Our platform is the most extensive digital repository of the Northeast's historic, at-risk, and overlooked structures, infrastructure, New York City streets, and other locations.
Abandoned Caribbean Island House
Get link
Facebook
X
Pinterest
Email
Other Apps
Outside view.
It was a balmy morning on my two-week vacation on the Caribbean island. Just that morning, I took my early morning walk before the sun peeped its head over the clouds. During our circular route around the neighboring countryside village from where I was staying. We came upon a small narrow path delineated by the countless footsteps of many people who used this shortcut to get back over on the other side then going around the main road. Walking this well-beaten path we came upon a small gaping limestone cave. The small cave didn't go any deeper than maybe 10 feet. A pile of dead plant matter, household garbage, and abandoned bird nests were all that was on offer from this discovery. If I wanted deep cave exploration I would have headed to the tourist limestone cave tour the island is known for on the southwest of the island.
A very small cave.
We continued onward to our accommodation. After refueling myself with a hearty breakfast. I packed my camera gear and headed back out to the beaten path once more to poke around some more. On another path through the thicket of bushes, young tree saplings, and knee-high grass, I came upon a small abandoned board house tucked away inside the small area of overgrown foliage between neighboring houses and the main side road. No evidence of human usage was apparent around the outside. The hoard house was surrounded and entwined with small trees and saplings. Nature had taken its course with this derelict house.
Inside the house, the roof from the view of the front room had already caved in a long time ago. The floor in certain parts had caved into itself to the ground. One part of the boarding house was entirely covered by what looked like walnut husks and the other side had what remained to be a box spring bed sans mattress bedding. Further back inside the house was unreachable due to the aforementioned collapsed roof and absentee flooring. Guessing by the remaining structure of the house, the house give or take may have been there for more than 10 years. No apparent evidence of termites or extreme wood rot in sight, I would say the house was constructed with hardy wood like mahogany. Although the climate is sustained yearly with 80-degree weather with a few months out of the year starting in October for the rain and hurricane season. The house was surprisingly in fair condition.
Living room.
No more bedroom here.
The direction to the kitchen/bathroom.
Satisfied with my discovery and pictures. I headed further out from the house until I came out into a clearing studded with the back views of wall houses in the distance. There will be no more abandoned spots in this area. With that dilemma, I headed back home before I drowned in my own sweat with the rising sun and the mercury-raising temperatures climbed even higher.
Side view.
P.S. Before heading to this island, I researched abandoned properties but to my dismay, Google Street does not exist in the countryside or the city. In addition, Google Maps' clunky what's here feature was useless for map coordinates when Google Maps was a nonexistent map tool for further exploration. I found other areas of interest sweeping the island using Google satellite images but getting there was an issue since I did not have relevant information on locale or addresses. Island villages are way different than small towns or cities in the USA.
Over the years, I have had the opportunity to visit the Remington Munitions Factory three times, each visit a unique experience. The first time, I ventured there alone, driven by curiosity to explore what remained of the once-bustling industrial complex. Back then, the neighborhood was far from welcoming, and my solo exploration felt risky. However, the allure of the factory’s history and its remnants was too strong to resist. Upon arrival, the decay was evident. The complex was a shadow of its former self, ravaged by time and neglect. Scrap metal scavengers had stripped the buildings of valuable copper, steel, and iron. Every surface was a canvas for graffiti, a mix of juvenile doodles and more elaborate street art left by local kids and adventurous visitors. A fire in 2017 had already claimed part of one building, and the area had a reputation for violence, with frequent assaults and shootings on Barnum Avenue. Despite the deterioration, the factory had a certain haunting beauty, esp...
Welcome back to our journey through Fusion Paperboard. In this second part of the series, we dive deeper into the lower level of the cardboard recycling plant, where a maze of pipes crisscrosses every corner. Water, steam, and colorful conduits weave through the facility, each one carrying energy, waste, or essential materials to keep the plant running. The sludge ponds were one part of the property I never explored up close. Tucked away in the upper left corner of the site, far from the main facility, they never felt like a must-see. They were too far out of the way during my visit. Upstairs, two large stainless steel machines caught my eye—massive steam cylinders. Unfortunately, I never got a good shot of them. I remember taking a photo, but when I reviewed my archives later, I realized the image was ruined by overexposed light from the midday sun. I meant to retake it, but at the moment, it slipped my mind. It’s easy to lose track of time when you're surrounded by the endless ...
Founded in 1906, Herrmann-Aukam & Co. emerged as a key player in the world of handkerchief manufacturing, setting up its base in New York with factories in places like Lebanon, PA, Belfast, Ireland, and South River, NJ. Their property in South River was a sizable, industrious hub: a sprawling 128,000 square feet across five interconnected brick buildings, with two and a half acres of open land. There was even a railroad shed served by the Raritan River Railroad, linking it to the Central Railroad of New Jersey and creating a critical route for distribution. Originally, Herrmann-Aukam had acquired their first mill in 1882, and soon after, they began producing handkerchiefs in full force. Their products ranged from plain and hemstitched white handkerchiefs to the distinctive blue and red bandannas that became favorites among workers and mechanics. The company invested heavily in state-of-the-art upgrades, including a new power plant and Swiss embroidery machines. These machines allow...
For weeks, I had been orbiting the perimeter of the impending demolition of the Church of St. Michael and St. Edward, a once revered church in the heart of Fort Greene, like a moth drawn to a flame. The neighborhood, a patchwork of tight project housing, seemed indifferent to the fate of this historic edifice. The intel I had received suggested that entry was as simple as scaling a wooden fence, yet the timing had never felt right. Until one day, it did. With a mission in New Jersey looming, I knew it was now or never. The demolition was advancing at a startling pace, the church's twin steeples already reduced to rubble. The skeletal remains of timber beams and rusted steel frames peeked out from the ruins, a testament to the relentless march of progress. Summoning a surge of courage, I seized a moment of quiet in the bustling housing project and vaulted over the fence. My heart pounded in my chest as I slipped unnoticed into the church grounds. The once grand entrance now stood as...
In my extensive ventures across various businesses, churches, factories, and plants, I've encountered a plethora of remnants from bygone industrial eras. Yet, none have left as profound an impression as the sight of the leftover machinery at the former Potter Hill Mill. Nestled amidst its surroundings, these aging relics stand as silent witnesses to a vibrant industrial past, their once-potent functionality now subdued by the relentless march of time. The manufacturing equipment, once the lifeblood of cotton goods production, remains steadfast, firmly bolted to the floor, slowly succumbing to the relentless embrace of rust and decay. It's a scene frozen in time—a rare glimpse into the mechanical marvels of the 1800s, preserved in their original state, untouched and unscathed by modern interventions. As I gaze upon the weather-worn structures and rusted machinery, I'm struck by the poignant juxtaposition of past and present. The former textile mill, once a bustling hub of...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteEmail me so I can add you to my Google Maps list.
Delete