Honestly, most people heading to Turkey just stick to the "Blue Route." They hit the mosques in Istanbul, take a hot air balloon over Cappadocia, and maybe sunbathe in Antalya if they have time. But if you keep going east—like, way east, almost to the Iranian border—you hit the city of Van. It’s different. It doesn't feel like the Mediterranean, and it certainly doesn't feel like the frantic streets of Beyoğlu. It feels old. Like, Urartian Kingdom old.
The first thing you notice isn't the history, though. It’s the water. Lake Van is massive. Locals call it Van Denizi (the Sea of Van) because, well, calling it a lake feels like an insult. It’s a soda lake, meaning it’s high in salt and carbonates. You can’t really fish in it, except for one specific species called the Pearl Mullet (Inci Kefali) that has somehow adapted to the weird chemistry.
What makes the city of Van actually stand out
People usually come here for the cats. Let’s just get that out of the way. The Van cat is a genetic anomaly with one blue eye and one amber eye. Unlike almost every other feline on the planet, these things love to swim. You’ll see them at the Van Cat House (Van Kedi Evi) near the university. It’s a bit of a tourist cliché, but seeing a swimming cat with mismatched eyes is one of those "only in Turkey" moments that actually lives up to the hype.
But if you’re just visiting for a cat, you’re missing the point.
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The history here is dense. We’re talking about the capital of the Iron Age Kingdom of Urartu. The Van Fortress (Van Kalesi) sits on a massive limestone outcrop overlooking the modern city and the ruins of the "Old City," which was basically leveled during World War I and the subsequent conflicts. Walking up those steps at sunset is heavy. You see the cuneiform inscriptions from Xerxes the Great carved right into the rock face. It’s a reminder that this place was a geopolitical hub long before modern borders existed.
The Akdamar Island mystery
You have to take a boat to get to the real prize. Akdamar Island sits about 3 kilometers offshore. On it is the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, a 10th-century Armenian church that is arguably one of the most beautiful pieces of architecture in the Middle East. The exterior walls are covered in stone reliefs depicting biblical scenes—David and Goliath, Adam and Eve, Jonah and the whale.
The detail is insane.
What’s wild is how well it has survived. The reddish volcanic tufa stone glows when the sun hits it. For a long time, the church was abandoned and falling into disrepair, but the Turkish government restored it in the mid-2000s. Now, it serves as a museum, though once a year, the government allows an Armenian Orthodox liturgy to take place there. It’s a small, quiet nod to a very complex and often painful history in the region.
The breakfast culture is a whole different level
If you tell a Turk you’re going to the city of Van, the first thing they’ll say is, "Eat the breakfast." They aren't talking about a bowl of cereal. Van Kahvaltısı is a legendary institution. There are literally "breakfast streets" in the city center where dozens of salons serve nothing but morning spreads.
It’s an assault on the senses. You get:
- Otlu peynir: A crumbly, salty cheese packed with wild herbs like mountain garlic.
- Murtuğa: A heavy, savory dish made of flour, butter, and eggs.
- Kavut: An ancient roasted wheat halva that tastes like history.
- Local honey from the high altitude meadows of the surrounding mountains.
You don't eat lunch after a Van breakfast. You basically just wander around in a food coma until dinner. The herbs in the cheese are foraged from the mountains in the spring and pickled in brine. It’s pungent. It’s earthy. It’s nothing like the processed feta you get in a plastic tub.
Why the geography matters
Van is high up. You’re at about 1,700 meters (roughly 5,600 feet) above sea level. This isn't the humid Turkey of the coast. The air is thin, crisp, and in the winter, it’s brutally cold. But that elevation creates a specific light quality that photographers obsess over.
The lake itself never freezes because of that high salinity, even when the surrounding mountains are buried in three feet of snow. Mount Erek looms over the city, and if you drive a bit further, you hit Nemrut Dag (not the one with the heads, the other one). It’s a volcanic caldera with a cold lake and a hot lake inside it. Standing on the rim of a volcano looking down at a soda sea is a bit surreal.
Acknowledging the complexity
It’s important to be real about the vibe. Van is a predominantly Kurdish city. The cultural landscape reflects that. You’ll hear Kurdish spoken in the bazaars more than Turkish in some neighborhoods. The region has seen its share of instability over the decades, which is why it hasn't turned into a polished tourist trap like Ephesus.
There’s an edge to it. A ruggedness.
Is it safe? Generally, yes. The heavy military presence that used to define the southeast has scaled back significantly for tourists, but you’ll still see checkpoints on the highways. Don't let that freak you out; it's just part of the landscape in this part of the world. The hospitality, however, is unmatched. You will be offered more tea (çay) than your kidneys can physically process.
Things people usually get wrong about Van
Most people think it’s just a stopover on the way to Iran. While the train—the Trans-Asia Express—does stop here, treating Van as a "layover city" is a mistake. You need at least three days. One for the fortress and the museum (which is brand new and world-class, by the way), one for Akdamar Island, and one to just drive the perimeter of the lake.
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Another misconception is that it’s "backwards."
Hardly. Van is a bustling university town. The Van Yüzüncü Yıl University brings in thousands of students, giving the city center a surprisingly youthful energy. There are cafes, bookstores, and late-night spots that feel as modern as anything in Ankara. It’s this weird mix of 3,000-year-old ruins and Gen Z kids on TikTok.
Practical steps for your visit
If you’re actually going to pull the trigger on a trip to the city of Van, keep these things in mind:
- Timing is everything. Go in May or June. The mountains are still capped with snow, but the valleys are exploding with wildflowers. Alternatively, September is great. Avoid January unless you really, really like shoveling snow.
- Fly, don't drive. Unless you’re on a massive road trip across Anatolia, just fly into Van Ferit Melen Airport (VAN). There are daily direct flights from Istanbul and Ankara that are cheap and take about two hours.
- The Museum is a must. The Van Museum (Urartu Müzesi) near the foot of the fortress is spectacular. It houses the best collection of Urartian gold jewelry and bronze work in the world. The craftsmanship from 800 BC will make your modern jewelry look like junk.
- Rent a car. Public transport exists, but to get to the remote churches like Varagavank or the Çavuştepe fortress, you need your own wheels. The roads are surprisingly good and mostly empty.
- Learn three words. "Spas" (Kurdish for thanks), "Teşekkürler" (Turkish for thanks), and "Peynir" (Cheese). You’ll use the last one the most.
The city of Van isn't for everyone. If you want white-glove service and English menus at every corner, stay in Bodrum. But if you want to see a side of Turkey that feels raw, ancient, and deeply authentic, this is the place. It's a city defined by a sea that isn't a sea, a history that refuses to stay buried, and a breakfast that will ruin all other breakfasts for you.
When you leave, you won't just remember the mismatched eyes of the cats. You’ll remember the way the sun sets behind the Armenian highland, turning the soda water of the lake into a sheet of hammered gold. That’s the real Van. It’s stubborn, it’s beautiful, and it’s waiting for people to stop overlooking it.