By Gia Joslin
Merhaba everybody!
This morning we left to explore Cappadocia at 9, sleeping in and enjoying a relaxed hotel breakfast before heading out, what a great start to the day! After boarding the bus for the short drive to our first stop, Saba reminded us that the road itself was part of the experience. We passed a troglodyte village carved directly into the land and a watchtower overlooking a settlement that had adapted itself to stone rather than imposing itself upon it. From the very beginning, Cappadocia set itself apart from the other sites we have visited.
This landscape has been a crossroads for centuries, but not in the way Roman urban planners would have liked. Roman ideas of what a city “should” be: grids, highly visible expressions of civic power, and monumental forums, do not quite apply here. (Try comparing it to images of Greco-Roman sites on some of the previous blogs!) Experiencing Cappadocia and all that it has to offer has allowed us to ask: what actually constitutes a city? Is it stone walls and public squares, or is it continuity and connection shaped by a shared need for survival? Here, cities were not always visible, shielding their inhabitants from the outside world, carved, hidden, and one with the earth. Of course civic life existed, just not according to imperial expectations.
Our first stops were the cave homes and pigeon valley, a quick picture break but also an introduction to how deeply integrated daily life was with the landscape itself.
After this, we visited what I believe to be one of the most beautiful sites on this course, a nun’s monastery carved into rock, now fragile and at risk of collapse. Only about one third of the original structure remains, and standing outside, you can see the interior structure of the rooms inside of the cave, something you were never meant to see exposed. There are also faint fresco remains, images we must imagine as once vibrant. These monastic sites were intentionally built away from water sources and heavy traffic due to the fact that for the first three hundred years of Christianity, the faith was suppressed and believers needed refuge, with Cappadocia becoming a place of protection.
Christianity later became the state religion, but danger returned in the seventh and early eighth centuries; though raiders were not interested in conquering Cappadocia permanently. They came for wealth: enslaved people, resources, anything portable. Eastern Türkiye is mountainous, and to reach the west, invaders had to pass through this region and back again. Cappadocia was vulnerable by geography alone. Groups like the Sassanids passed through these lands, leaving chaos in their wake.
Iconoclasm under the Byzantine Empire changed the religious landscape dramatically. After imperial policy turned against images, there were roughly 115 years when no new religious images were created. Frescoes were whitewashed, plastered over, and destroyed, Cappadocia being deeply impacted by this. Many of the cave churches here date to the sixth century, but most surviving frescoes are post-iconoclasm, from the eleventh or twelfth century. The monastic complexes themselves often predate this, lasting from the sixth century until the arrival of the Turks.
Eventually, Christians began building churches above ground. There was no longer a need to hide. Outdoor churches appeared in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Then, after the establishment of the Turkish Republic, the population exchange between Greeks and Turks reshaped the region again. By 1924, the religious landscape had changed decisively. As late as the 1960s, Muslim Turkish families were still living in these caves. Many frescoes were damaged or destroyed during this time, but even defacing images proves their power. You do not destroy what does not matter. Preservation of the interiors now feels especially urgent.
Inside one church, painted brick walls reflect a longing for freedom. Priests themselves created much of this art, and within it there is a quiet yearning for the churches they knew and loved, spaces far grander than these hidden caves.
We saw dining rooms with carved tables, kitchens with holes in the ceiling for fires. These spaces were defensive as well as domestic. If attacked, doors could be sealed, trapping smoke inside to deter intruders. After a delicious lunch of mantı (small Turkish dumplings served with yogurt and spices) we descended into one of Cappadocia’s underground cities.
The underground cities of Cappadocia challenge imperial assumptions again. Roman and Byzantine authorities distrusted underground living. It was less governable, harder to tax, and harder to control. Today, only 32 underground cities are open to the public, though over 300 have been found. We visited a medium-sized one, considered among the safest. Roughly 250 people could live there, supported by about 300 villages that maintained and used these spaces. It functioned like a bunker.
Daily life followed strict rules. No cooking or lighting fires during the day. No light or cooking during a full moon, when visibility outside was high. These cities were not meant for long-term habitation. Three months was usually the maximum, just long enough for an enemy to pass through. There were stables for animals, storage rooms for fresh food, and many spaces whose functions are still unidentified. Rolling stone doors could be sealed during attacks, forcing enemies to break through. Archaeologists believe these cities began simply: someone saw a cave and decided to enlarge it. There is a strong belief that the origins go back to the Hittites, whose territory stretched across the delta of the Red River, the longest river originating in central Türkiye and flowing to the Black Sea.
According to archaeologists, the city has eight floors, though visitors can only see two. The rest have been reinforced with concrete. Further south, another underground city could hold up to four thousand people, yet we only ever see about twenty percent of these structures.
We ended the day in a fairy chimney valley. The formations look impossible, and standing there, it’s easy to understand why people once said fairies must have made these chimneys. The softer rock below eroded faster than the mineral-rich stone above, leaving tall, capped pillars behind. Hermits once lived here, practicing early monasticism. Monasteries were centers of learning, with monastics often serving as scribes, teachers, and record keepers. In many ways, demonstrating that monastic life was intellectually rich, communal, and far from bleak or uneducated, with hermits being placed on a pedestal within these communities.
Visiting Cappadocia has challenged us to rethink how humans live, believe, and survive. It also encourages us to question what we assume about the so-called “Dark Ages,” showing us the joy, scholarship, and community which can be found in monastic life. These ancient cities themselves are bright with continuity, ingenuity, and intellectual life, revealing a world far more complex and illuminated than labels may suggest.
