The Sanatorium

A Sanatorium is an archaic term for a specialised hospital. The word derives from the Latin "Sanare," meaning "To make healthy." Words like Sanitary and sanitizer also derive from the same word, and so do sanity and insanity, referring to the health of the mind.

My mind wasn't healthy after hours of wading through the crap on the internet about this place. I nearly committed suicide by facepalm. There is heaps of conflicting information, all of which is caused by people copying and pasting without verifying, and a bunch of myths and rumours caused by people not bothering to actually translate the native language, and thinking that "La Foret" refers to some sort of demonic monster and not, as Google translate will tell you, the forest.  

Seriously, how is it 2023 and people still don't know how to use Google?

 

There's also one French urbex page that names all of their locations after serial killers, a move that I think is genius. I wish I'd thought of that one myself. But it leads to some murky research because so many who have come after them have used their page for research and falsely associated the name of the criminal with the location, without bothering to look at the bigger picture and see that it's all arbitrary.

 

So Sanatoriums were commonly used to treat Tuberculosis, which was a pretty big deal back in the 19th and early 20th Century. Between 1851 and 1910, four million people in the UK died from it. That's roughly 185 people a day.

Some sanatoriums also treated hysteria, emotional exhaustion, and addictions to alcohol and wanking, but this one was about Tuberculosis, so we're free to wank away!

Thanks to the internet, we can see what it used to look like before it was encased in nature:

(Photo not mine, obviously)

So what we have is a long building with south-facing wards and balconies. The balconies were very important. Throughout the earlier decades of the 1800s Tuberculosis was treated with potassium tartrate, and leaving the patients in a locked room to vomit in solitude. It was a German doctor who overcame his own tuberculosis while on a trek in the Himalayas who noted that mountainous regions had very little of this illness. It was concluded that it should be possible to cure tuberculosis in an environment where it was naturally absent. 

As such, it was decided that the best place for a sanatorium was high up and away from the cities. They were a little like a hybrid of a hospital and a spa. The patients came here and spent a huge portion of their time just lazing around on deck chairs on the balcony, exposed to all that fresh country air. 

But the open air balcony seats masked a regimental attitude. There was constant surveillance. Every minute of a patients day was regulated, with planned physical exercise and timed rest periods.

I managed to find an image displaying the patients during their timed relaxation period, lounging under the balcony.

(Photo not mine, obviously)

 

But as for the adventure itself, slipping inside was tricky but doable. Nearly every door and window has been bricked up over the years, due to this being quite a high profile urbex spot.

There are rumours of security patrols with dogs, but I saw nobody. Later on in the upper floor of the building, I was certain I could hear footsteps and voices downstairs, but I assume these were locals having a mooch. There was no way to hide my own footsteps on such creaky old floorboards, but surely if this was security then they would have come up to yell at me. Instead, they were gone by the time I made it downstairs. In all likelihood, it was children who ran off when they realised that they weren't alone in here.

The main hallway of the ground floor is pretty awesome, with its faded tiled floor, and large central staircase and retro elevator. Despite being stripped, it still has some cool features.

 

The rules of the sanatorium were that the sick were not to be kept on beds on the ground floor, so these large, spacious rooms can't possibly be wards. But the sanatorium did allegedly have study rooms and libraries, so rooms like this could serve that purpose. Alternatively, they could be staff areas.

 

Plans for this particular sanatorium date back as far as 1886, but it met with a number of financial delays. Construction began, according to one urbex source, in 1890. However a more reliable publication mentions that the land was first obtained in 1892. While only one building was initially built on the site, early documents indicate that a second building was always intended, making mention of this building as "the only one currently under construction."

Due to urgency to complete the building, it was considered decreasing its capacity to just fifty beds, but this idea was quickly dropped, because what was the point in rushing the project if that meant it wasn't fit for purpose? It was a short-term solution for a long-term problem.

 

In 1896 the architect, Henri Bellouet, published an article in the "Journal of Hygiene and Sanitary Police," proudly announcing the sanatoriums construction and displaying plans of the layout. The building was finally finished in 1899, and opened the the public shortly before 1900.

An old office desk flipped upside-down seems to indicate that the ground floor was more for administrative purposes.

With its windows bricked up, the ground floor was particularly eerie, but back in the day sunlight would have been streaming into this hallway and it probably looked quite pleasant.

Even in 1900, it was pretty advanced for its time. It had cost 1,600,000 francs, and boasted that it was equipped with all the latest technology, like electricity and central heating. Even so, in 1901 a doctor named Ernest Mosny, published a review severely criticising the buildings location and layout, even going so far as to call it uninhabitable. Mosny pointed out the constraints of investing so much in something that was still being researched and continuously refined and redeveloped, with their efficiency prone to constant reconsideration. Mosny mentioned that it had been built based on designs from 1890, and that in 1900 it no longer corresponded to what was understood to be the correct design of a sanatorium. He said "Do it lightly, do it quickly and do it cheaply, and in 10, 15, or 20 years you will not regret seeing yourself forced to abandon or demolish buildings that are too beautiful and too expensive but no longer meet the requirements."

 

In a way, he was right. Europe is covered in derelict sanatoriums. The treatment of tuberculosis, continuously researched and refined, eventually made the sanatorium obsolete.

In addition to the central staircase, next to the elevator, there are two other staircases at each end of the building, next to doorways down to the cellar. I'll come back to the cellar!

As you can expect, the Sanatorium is huge. This is just one building of the entire site. It was designed to be a self-contained community, isolated from the world and able to function independently. It had its own farm to grow fruit and vegetables, as well as pigs and poultry. It had its own launderette, stables, canteens, and a morgue.

Unfortunately I was short on time and not anticipating such a huge site. There's a lot that I didn't see. I certainly don't think I saw the morgue, although with everything stripped out, who can be sure? 

 

I saw an older urbex shot of this room, identifiable by the graffiti. It has more natural light, the windows not yet bricked up. It also has a load of clutter in here, including an old hospital bed, wheelchair and old vintage walking aid. At some point it was all cleared out, presumably around the same time that the windows were bricked up. I guess the powers-that-be thought that the sanatorium would attract less people if there was less to see.

Again, earlier photos of this room taken by other urbexers show it with a lot more natural light streaming in, and also an old exercise bike, perhaps a remnant from the fitness-based sanatorium treatment.

The isolated, self-contained sanatorium was changed forever by the First World War, as it was repurposed to serve as a military hospital. In 1914 the patients were evacuated, and taking their place came two hundred wounded soldiers. By all accounts, it was a bit of a shit show. The hospital lacked facilities for the war wounded, and the head doctor, who specialised in medicine and tuberculosis, was forced to become a surgeon overnight. The situation only worsened as the war continued. The Battle of the Marne in 1914 was one such event that put strain on the hospital resources, and then it was overwhelmed completely after the Battle of the Somme. Not only that but the hospital grounds were serving as a barracks too. It was surrounded by tents. 

The battles never reached the sanatorium itself, so it was undamaged. But having been used by the military for such a long period of time, by the time the war ended in 1918 the building was so disorganised and chaotic, it would need to close temporarily while it made itself fit for its intended purpose again.

There are loads of little rooms down here, presumably used as offices for the medical staff. Perhaps one was the morgue, but it sure is hard to tell, and I imagine a large central pillar isn't exactly conductive for cleaning and preparing a corpse. 

Of course, in all likelihood these rooms were used for medical procedures.

According to an old french brochure, Doctor George Kuss was the chief medical officer here as of 1901. His Wikipedia page reveals very little about him, but I dug a little deeper. Apparently in 1912 he invented an insufflation device that could blow air into the pleura membrane around the lungs, triggering their collapse.

 

This fascinated me, because a collapsed lung is generally a bad thing, but this was apparently to further the research of the Italian doctor, Carlo Forlanini, who theorised that tuberculosis damage in the lungs could worsen with someones continued respiration, and that pulmonary tuberculosis could be avoided if the lungs were put into a state of rest by collapsing them. It sounds monstrous, but trials in the early 20th Century showed it to be effective against 70% of Tuberculosis patients. The first to undergo the procedure referred to themselves as "The Half-Lung Club," saying proudly that "Something like a pneumothorax brings people together."

 

It's entirely likely that procedures like this took place in these rooms. I've found medical journals that make mention of using "The Kuss Device" in 1954, although it's said that by this point, collapsing the lungs wasn't a popular method.

 I actually found a memoir from 1919, written by the son of the sanatoriums director. He had been eight years old when he came to live here. He describes life on the sanatorium after the war, in the two years prior to the building reopening. He says that the admin buildings had offices and apartments which were lived in by the hospital clerk, the cook, the coachman, the stableman, a carpenter, three gardeners, the assistant doctor, and all of their respective families. The chief physician allegedly had a pretty sweet pavilion all to himself. 

The stableman allegedly had a small white horse called Famin and a brown mare called Lison. They were used to provide the hospital with supplies, and also transport people into town. These horses also took the directors son to school, while the children of the other staff members had to walk. But curiously, he makes no mention of being outcast for being treated differently. He had been home schooled in Paris throughout his life so this was actually the place where he learned how to socialise with other children. The janitor, carpenter, coachman and cook all had two children each, so the place was a bit of a creche.

 

They had a rabbit hutch, a duck enclosure, and a chicken coop. The boy describes how his father often "abandoned his managerial dignity" to feed the rabbits or the ducks, and liked walks in the woods. 

 

Rather adorably, and really indicative of how the world has changed, he talks about how amazing it was when the sanatorium got a radio in the 1920s. 

There's a sign on this door that says "Zone of decontamination," which is interesting. I'm not sure what this would entail in such a facility.

The decontamination zone also has similar stickers on the walls and pillars, which actually makes me think it might all have been put up much later, after the hospital closed, for airsoft or similar games. I have read that this has been used for airsoft before, and it doesn't look very hospital-like having paper posters with garish yellow font on a black background.

This graffiti is about licking the bowl of the ladies toilets, or something. It's partially obscured by a huge hole.

 The sanatorium reopened in 1920, finally admitting patients again. The directors son tells of how the chief medical officer was unsociable, and only interested in business matters. I'm not sure if he's referring to Doctor Kuss at this point, or if he had moved on. It's also entirely possible that after he had his profession turned on its head during the war, Kuss left the sanatorium, and the boy is recalling a successor.  

 

Apparently the assistant doctor was a lot more human, inquisitive and witty, and spent time with the managers family in the garden.

Both of these doctors apparently died of tuberculosis.

 

Curiously, the child gives the Chief Medical Officers initials as BC, which certainly hints that Kuss had moved on. I do realise that an adult recalling their life as an eight year old does leave us a lot of room for inconsistencies though, and the internet doesn't actually mention why Kuss died. 

The directors son went to boarding school in his teenage years, and was bullied to the point that it made him quite ill. The family eventually moved to San Salvador.  

Allegedly, according to the largely inconsistent urbex posts, after 1920 the sanatorium opened exclusively to women. Presumably there was a greater number of female tuberculosis sufferers at the time. But keep in mind that because of the copy-and-paste culture of urbex writing, just because fifty people say it, doesn't mean it's true. There's a big hole in this statement, as we'll see upstairs...

I much preferred the upper levels of the sanatorium, mainly because the windows aren't all bricked up and I can actually see stuff. The light coming in actually gives it quite a nice vibe.

 

Here's the best part of any abandoned building, the toilets. These circular hatches would have held bins at one point.

They have bidets! This is pretty cool. But it's a little weird that they're not in cubicles like the actual toilet. It seems a little undignified.

So, here's that rather large hole in the claims that this building opened exclusively for women. What, were these ornamental or something?

I suppose in pubs and clubs the urinals are ornamental too, because the blokes just do it all over the floor.

I presume this was one of at least four places where they kept a fire extinguisher.

And up here we have the actual ward bedrooms. 

 

Due to the rules and regulations of tuberculosis treatment at the time, every bedroom faced south, and the windows had to be open at all times, in all weathers, to maximise the flow of good, clean countryside oxygen. The rules said that no sick person was to sleep on the ground floor, because being high up was crucial to the patients air supply. And while the rooms were initially only meant to have five beds each, this was eventually raised to eight. 

Unfortunately the balcony on which the patients would spend their time relaxing only had capacity for 110 deck chairs, and this led to additional isolated "cure rooms" at the request of Doctor Kuss.

There's some interesting graffiti up here. "Porte des enfer" means "Gate of Hell." 

And also, Snoopy loves you.

This sign just says that this is a fire door, and that it shouldn't be obstructed.

I love this graffiti.

This seems to be the ward kitchen.

So these hospital bays are identical in layout, and they would have had beds along the wall opposite the windows. In the above picture, the windows on the opposite wall have been taken down, but in the picture below, they're still there. These are narrow ensuite bathrooms behind the hospital bays.

 

This is the main balcony. Back in the day, this would have been lined with deck chairs, and the patients would be having mandatory relaxation time. It was apparently crucial to their treatment that they receive as much fresh air as possible. Quite how effective this treatment was varies depending on the bias of the source. Some say that they were grossly ineffective, and others like to big up the brains of the era for their efforts in curing the sick. But hospitals can't save everyone. Numerous people will have died out here.

What needs to be stated, and almost never is, is that while it's easy to criticise the healthcare workers of the past, due to their medical practices being archaic and even barbaric by today's standards, those who worked here still did so for the right reasons. They were just going by the information and regulations that they had at the time.

 

Stairs lead up to the next floor, which will probably be identical in layout, with the exception of balcony access.

The floor plan might be the same, but the graffiti isn't! Here's Lucie from Disenchanted.

Even though I only explored the one pavilion, it's worth mentioning the second one too. It was built in 1924, although some source say 1928, and was identical in layout to this one, although it looks different externally. Its construction was meant to be sooner, but it was delayed by the war.

As for patient capacity, that varies monstrously from source to source. Some say that the construction of the second building raised the sites capacity to 164. Some say, and this seems more likely, that it was already at 164 and the second pavilion raised it to 250. Another source says that the second pavilion made the maximum capacity 320 beds. One ambitious source puts the maximum capacity at 600 beds.

Some sources also say that one building was for men and the other was for women. This actually makes a lot of sense, particularly to the claims that this building was exclusively for women after the war. The Sanatorium was always intended to admit female patients as well as male, but the second building was delayed because of the war, forcing them to prioritise one over the other, presumably based on who had the most cases of tuberculosis at the time. 

It doesn't explain the urinals though.

Here we have the top of the elevator and central staircase.

The kitchen up here is a bit more trashed than the one on the floor below.

So, recalling the rather scathing article from 1901, the sanatorium faced another brutal condemnation in 1930, this one written by Martin Rideau. He criticised the buildings protection from the wind, because obviously while exposure to fresh air was important, it would be pretty annoying to be out on that balcony all day on extremely windy days. Rideau also claimed that the balcony wasn't high enough, and was damp. He also said that eight patients per room was too many.

Such words didn't do much to stop the sanatorium. In fact it seems to have only grown. In 1931, housing for medical staff was built. I did have a mooch around those apartment buildings but their ground floor windows and doors were bricked up. But interestingly, prior to their construction, the medical staff had apartments in the attics of the pavilions, which we'll get to.

I presume these rooms with the large windows and mini balconies are the ones that Doctor Kuss wanted, to compensate for the limited balcony space.

In the 1940s, the Sanatorium was affected by the second world war. But just how it was affected varies between sources.

 

A very dubious urbex source claims that the sanatorium was evacuated in 1940 for only a few months. I say dubious not because this is unlikely, but because it also claims that the French wanted to treat their sick patients, of all varieties, away from civilisation due to a very similar mindset as the old British Victorian asylums, where the public didn't want to see their lunatics. It fails to take into consideration the logic behind tuberculosis treatment at the time, and on top of that, doesn't seem to understand that this was a specialised hospital, not one for a wider range of ailments. There were plenty of hospitals in built up urban areas at the time.

The same post claims that the sanatorium was completed in October 1900, but admitted its first patients in August 1900. 

What, did they have the patients sat on beds in a construction site? I guess they would be getting fresh air if there's no ceiling. 

A lot of urbexers regurgitate information without fact checking, or even wondering what the words mean. I've seen them copy and paste history from Wikipedia without even reading it or understanding it. I saw one post that claimed this was a cancer hospital! And Tuberculosis, while it can apparently increase the risk of lung cancer, isn't cancer. It's a bacterial infection.

A more reliable source, however, claims that the sanatorium became a military garrison during the war, and that they didn't leave until 1949.

Another more reliable source says that no records exist of the sanatorium during the war at all, which makes a lot of sense if it was used for military purposes.

In 1943 an American microbiologist, Albert Shatz, discovered streptomycin, the first antibiotic found to be effective against tuberculosis. This was a pretty crucial turning point in the history of the sanatorium. As the 1950s progressed, tuberculosis fatalities declined. The sanatoriums became somewhat obsolete.

This one was initially repurposed, but quite what it became varies from source to source. One source says it became a place for women with chronic illnesses, or in need of "social assistance."

But the more reliable sources claim that as of 1963 it was used as a gerontology hospital, which apparently treat patients with age-related illnesses, such as dementia, falls or osteoporosis.

 

In 1986, it became part of another hospital group, and opened a carpentry workshop, presumably to give the patients some additional recreational activities. But by the 1990s, it wasn't used to its full capacity, with only a fraction of the beds being filled. It was decided in either 1997 or 1999, depending on source, to move the patients out to one of the other hospitals in the group, and close these buildings forever.

Again, we have the identical hospital bays with the narrow ensuite behind them. On the lower floor I forgot to document them, but luckily I photographed these!

There's a mirrored cupboard, which still has a little bottle in it.

"La Villageoise." That's wine. It was probably left here by other urban explorers.

So as you can see, they're all pretty samey, varying only in different degrees of vandalism and decay.

The same can be said for the hospital bays.

As on the ground floor, at each end of this floor is a large room. I don't know what these could have been used for. They certainly have capacity for more than eight beds, which rules out their use as hospital bedrooms. Presumably they were activity rooms.

 

The hallway is lined with the remains of old cupboards, potentially once used for linen storage.

 

Some of the graffiti up here is still pretty cool.

And now onto this floors toilets...

What's interesting is that these toilets don't have urinals. Only the floor below does. I wonder if the gender segregation wasn't between buildings, but between floors. That actually makes a lot more sense, especially if the segregation was intended across two buildings, but the second building was delayed by the first world war.

It's still in better condition than the toilets in some pubs and clubs.

And then at the centre of this floor is the stairway to the attic. It's unique in this building, because all other stairways go from the ground to the top and cover all floors. The attic stairs only go down one floor, and they look delightfully ominous.

The attic was actually lived in until 1949, first by hospital staff and then by the military. I'm not sure what it was used for after that, but it's crazy to think that as early as 1900 someone lived here. This was probably someones lounge.

The smaller rooms were probably bedrooms. Having read the memoir of the directors son, I can't help but imagine this place occupied by the various staff members and their children. For two years during the post-war renovations the cooks and groundskeepers lived here without any patients filling the rooms down below.

There's still some wallpaper up here.

It's very reminiscent of some that I saw in a derelict pub in Shropshire years ago.

And here's a tiny graffiti man playing the violin.

These doodles look like measurements by construction folk, perhaps dating back to earlier renovations, or perhaps indicative that future renovations are on the horizon.

The attic has a small kitchen, presumably once used by the sanatorium staff who lived up here.

I always try to put myself into the position of the people that these places mattered to, and imagine what it would have been like to live here. It looks pretty bleak now, but this was someones home once.

I actually love this graffiti here. They are two perfectly placed silhouettes in the shadows of the attic, resembling the sanatoriums former occupants during its later years. They're like ghosts of the past. It would be great if this sort of thing covered the entire hospital like some sort of eerie art project.

It was up here that I heard footsteps and voices downstairs. I decided that it was either security or other trespassers, and decided to walk as quietly as possible. Unfortunately these floorboards are far too old and creaky! I soon realised that whoever was down there must know that I'm here too, and thought "Fuck it," and carried on as normal. If it was security then they'd come to find me. 

But nobody ever did. In all likelihood it was local kids, and when they heard me they ran away.

Up here we can really appreciate how awesome this building looks. But there's more...

A little corridor leads away from this building towards a couple of others. The infuriating thing is that while the connecting hallway is clearly open, it's been bricked up at the end, meaning that these other buildings can't be accessed.

I found an old image on a postcard that shows how this little bit would have looked.

(Photo not mine, obviously)

It actually looks like it was quite nice back in its day. The caption on the postcard indicates that this depicts the kitchen and refectory, as well as the "pavilion des malades," or "Pavilion of the sick."

 

Here's the corridor that leads from the hospital to the damn impenetrable refectory. There's no way in along here.

 

But before we call it a day, let's check out the cellar!

 

 

The sanatorium is huge and the cellar runs underneath all of it, as one big coridor with loads of rooms leading off.  

 

There are stories of urban explorers seeing ghosts down here, but I didn't see anything.

 

 

Allegedly in 1919 the directors son actually used to play down here. The janitor didn't seem to mind, although  he was the only child he permitted to do so, purely because his father was the director. His mother, the directors wife, wasn't too fond of this.

 

 

This chair looks quite modern, and was probably used back when the facility looked after the elderly. It's probably the last remaining one of many that were once here.

 

 

Here's the elevator. Over the years people have thrown plenty of stuff down the elevator shaft.

 

 

Here's a shot up the elevator shaft.

 

I was quite surprised to find that the cellar exceeds the actual sanatorium. But what got me excited was that this tunnel actually corresponds with the corridor to the refectory and kitchen. I had hoped that I could then find a way up into the sealed building via the cellar.

 

 

I wasn't disappointed! Here we are in the main refectory area, which has a nice little stage and everything.  A hundred years ago it would have had tables and chairs, but these are long gone. In older urbex shots, it had a big orange curtain on the stage too, but that has been ripped down.

Really, whats up with that? Who would nick a stage curtain?

 

It's crazy to think that as far back as 1900 people would come here to eat, and to partake in various events. Apparently the sanatorium did have a few dances back in the day, and they were very popular. This building sits between both of the main pavilions, which means it would have been used by both. It's an intriguing thought given that the buildings were apparently built to segregate men and women, but they shared a communal area. Did anyone meet their future partners here at these events? 

 

Onto the kitchen...

 

I've seen urbex photos of this kitchen before, which show that doorway not bricked up. It leads to another corridor to other buildings. There was also a lot more cooking equipment against the walls. It is quite disappointing that I got here a little too late to see all of it. The powers-that-be are doing their best to keep trespassing to a minimum.

 

 

It's still strange to imagine this kitchen full of life, as a dedicated team prepared meals for a couple hundred people.

 

 

 

Lastly there's a tiny little office just off from the kitchen, and a breath of fresh air from the open window. But this wasn't the way out. The window is barred! I would have to go all the way back around and out the way that I came. But that's okay. 

 

There's a crumpled wheelchair here. It sure is strange that things did get left behind when clearly a lot of effort went into emptying it out.

But as for the future of the Sanatorium, apparently it is up for sale, with some people wanting to see it preserved for local heritage and given new life. I read one ambitious statement that it could be turned into accommodation for athletes in the 2024 Olympics. I don't want to piss on anyone's picnic but I really don't see that happening.

But even so, despite being made redundant by advances in medicine, sanatoriums embody the focus of an entire era of medical history, and now the buildings are either repurposed or completely silent and rotting away. I feel like they deserve some recognition for the role that they played. That role is questionable in its effectiveness. Some would argue that sanatoriums weren't that effective at all. But it's the intent that counts. They're symbols of humanities determination to overcome their struggles.

 

There's a cute little ruined car on the Sanatorium grounds too.

 

But that's about it. Relying on public transport and with a flight to catch in the morning, I was unable to check out the other buildings. The sanatorium grounds are huge. Perhaps if I'm ever in this part of France again, I'll come back and try the other buildings. 

My next blogs will be on my local page. I'll be diving into origin-story territory with a house that I first explored in my childhood that I'm revisiting in adulthood, and then there will be a blog about a local-ish chapel. 

In the meantime, follow me on Instagram, and follow me on Reddit. Also follow me on the shit shows that are Faceboomer and Twitter. 

They're all shit shows really, aren't they? But if you like my blogs then those platforms are the best ways to stay updated!

Thanks for reading!