Some cities shine like polished stone, shaped by modern hands. Others glow like ancient embers, quietly burning beneath layers of time. Van, in the far east of Türkiye, is one of those rare places where the earth remembers more than the history books do—and where even the silence has a soul.
Set beside a vast, shimmering lake that locals call the sea, Van is not just a city. It is a landscape of resilience, an archive of civilizations, and a quiet promise that beauty and strength do not need to shout. They can stand, soft and wide like water, and still hold the world.
To know Van is to understand that some truths are written not in headlines, but in stone, salt, and sunrise.
Van Lake: The Sky’s Blue Memory
The heart of Van is not made of concrete or clock towers—it is made of water. Lake Van, the largest lake in Türkiye, is not freshwater. Its waters are alkaline, high in salt and soda, giving it a surreal turquoise hue and an ability to cleanse itself. For centuries, it has been the city’s mirror, shield, and mystery.
Locals say Lake Van changes color with emotion—blue in stillness, silver in storm, green when the mountains lean close. Scientists find fascination here; spiritual seekers find peace. Migratory birds, especially the endangered pearl mullet, circle its shores in sacred rhythm.
And at its center lies Akdamar Island, a jewel cradled by water, where the Armenian Cathedral of the Holy Cross still stands after more than 1,000 years. Its stone carvings are not only decorative—they are prayers made visible, a hymn sung by hands instead of voices.
The Urartians: Echoes of a Forgotten Empire
Before the Romans, before the Ottomans, before nearly everything we now call modern, there were the Urartians. A civilization of builders, metalworkers, and mountain-dwellers, they carved cities into the eastern Anatolian highlands nearly 3,000 years ago.
Their capital? Tushpa—what we now call Van.
Visit Van Castle, and you’ll walk where kings once stood, overseeing both empire and lake. Its walls are weathered, but not weary. Inscriptions from King Sarduri still grace the cliffs, written in cuneiform, a language long gone but still breathing through stone.
The Urartians built not for spectacle, but for endurance. And in Van, that legacy continues—not only in ruins, but in the people who rise each day with the sun behind the mountains and the lake before them.
A City of Cultures, A Tapestry of Grace
Van has long been a meeting place—for Armenians, Kurds, Turks, Persians, and others whose lives braided into the city’s soul. It has witnessed peace and pain, celebration and sorrow. And yet, it does not live in the past. It carries the past forward with care.
Today, Kurdish culture and language remain central in Van’s identity. Folk songs float from village to village, often sung with the tembûr, a long-necked lute. These are not songs of conquest, but of cattle, coffee, and longing. They speak of mountains passed, loves waited for, children born with names that echo the moon.
Walk through the bazaars, and you’ll find copper pots etched with poetry, wool dyed with wild herbs, and textiles that feel like stories woven into thread. This is not nostalgia—it is continuity.
The Van Cat: White as Snow, Eyes Like a Sunrise
Of all its symbols, none is more beloved—or mysterious—than the Van Cat. Pure white, often with one blue eye and one amber, the Van Cat is a natural treasure. It swims in water, unlike most cats, and moves through the city like a spirit in fur.
To the people of Van, the Van Cat is more than a pet. It is a guardian of gentleness, a reminder that even in harsh climates, grace can thrive. Entire festivals honor it. Schools teach children to care for it. Its image appears on murals, shop signs, and hearts.
In a world growing too fast, the Van Cat walks slowly. It teaches us: beauty is calm. Wonder is quiet. Dignity can purr.
Let the World Learn from Van
Let us learn from Van that peace is not the absence of hardship—it is how a people treat one another after hardship has passed.
Let us remember that civilization is not only found in museums. It is lived every day by those who sing to mountains, carry copper pots, or bake bread for strangers.
Let us believe that water can hold memory, that stone can hold story, and that kindness can outlast empires.
Let us begin again—with Van.
Where the lake is not just a lake, but a mirror of the sky.
Where cats are not just animals, but soul companions.
Where ancient walls hold the future as gently as they hold the past.
Where the earth has been wounded, yes—but where it is healing with quiet strength.
Because the most beautiful world is not the one we build the fastest.
It is the one we remember to care for.
The one we weave with time, tears, and trust.
The one that looks a little like Van in the early morning,
when the water is still,
and the mountains breathe,
and the sky smiles down at its oldest mirror.
That is Van.
And the world is better when it listens to her.