.
- Photographers love the light here. The salt acts like a giant reflector, making the "Golden Hour" look like something from another planet.
- Historians find it a fascinating case study in 20th-century Argentine architecture and the failure of water management systems.
- The Lago Epecuén itself is still there. People still visit the "new" town of Carhué nearby to soak in the therapeutic waters, which are just as salty as they were 100 years ago.
Honestly, if you're planning to go, don't expect a gift shop or a guided tour with headsets. It's raw. You just pay a small fee at the entrance and wander. You can walk through the old slaughterhouse—designed by the famous architect Francisco Salamone—which looks like a brutalist spaceship rotting in the mud. It’s one of the few structures that truly stood its ground against the water, mostly because Salamone built things to last forever.
How to actually get there
Getting to Villa Epecuén is a bit of a trek. It’s about 550 kilometers from the city of Buenos Aires. You're looking at a six or seven-hour drive through the Pampa. The roads are straight, the grass is flat, and there are a lot of cows.
- Rent a car. Buses go to Carhué, but you’ll want the freedom of a car to explore the ruins at sunrise or sunset.
- Stay in Carhué. This is the town that took in the refugees from the flood. It has hotels with thermal pools filled with lake water.
- Pack boots. The ground is uneven, sharp with salt crystals, and occasionally muddy near the shoreline.
- Check the weather. If it’s been raining, some of the dirt access roads can get messy.
It is worth noting that while the site is "open," it isn't a manicured park. There are no railings. If you climb on a wall and it collapses, that's on you. Most of the ruins are stable-ish, but the salt has compromised a lot of the rebar in the concrete. Use common sense.
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The environmental irony
There is a weird irony in the fact that the very water that made the town famous is what destroyed it. The high mineral content is what makes the ruins so white and "preserved" in their decay. If this had been fresh water, the buildings would have just rotted and been covered in moss. Instead, the salt pickled the town.
Some people think the town will eventually be swallowed again. Climate cycles in this part of Argentina are notoriously volatile. For now, the water is low, and the ruins are visible, but the lake is a living thing. It breathes. It moves.
Moving forward: What to do next
If you are serious about visiting this corner of Villa Epecuén Buenos Aires Argentina, start by booking a night in Carhué. Don't try to do this as a day trip from the capital; you'll spend 14 hours in a car and be too tired to see anything.
- Search for Francisco Salamone’s work in the surrounding towns like Saldungaray or Laprida while you're in the area. His "existentialist" architecture is the perfect companion to the Epecuén ruins.
- Visit the interpretation center at the entrance of the ruins. They have photos of what the hotels looked like before the flood, which makes the current state of things hit much harder.
- Bring a high-quality ND filter if you're a photographer. The glare off the salt and water can be blindingly bright even on overcast days.
The ruins of Epecuén aren't just a place to take cool Instagram photos. They are a monument to a specific era of Argentine history and a stark warning about the permanence of our creations. Go there to see the white trees. Stay to think about how quickly everything can change when the water starts to rise.
Explore the ruins starting from the Matadero (the slaughterhouse) and work your way toward the old lakefront. The most intact structures are further from the water, while the "downtown" area is mostly just foundations and rubble now. Allow at least four hours to walk the perimeter. Pack plenty of water, as the salt in the air will make you thirstier than you expect.