An entire town, complete with twisted spires and leaning towers, has remained left to rot since its eccentric creator finished the ambitious project on his deathbed.
Located 22 miles southwest of Buenos Aires in the slightly dilapidated city of Gonzalez Catan, Campanopolis is a unique spectacle in Argentina, and arguably, the world.
The empty town can be accessed via a bumpy, litter-laden track adjacent to a slum, a hand-written sign reading ‘Welcome to Campanopolis’ greeting visitors.
The town owes its name to Alberto Campana, a supermarket tycoon who was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
The devastating news drastically changed Mr Campana’s perspective, prompting him to sell his business and bring a lifelong dream to fruition.
In 1976, he purchased a large expanse of green land to build a town – a project so captivating that it extended his life beyond medical expectations by 20 years, allowing him to witness the completion of a scheme that expanded in scale and design over two decades.
However, the journey wasn’t smooth sailing as shortly after acquiring the land, the government seized it and converted it into a rubbish dump.
The business mogul spent two years battling for control of the land before eventually clearing two million cubic meters of waste from it.
The Real Argentina reported that it took the planting of 100,000 trees and shrubs, along with vast amounts of soil, to restore the land to a state that Mr Campana was satisfied with.
He then embarked on creating a medieval, fairytale-like village that seems straight out of a Grimms’ tale.
Despite having no formal training, Mr Campana dedicated 14-hour days to designing buildings, selecting materials, gathering trinkets from charity shops and auction houses, and overseeing the construction of Campanopolis.
It’s said there was no concrete plan, and what emerged was largely based on items salvaged from rubbish dumps and bought second-hand.
Interestingly, the project morphed into an act of historical preservation. During the turmoil of the 80s, colonial-era buildings were removed from the country, either transported to the US or Europe or simply demolished.
Mr Campana developed a passion for preserving these structures in Argentina, which he did by integrating parts of them into his quirky town.
Visitors today – though only at specific times during the week – can still see remnants of an old cinema and shopping centre.
The buildings themselves are peculiar amalgamations of architecture from various eras, resembling something from a distorted theme park.
Crooked spires dangle dangerously from the roofs of one row of houses, while spiral staircases ascend into nothingness next to another.
The interiors of the buildings are adorned in a manner akin to a pub that’s been enlivened by a landlord with an eclectic collection of bric-a-brac and a penchant for never throwing anything away.
Real Argentina reports: “It’s a hoarder’s paradise and you get the feeling you’re really snooping into Campana’s unfathomable psyche.
“One ceiling is dressed with the dismantled diamante-like parts of chandeliers, while mosaic tiles and old peso coins which sticky-fingered tourists have been lifting as souvenirs over the years flank the walls of another.
“There’s a building based on the helm of a ship, and well why not throw in a windmill and a church for good measure?
“Las Doce casitas del bosque really top things off an eerie trail of 12 little Hansel and Gretel inspired fairytale houses which sit in a shadowy patch of woodland.”
But perhaps the most bizarre aspect is that – following Alberto’s strict instructions – no one has ever spent a night in the town, including him.
