Hidden just off the coastline near Pals, in one of the quieter corners of the Costa Brava, sits the shell of what was once Radio Liberty. It’s a place where the past lingers in broken tiles and rusted steel—a monument not to glory, but to impermanence. I spent a day walking through the site with a friend who’s made it her mission to document the world’s abandoned places. Her camera is her tool, and her curiosity, a compass.
No permissions, no tickets, no crowd. Just us, our gear, and the stories that buildings like this still carry in their silence.
Its crumbling walls and eerie silence create a photographer's paradise—a blend of history, mystery, and striking visuals.
The Company: A Guide to Urban Ruins
My companion that day is someone whose work I deeply respect. She’s traveled the world capturing the poetry of what’s left behind—decaying Soviet industry, sunken hotels, desert-swallowed towns. She used to approach these spaces with intensity: long exposures, elaborate lighting setups, scenes bathed in torchlight. But lately, her style has shifted. Now, she embraces something closer to the raw truth of the place—natural light, minimal gear, and a quiet patience.
Walking through Radio Liberty’s overgrown entrance with her was like flipping open a forgotten archive. She was already scanning, framing, finding meaning in every crack. Her energy was calm but focused, and I found it grounding.
Radio Liberty: A Brief History
The station was built in 1959, at the height of the Cold War. From this unassuming stretch of Catalan coast, Radio Liberty broadcast messages meant to challenge Soviet censorship. It closed in 2001.
What remains now is a skeleton: fragments of antennas, graffiti-tagged concrete, wind-battered doors hanging off hinges. There’s no plaque explaining its role in the geopolitical chessboard—just decay and silence, which feels more honest anyway.
Photo sourced from www.radioliberty.org
Photo sourced from www.radioliberty.org
Photo sourced from www.radioliberty.org
Photo sourced from www.radioliberty.org
The Exploration
We stepped in without much ceremony. The rooms were vast but still, the air dry and heavy.
The control room caught both our attention. Panels stripped of their purpose, meters frozen mid-measurement. My friend crouched down to photograph a cluster of switches, saying, almost to herself, “So much noise used to move through here.”
There were no rushes, no plans. Just slow pacing, shared wonder, and quiet work. We watched nature doing its job—ivy wrapping beams, sun bleaching old surfaces. It felt less like trespassing and more like observing something that doesn’t belong to us anymore.
The Takeaways
I left feeling both inspired and slightly unsettled. It wasn’t the place itself that made the biggest impact—it was the way my friend moved through it. For her, it was another chapter in an ongoing investigation. For me, it was a lesson in presence.
In a world addicted to fast content and clean narratives, this was messy, slow, and raw. And exactly what I needed.
Final Thoughts
Radio Liberty isn’t a museum. It’s a leftover—a reminder that even the most politically charged architecture fades eventually. That doesn’t make it less meaningful.
If you find yourself near Pals with time to wander and a healthy respect for boundaries, take a look. Don’t expect signs or explanations. Just listen, and leave it how you found it.
