When a product turns out to be defective, news spreads like wildfire and companies scramble to recall the offending item. While most recalls involve contaminated food or faulty electronics, a whole era of history is filled with objects that were deliberately infused with radioactive substances. In this roundup of 10 surprising radioactive curiosities, we dive into the strange, often hazardous, inventions that people actually bought and used.

10 Energy Drinks

During the roaring 1920s, a bold American entrepreneur launched a bottled “energy drink” called RadiThor. Unlike today’s caffeine‑filled sodas, RadiThor was literally radium dissolved in water, marketed as a medicinal tonic that could boost vigor and even cure impotence. The promotional pamphlet boasted a bizarre study on the mating habits of water newts as “scientific evidence” of its potency. Despite radium’s known dangers, the drink found a niche among affluent customers who could afford the pricey concoction. Sales were modest but steady, and the product never sparked a mass health crisis. Nonetheless, government regulators finally shut RadiThor down in 1932, ending its brief, glowing chapter in beverage history.

9 Chapatis

In the late 1960s, researchers in Coventry, United Kingdom, grew concerned about anemia among South Asian women who had settled in the city. To investigate, a 1969 study recruited 21 women of South Asian background and supplied them with chapatis—traditional flatbreads—containing a specially engineered, radiation‑emitting form of iron. By monitoring the women’s radiation signatures, scientists could directly measure how much iron their bodies absorbed. The results suggested that the flour in the chapatis was poorly soluble, leading investigators to recommend supplemental iron for the community. The study faded from public view until a 1995 documentary raised ethical questions about consent. A 1998 inquiry deemed the experiment below modern ethical standards, and renewed political pressure in 2023 called for locating the participants and assessing any long‑term health effects.

8 Toothpaste

Across the Atlantic, early‑20th‑century Germany saw the chemical giant Auergesellschaft repurpose a waste product from its lantern‑manufacturing line. The lanterns were powered by thorium, a radioactive metal, and leftover thorium dust was abundant. Rather than discard it, the company concocted Doramad toothpaste, infused with thorium oxide. Initially issued to German soldiers during World War I as a novelty, the brand later plotted a post‑World War II mass‑market launch, hoping to ride the wave of American cosmetic growth. Advertisements bragged that the radioactive paste would eradicate oral bacteria and stimulate gum blood flow—claims that leveraged the era’s fascination with radiation’s “miraculous” health benefits.

7 Suppositories

Not everyone wanted a glowing grin; some sought a more discreet dosage. In the 1920s, Denver‑based Home Products Company introduced Vita Radium Suppositories, a 15‑day regimen promising “perfectly harmless” radium infusion. Packaging declared the product contained genuine radium that could restore “manly vigor” and make users “bubble over with joyous vitality.” The primary selling point was a cure for impotence, predicated on the belief that radium absorbed through the rectal mucosa would circulate systemically, revitalizing every organ. Medical professionals of the day were skeptical, and the claims quickly fell out of favor as the scientific community debunked the pseudo‑therapeutic hype.

6 Radioendocrinator

Some inventors imagined radiation could be worn like jewelry. The Radioendocrinator was a credit‑card‑sized radium device that users attached to a night‑time adapter resembling a jockstrap. Marketing images showed both men and women sporting the gadget on their heads, necks, or backs, touting it as a nightly “energy‑boosting” accessory. Priced at a staggering $1,000 at launch—later reduced to $150—it catered to a affluent clientele craving the latest health fad. The venture collapsed in 1930, as the novelty wore off and the health risks of constant radium exposure became undeniable.

5 Face Creams and Powders

In France’s pre‑World War II beauty scene, the brand Tho‑Radia dazzled consumers with radium‑infused face creams and powders. The formula was credited to an Alfred Curie, who proudly served on the company’s board—though he bore no relation to the famed Marie or Pierre Curie. Leveraging the Curie name, Tho‑Radia promised to ignite skin circulation, erase wrinkles, and bestow a perpetual youthful glow. By 1937, French authorities cracked down on cosmetics containing thorium and radium, prompting Alfred Curie’s departure and the removal of radioactive ingredients. Nevertheless, the brand survived in a reduced form until the early 1960s, long after the radioactive era had faded.

4 Cigarette Plates

In the 1980s, a Japanese firm introduced the NAC Plate—a thin metal badge containing 4 % thorium—claiming it could mitigate smoking’s harms when pressed against a cigarette pack. The product reached the United States in 1982, but the Nuclear Regulatory Commission intervened, noting that thorium is restricted to commercial use and cannot be sold to the public. NRC officials also dismissed the device’s efficacy, explaining that any alpha particles emitted would be stopped by the thin paper of a cigarette pack, rendering the claim scientifically untenable. Ironically, the regulatory block ensured the plate never added any extra danger to smokers.

3 Comforters

The post‑war 1950s witnessed a resurgence of radioactive home goods, notably the Gra‑Maze Uranium Comforter and the Cosmos Radioactive Pad. Advertisements boasted relief from arthritis, joint pain, and other ailments, positioning the bedding as a therapeutic marvel. The Gra‑Maze traced its lineage to a 1920s “radium” comforter that, in reality, held only ordinary soil. The revamped version, however, truly contained uranium, capitalizing on the era’s mining boom. Federal authorities eventually stepped in, deeming the products hazardous and ordering their production halted.

2 Embalming Fluid

Even the funeral industry fell prey to the radioactive allure. “Esco Radium Liquid Sunshine Embalming Fluid” carried an optimistic moniker that implied a radiant, healthy appearance even after death. While the product’s name suggested genuine radium content, investigations revealed little to no radioactive material. The marketing strategy hinged on the psychological promise that the deceased could retain a luminous, almost living visage, positioning the fluid as more potent than any competitor.

1 Water Bottles

Surprisingly, the radioactive craze lingered into the 21st century. In 2005, Japanese company Nakano Tec Co., Ltd. launched the Well Aqua water bottle, embedding a small thorium‑filled metal cylinder inside the container. The firm claimed the cylinder could strip chlorine, improve taste, and produce “live water” reminiscent of pristine mountain streams. The cylinder was deliberately larger than the bottle’s opening to prevent accidental ingestion, and the bottle was marketed for about a year of use with monthly cleaning cycles. The product exemplifies how the glow‑in‑the‑dark fascination with radiation persisted well beyond the mid‑1900s.

Welcome to a wild tour of the planet’s most intriguing radioactive hotspots—places where glowing water, buried waste hills, test‑site ruins, radon‑rich mines, and even a nuclear reactor’s control room beckon the curious traveler. These five awesome radioactive locations will leave you literally glowing with wonder.

5 Awesome Radioactive Highlights

1 Stunning Blue Water

Australia’s Mary Kathleen uranium mine first opened its shafts in the 1950s in the remote north‑western reaches of Queensland. A purpose‑built town sprouted just under four miles away, swelling to about a thousand residents and boasting a school, post office, cinema, bank and the usual trappings of a thriving mining community. The operation shipped uranium to the UK Atomic Energy Authority until 1963, then lay dormant until a revival in 1974 that lasted until the ore ran dry in 1982.

When the mine finally shut down, every building was stripped away, leaving only foundations, a solitary sign where the town square once stood, and a massive pit that soon filled with water. Over time, a cocktail of chemicals leached from the exposed rock, turning the water an eye‑catching, almost surreal shade of blue. The striking hue has turned the abandoned pit into a magnet for Instagrammers, much like the similarly colorful site near Novosibirsk, Russia. Visitors now trek out to snap photos that will make their feeds sparkle with neon‑blue brilliance.

Is a selfie‑stop safe? Dr Gavin Mudd of RMIT notes that radiation levels around the pit sit above normal background, but a quick drive‑by for a few dazzling shots won’t cause any real radiological harm. He does advise keeping visits brief, steering clear of swimming or drinking the water, and remembering that the vivid colour stems from a chemical cocktail that’s certainly not meant for consumption.

2 Hike Up A Sarcophagus Of Nuclear Waste

Rising starkly from the green fields of Weldon Spring, Missouri, sits a barren, gray mound that looks like a giant concrete sarcophagus. Its backstory is a patchwork of wartime and Cold‑War activity: during World War II the site churned out explosives, and later it became a hub for enriching uranium destined for nuclear weapons. By the late 1960s, the area was littered with piles of uranium, radium, TNT, asbestos and other hazardous materials.

The solution? Engineers encased the entire waste load within a massive, man‑made hill officially dubbed the Weldon Spring Site Remedial Action Project Disposal Cell, though locals often call it the “Nuclear Waste Adventure Trail.” Visitors can scramble up a set of stairs to the summit, where the flat surrounding terrain offers surprisingly panoramic views. Night‑time astronomers and daytime birdwatchers both flock to the top, and a modest on‑site museum provides background on the mound’s creation and its environmental safeguards.

While the stark, vegetation‑free surface can feel unsettling—its barren look was deliberately engineered to keep plants at bay—former security guards report no health issues after years of service. One guard, who spent eleven years patrolling the site, said he never suffered any ill effects, underscoring the thoroughness of the containment strategy.

3 Tour A Nuclear Test Site

Between 1956 and 1963 the British government detonated seven nuclear devices at Maralinga, a remote outpost in South Australia. The biggest blast measured a modest 27 kilotons, and early cleanup attempts in the late 1960s involved simply turning over the contaminated topsoil and mixing it with cleaner layers below. Twenty‑two pits were later sealed with concrete, each containing roughly 8.8 pounds (4 kg) of plutonium.

A more comprehensive remediation took place in the 1990s, when hundreds of thousands of cubic metres of radioactive soil were excavated and buried, and the vehicles used during the cleanup were themselves interred in deep pits. The land has since been handed back to the Maralinga Tjarutja people, who have transformed the former test zone into a low‑key tourist destination. Guided bus tours now whisk visitors past the abandoned military village, the old airfield, and markers denoting each detonation site. Scattered across the desert are fused‑sand glass beads, remnants of the blasts, while the buried vehicle pits are capped with a five‑metre blanket of clean soil.

Although one sector remains off‑limits for an estimated 25,000 years, the accessible zones are deemed safe for the public. Tourists are asked not to dig, but those who obey the guidelines typically receive less than one millisievert of radiation—well within ordinary background exposure levels.

4 A Healthy Dose Of Radon?

Radon, a colourless, odourless, radioactive gas, is normally demonised as a carcinogen by the EPA and WHO. Yet in Boulder, Montana, a former uranium mine has been repurposed into the Free Enterprise Radon Health Mine, where enthusiasts seek therapeutic exposure. The mine opened in 1949 and pivoted to radon therapy three years later, inviting visitors to descend 85 feet (26 m) underground to inhale radon‑laden air in a cool 56 °F (13 °C) environment.

Patrons are advised to bundle up against the chill, and heat lamps are on standby for extra comfort. For those with a fear of tight spaces, an above‑ground “inhalatorium” channels radon from a deeper 105‑foot (32 m) shaft into a spacious chamber. While the EPA recommends keeping indoor radon below 4 pCi/L, the mine’s atmosphere averages a hefty 1,700 pCi/L. Typical treatment regimens involve 30 to 60 hours of exposure spread over ten days, a schedule believed to alleviate ailments like arthritis.

Despite the high radon concentration, the facility operates under strict safety protocols, and the therapy’s proponents argue that controlled exposure can yield health benefits—though mainstream science remains cautious, emphasizing that any radon inhalation carries inherent risk.

5 Visit Chernobyl’s Control Room

The HBO miniseries “Chernobyl” sparked a fresh wave of curiosity about the infamous Ukrainian Exclusion Zone, and now tourists can go beyond the ghost‑town streets of Pripyat to step inside the very heart of the disaster: Reactor 4’s control room. This once‑restricted area now welcomes visitors, albeit under strict safety measures. Radiation inside the control room can be up to 40,000 times the normal background level, so guests must don full hazmat suits and industrial boots.

Each visitor is limited to a five‑minute stint inside the room, after which they undergo two separate radiation screenings. The new offering arrived shortly after Ukraine officially declared Chernobyl a tourist attraction in July, formalising a practice that had previously existed only in an unofficial capacity. In 2019, roughly 85,000 people toured the broader zone, with day‑trip packages typically costing around $100. Pricing for the exclusive control‑room experience has yet to be disclosed.

While the experience is undeniably intense, the regulated exposure remains low enough to be considered safe for a brief visit. The combination of historical gravitas and palpable radiation makes stepping into the control room a once‑in‑a‑lifetime adventure for the bravely curious.