What’s It Like To Travel Eastern Türkiye By Van? (Winter 2023)

Beyond the turquoise coasts, lush forests and vast, semi-arid plains of Anatolia - Türkiye’s largest and most well-known region - lies an altogether lesser-visited land. This land, of sweeping plateaux, dormant volcanoes, and extreme temperature shifts, sits at the edge of a plateau that continues from Eastern Türkiye all the way to the Hindu Kush.

The Armenian Highlands are home to the once-nomadic Kurdish people and the Armenians themselves, both populations that share one thing in common: their oppression by the ruthless Ottoman Empire. The Kurds deem it Northern Kurdistan, the Armenians maintain the name Western Armenia, but Eastern Anatolia today is ruled by Türkiye, and like any disputed territory this leaves it vulnerable to terrorism and insurgency.

These words floated around in the backs of our minds as we left behind the well-trodden paths of Cappadocia for a region yet unknown to us, but that pulled us inexorably East despite the apparent dangers, and the warnings of Turks in the West of the country: “Don’t go to Eastern Türkiye in the winter, it’s cold and there are terrorists.”

But what we discovered here proved that this could not be further from the truth, and served to strengthen our mantra that you should never believe what you are told by the news, or by neighbouring countries, until you have experienced it for yourself. Because most of the time these preconceptions are born of fear and sweeping generalisations.

Mount Ararat (5,137m) - Türkiye’s highest mountain

The snow began to fall almost immediately after we’d left Cappadocia. It would take us three days to reach Lake Van, Türkiye’s largest body of water, where we were aiming to spend Christmas among volcanoes and hot springs. We wondered if we’d made a bad judgement call as the icy wind froze our doors shut overnight.

A few hundred k’s east and the snow disappeared, replaced by the semi-arid volcanic plains that would be a familiar sight over the coming weeks. Eastern Anatolia has the highest average altitude, covers the largest geographical area, and has the lowest population density of the seven Turkish regions- a perfect combination in our eyes to experience the wild side of Türkiye. But it also meant that temperatures were consistently low as we rarely dipped below 2,000m altitude, despite mountains towering over us everywhere we drove.

The closer we got to Van, the more frequent the military checkpoints became. At first they seemed intimidating, fenced by concrete and barbed wire with strategically positioned tanks that said: don’t even try it. The gendarmes were friendly, checking our passports and welcoming us into their region, but the necessity for these checkpoints spoke of the tensions and volatility of this area. We wondered what kind of people might try to pass through these places, and what their intentions were.

Before we visited Türkiye the UK government travel advice was to ‘avoid all but essential travel’ to certain Eastern regions, but this had been retracted by the time we arrived, and the map, aside from the border with Syria, was now green and open for us to explore. The passport checks, although daunting, nonetheless made us feel safe and gave us reassurance that the bad eggs wouldn’t filter through the net.

Our first stop was Budakli, a village of mud and stone houses that would be unremarkable if not for its apparent poverty, and the cluster of hot springs which bubbled up from the marshlands below it. This was a place we’d yearned of visiting since we first laid plans to come to Türkiye, but the mounds of plastic waste trampled into the mud made the site somewhat underwhelming. However through the tunnel of a 200mm lens, the scenes of water buffalo and their herder bathing in the hot springs we captured the following morning were simply magical.

The problem of litter was not isolated to the poorer Eastern regions of the country, but was in fact ubiquitous throughout, and we wondered how a people so rightly proud of the beauty of their country could throw waste wherever they went.

These hot springs were born in the belly of the 2,984m high volcano which towered omnipresent over the plains and towns below: Nemrut Dağı, our next destination. Boasting one of the largest calderas in the world, this volcano last erupted as recently as 350 years ago, and was responsible for creating the vast Lake Van below.

Our mission was to reach its peak, cross up and over the caldera, and camp next to the hot spring-fed lakes within it. We’d built it up to be somewhat of a paradise in our minds, an escape from the cold winter that dusted the region with beautiful pure white snow as we bathed in the Budakli spring.

The fresh powder made the empty landscape even more beautiful in its bleakness, but in doing so it made the roads treacherous. The journey to reach Nemrut Dağı proved impossible in our van, which got stuck on the first icy hill and almost slid sideways off the road and into oblivion. Even the 4x4 that ended up rescuing us struggled with traction, and we had to abandoned our hopes of spending Christmas on top of a volcano.

Despite numerous assurances that we were experiencing one of the mildest winters on record, it was clear that visiting Eastern Türkiye in the winter we needed provisions: snow chains, winter tyres, and heating, none of which we had. We were faced with nothing but the brutal elements, and began to wonder if we really had made the right decision to come.

Feeling relieved and emotional after nearly losing our van.

Our answer came at our next stop, a place that would be unremarkable to most bar us, with our noses keenly attuned by now to the smell of hot springs. We turned the corner onto the edge of the Çaldıran plain, and the very sight of it was enough to floor us entirely.

It’s a difficult thing to describe, when there is so much of nothing and not a lot of anything, but that very emptiness and desolation is what made this scene so striking. A steppe of dry, golden grass reaching out in a vast oval towards the jagged mountains in every direction. It had the appearance of a large bowl, with not an inch variation in altitude until the edges of it crept up the mountainsides which shot up to 3,000m high peaks. Beyond these was Iran.

It was the kind of scene that struck me so deeply, I still manifest it in my mind to soothe myself on sleepless nights; my peaceful place.

Amid this endless steppe was an inconspicuous structure, four concrete walls housing within them a thermal spring, which spewed out of one end and across the plain where it spilled into large patches of thick ice that wouldn’t melt until spring. With few other options we decided to camp here for the night, overlooked by a nearby village that was swallowed into the night with a lack of any street lighting. It would dip to -10ºC that night, almost intolerably cold in a thin-walled camper van with little insulation and no heat source, but we were more preoccupied with the worry of being so close to the Iranian border, and what risks that might pose.

Come morning we were beaten to the hot spring by four women accompanied by a man who could’ve been one or all of their husbands. He chatted away to us via Google Translate, offering us a bed in his home with a wood stove (if only we’d met him last night), and we wondered why we’d ever been worried about staying here. He was joined by an eccentric shepherd, who offered us cigarettes and sweets and then proceeded to ask for money. This must be his side-hustle, or perhaps his main one, as we had no idea where he’d left his sheep. He asked if we would take his photo, then raised both hands in the air in a very Nixon-esque gesture, thereby ruining our shot at a decent portrait, but he seemed happy.

After bathing in the green, bubbling cauldron, a most unique soak even for us, we continued our journey, curving north to run parallel with the Iranian border. The frequency of checkpoints increased to every few kilometre’s, and every hillside was placed with a watchtower or barracks. It seemed impossible that anyone would try to cross this frontier illegally.

We passed lava fields and sparse tin-roof villages that seemed too precariously placed to be lived in, yet herds of sheep and goats and the occasional line of washing belied their inhabitants. We wondered how anyone could eke out a living in such a harsh and volatile place.

The next few nights were spent hopping from hotel to hotel as the outside temperature dipped to -15ºC. If a room had hot water and didn’t smell like cigarettes we were in luck. In the city of Iğdır the smog made us cough and splutter each time we went outside; we found out that the air pollution level that night was higher than Delhi, in a city with just 0.2% of its population.

We visited the highest mountain in Türkiye, Mount Ararat, although when the lowlands are already at 1600m somehow 5,137m doesn’t seem that tall. This mountain was once believed to be the final resting place of Noah’s Ark, and when the outline of a fossilised ship appeared on a hillside, discovered by a wandering Kurdish shepherd, it caused a global media sensation. This rumour has since been disproved by scientists, but that didn’t stop some entrepreneurial Turks from creating a fake National Park in its honour. To what end it isn’t clear, because on visiting we found just a closed visitor’s centre and a cluster of disappointing rocks.

One place that didn’t disappoint was the Ishak Pasha Palace, an Ottoman-style palace that looms over the plains below, whose courtyards and harems lay abandoned for several decades until being recently restored. It is framed perfectly by the snowy peaks behind it, and the sounds from the minarets in the cliffs were ethereal and otherworldly as they rang out across the valley.

We perched on a wall, defrosting our water jugs in the thin winter sunlight, boiling up coffee on our little stove with hands curled around the flames for warmth, soaking in the otherness of it all.

Of all the places we’d seen on this journey, not one of them reminded us of home. We’d reached a point of travelling so far East that the landscapes had become entirely disparate. The mountains were forged of volcanic sediment, and bore no resemblance to the lush greenery of the Alps. The arid plains with their wide, open horizons and frozen streams were worlds away from the damp, claustrophobic towns of England. We were in a land where the Call to Prayer rang out five times a day, shepherds herded their flocks on horseback, and mountain village roads were guarded by armed police.

But perhaps most disparate of all, were the people, without whom a journey is never truly made.

The people of Türkiye, both west and east, are a testament to Islamic hospitality. There was not one cold, snowy night where someone didn’t knock on our door to ask if we were alright. There was barely a day that went by where we weren’t offered bread, or caj, or a place to stay. From people waving from their village homes to drivers scanning the QR code on our van to welcome us to their town and wish us a good journey on Instagram, the sense of welcome was unanimous.

Nowhere else between here and the U.K. offers such a selflessly warm welcome, and nowhere have we felt more instantly at home.

A few days later we would find ourselves stuck on a steep, frozen road, moments away from our van plummeting to its demise over the mountainside, which put a swift end to our adventures in Eastern Türkiye. We were rescued by the local police and a team of gritters, who asked for neither a fine nor a donation for their time, and guided us back down to safety. At that moment it felt like we were falling apart, our nerves shot to bits, there was a knock on the window. A man who spoke no English nor understood the ordeal we’d just been through was offering us some tea.

It was a simple gesture that nonetheless brought tears to my eyes, and despite all of the challenges we’d faced taking our van to the East of Türkiye in winter, it was moments like this that would keep us returning to this misunderstood region for the rest of our lives.

Watch our travelogue about travelling Eastern Türkiye by van:

FAQ

What’s the availability of fuel in Eastern Turkey?

Petrol and diesel are readily available and petrol stations are situated every few km’s along main roads. There are few areas so remote that you are likely to run out of fuel, but be prudent and top up where you can.

Is Eastern Turkey safe for tourism?

On the whole Eastern Turkey is safe for tourism, but situations can change rapidly so it’s always best to check updated travel advice before you go. The heavy military presence is intended to keep people safe and there is a widespread police presence too so you’re never too far from help if you need it. Be wise, and trust your instincts. The risk of earthquakes is also a factor.

What’s the best time to visit Eastern Turkey?

Summer is undoubtedly the best time to visit Eastern Turkey, as most of the roads will be accessible and the temperatures won’t be severely cold. Spring and Autumn could also be a good choice when the weather isn’t too hot, but there are great opportunities for Winter sports too.

Is wild camping safe in Turkey?

Wild camping is not only safe but also incredibly easy and rewarding in Eastern Turkey, but use your common sense, and don’t park up within at least 20km of the borders with Syria and Iran or you can expect to get a knock from the police moving you on during the night- for your own protection.

Is Eastern Turkey expensive for tourists?

We found Eastern Turkey to be no more expensive than the West. The main expense will be the travel cost to get from one side to the other as Turkey is over 1,600km long. Despite having doubled in price over the last 2 years, food in shops and restaurants is still reasonably cheap, hotels are average and fuel is fairly cheap too. These statements are correct as of 2023, but with often rapid inflation these are liable to change.

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