www.bbc.com /travel/article/20220810-derinkuyu-turkeys-underground-city-of-20000-people

Turkey's underground city of 20,000 people

Geena Truman 19-24 minutes

Turkey's underground city of 20,000 people

(Image credit:

Danm/Getty Images

)

(Credit: Danm/Getty Images)

More than 85m beneath the famous fairy chimneys of Cappadocia lies a massive subterranean city that was in near-constant use for thousands of years.

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Violent gusts whipped loose soil into the air as I hiked through Cappadocia's Love Valley. Pink- and yellow-hued hillsides coloured the rolling landscape scarred with deep red canyons, and chimneystack rock formations loomed in the distance. It was arid, hot, windy and devastatingly beautiful. Millennia ago, this volatile, volcanic environment naturally sculpted the spires surrounding me into their conical, mushroom-capped shapes, which now draw millions of visitors to hike or hot-air balloon in the central Turkish region.

But beneath Cappadocia's crumbling surface, a marvel of equally gargantuan proportions lay hidden away for centuries; a subterranean city that could conceal the whereabouts of up to 20,000 inhabitants for months at a time.

The ancient city of Elengubu, known today as Derinkuyu, burrows more than 85m below the Earth's surface, encompassing 18 levels of tunnels. The largest excavated underground city in the world, it was in near-constant use for thousands of years, changing hands from the Phrygians to the Persians to the Christians of the Byzantine Era. It was finally abandoned in the 1920s by the Cappadocian Greeks when they faced defeat during the Greco-Turkish war and fled abruptly en masse to Greece. Not only do its cave-like rooms stretch on for hundreds of miles, but it's thought the more than 200 small, separate underground cities that have also been discovered in the region may be connected to these tunnels, creating a massive subterranean network.

According to my guide, Suleman, Derinkuyu was only "rediscovered" in 1963 by an anonymous local who kept losing his chickens. While he was renovating his home, the poultry would disappear into a small crevasse created during the remodel, never to be seen again. Upon closer investigation and some digging, the Turk unearthed a dark passageway. It was the first of more than 600 entrances found within private homes leading to the subterrestrial city of Derinkuyu.

Excavation began immediately, revealing a tangled network of underground dwellings, dry food storage, cattle stables, schools, wineries and even a chapel. It was an entire civilisation tucked safely underground. The cave city was soon spelunked by thousands of Türkiye's least claustrophobic tourists and, in 1985, the region was added to the Unesco World Heritage list.

Derinkuyu is made up of 18 levels of tunnels that burrow more than 85m underground (Credit: RalucaHotupan/Getty Images)

Derinkuyu is made up of 18 levels of tunnels that burrow more than 85m underground (Credit: RalucaHotupan/Getty Images)

The city's exact date of construction remains contested, but Anabasis, written by Xenophon of Athens circa 370 BCE, is the oldest written work that seems to reference Derinkuyu. In the book, he mentions Anatolian people, in or near the region of Cappadocia, living underground in excavated homes rather than the more popular cliffside cave-dwellings that are well known in the area.

According to Andrea DeGiorgi, associate professor of classical studies at Florida State University, Cappadocia is uniquely suited to this kind of underground construction due to the lack of water in the soil and its malleable, easily mouldable rock. "The geomorphology of the region is conducive to the digging of underground spaces," she said, explaining that the local tufa, or limestone soil, would have been fairly easy to carve with simple tools like shovels and pickaxes. This same pyroclastic material was naturally forged into the fairy-tale chimneys and phallic spires jutting from the earth above ground.

But whom to credit with Derinkuyu's creation remains a partial mystery. The groundwork for the sprawling network of subterranean caves is often attributed to the Hittites, "who may have excavated the first few levels in the rock when they came under attack from the Phrygians around 1200 BCE", according to A Bertini, an expert in Mediterranean cave dwellings, in his essay on regional cave architecture. Adding weight to this hypothesis, Hittite artefacts were found inside Derinkuyu.

However, the bulk of the city was likely built by the Phrygians, highly skilled Iron-age architects who had the means to construct elaborate underground facilities. "The Phrygians were one of Anatolia's most prominent early empires," explained DeGiorgi. "They developed across western Anatolia around the end of the first millennium BCE and had a bent for monumentalising rock formations and creating remarkable rock-cut facades. Though elusive, their kingdom spread to include most of western and central Anatolia, including the area of Derinkuyu."

Half-ton boulders could be rolled in place to close off the tunnels in times of invasion (Credit: Richard Beck/Getty Images)

Half-ton boulders could be rolled in place to close off the tunnels in times of invasion (Credit: Richard Beck/Getty Images)

Originally, Derinkuyu was likely used for the storage of goods, but its primary purpose was as a temporary haven from foreign invaders, with Cappadocia seeing a constant flux of dominant empires throughout the centuries. "The succession of empires and their impact on the landscapes of Anatolia explain the recourse to underground shelters like Derinkuyu," DeGiorgi explained. "It was at the time of the [7th-Century] Islamic raids [on the predominantly Christian Byzantine Empire], however, that these dwellings were used to the fullest." While the Phrygians, Persians and Seljuks, among others, all inhabited the region and expanded upon the underground city in subsequent centuries, Derinkuyu's population swelled to its peak during the Byzantine Era, with nearly 20,000 residents living underground.

Today, you can experience the harrowing reality of life underground for just 60 Turkish lira (£2.80). As I descended into the musty, narrow tunnels, the walls blackened with soot from centuries of torch lighting, the unfamiliar sensation of claustrophobia began to set in. However, the ingenuity of the various empires that expanded upon Derinkuyu soon became apparent. Intentionally narrow, short hallways forced visitors to navigate the labyrinth of corridors and dwellings while stooped over and single file – obviously an inopportune position for intruders. Dimly lit by lamplight, half-ton circular boulders blocked doors between each of the 18 levels and were only moveable from the inside. Small, perfectly round holes in the centre of these hefty doors would have allowed residents to spear invaders while maintaining a secure perimeter.

"Life underground was probably very difficult," my guide Suleman added. "The residents relieved themselves in sealed clay jars, lived by torchlight and disposed of dead bodies in [designated] areas."

Each level of the city was carefully engineered for specific uses. Livestock was kept in stables nearest to the surface to reduce the smell and toxic gases produced by cattle, as well as provide a warm layer of living insulation for the cold months. The inner layers of the city contained dwellings, cellars, schools and meeting spaces. Identifiable by its unique barrel-vaulted ceilings, a traditional Byzantine missionary school, complete with adjacent rooms for study, is located on the second floor. According to DeGiorgi, "the evidence for winemaking is grounded in the presence of cellars, vats for pressing and amphoras [tall, two-handled jars with a narrow neck]." These specialised rooms indicate that inhabitants of Derinkuyu were prepared to spend months beneath the surface.

Derinkuyu had many entrances, including more than 600 found within private homes (Credit: SVPhilon/Getty Images)

Derinkuyu had many entrances, including more than 600 found within private homes (Credit: SVPhilon/Getty Images)

But most impressive is a complex ventilation system and protected well that would have supplied the entire city with fresh air and clean water. In fact, it's thought that the early construction of Derinkuyu centred around these two essential elements. More than 50 ventilation shafts, which allowed for natural airflow between the city's many dwellings and hallways, were distributed throughout the city to avoid a potentially fatal attack on their air supply. The well was dug more than 55m deep and could be easily cut off from below by the city inhabitants.

While Derinkuyu's construction was indeed ingenious, it's not the only underground city in Cappadocia. At 445 sq km, it's merely the largest of the 200 and counting underground cities beneath the Anatolian Plains. More than 40 of these smaller cities are three or more levels deep beneath the surface. Many are connected to Derinkuyu via carefully dug tunnels, some stretching as long as 9km. All of them are equipped with emergency escape routes in case an immediate return to the surface was necessary. But Cappadocia's subterranean secrets have not yet all been excavated. In 2014, a new and potentially even larger underground city was unearthed beneath the Nevsehir region.

Derinkuyu's living story came to a close in 1923 when the Cappadocian Greeks evacuated. More than 2,000 years after the city's likely creation, Derinkuyu was abandoned for the last time. Its existence was all but forgotten to the modern world until some errant chickens brought the subterranean city back into the light.

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Europe's remote, lost-in-time villages

(Image credit: Adrian Catalin Lazar/Getty Images)

(Credit: Adrian Catalin Lazar/Getty Images)

Life in Târnava Mare has barely changed in centuries, offering a precious insight into the age-old traditions that are still going strong in its Saxon villages.

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I heard them before I saw them, the soft jangle of metal bells carrying on the warm evening air. Weary hooves scuffed up clouds of dust as the herd trudged up Viscri's dirt-road high street, stopping to gulp water from a trough beneath a gnarled walnut tree. Routine kicked in, and they peeled away through arched gateways and into their own cobbled courtyards, where they'd be milked and fed for the night.

This was the evening procession of cows, when residents gather outside their pastel-coloured Saxon homes to watch the herds return from pasture – a daily ritual that's been signalling the end of the working day in Viscri, Criț, Biertan and the other medieval villages of south-eastern Transylvania's Târnava Mare region for hundreds of years.

Occupying a rural triangle in central Romania between the historical cities of Sighişoara, Braşov and Sibiu, Târnava Mare is one of Europe's most intriguing cultural landscapes. The region was settled in the 12th Century by Saxons from what are now parts of Germany, France, Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands, invited here by King Géza II of Hungary under the auspices of establishing their own economy – but with the real objective of defending the far reaches of his kingdom from raiding Turks. They colonised a ribbon of fertile land just north of the Carpathian Mountains, built fortified churches for sanctuary in times of siege, and formed robust small-scale farming communities.

Viscri and other Saxon villages in Târnava Mare have barely changed in centuries (Credit: Hans-Joachim Aubert/Alamy)

Viscri and other Saxon villages in Târnava Mare have barely changed in centuries (Credit: Hans-Joachim Aubert/Alamy)

The Saxons prospered for more than 800 years, but having survived World War Two (when many were conscripted to fight in the German Army) and the years just after (when even more were deported by the Soviets to work in Siberian labour camps), they virtually disappeared from Transylvania during the final decades of the 20th Century. Under Romania's communist dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu, many emigrated to Germany, and following the fall of the regime in 1989, almost half a million more upped sticks for Western Europe.

Today, just 10 Saxons still live in Viscri, out of a population of less than 500, and there aren't that many more in Meșendorf, Criț or the other surrounding villages. But their churches and their houses remain, and the area has a fascinating barely-changed-in-centuries feel to it; horse-drawn carts are the main method of transport and residents eke out a sustainable existence from smallholdings or shepherding.

"The architecture of the houses, the traditions and the villagers' connection to nature has remained locked in time," said Ursula Radu-Fernolend, who was born and raised in Viscri and is now project manager at the Mihai Eminescu Trust (MET), a foundation dedicated to preserving the heritage of Transylvania's villages. "It is an almost ancient way of living [and] it offers visitors a glimpse into a world that no longer exists in other parts of the globe."

I'd come to Târnava Mare for exactly that reason, basing myself in an old Saxon guesthouse on Viscri's main street. An attractive cornflower-blue building, with high walls and a gateway large enough to allow a loaded haycart through, the house once belonged to the wealthiest family in the village but was on the verge of falling down when MET stepped in. It's one of 20 or so traditional guesthouses in Târnava Mare that the foundation has restored – employing local craftsmen and using original techniques and materials like yellow clay, slaked lime, handmade bricks, pine and oak – as a way of showing local residents that their heritage can be a source of growth for the community.

Viscri's main attraction is its fortified church, which was built for sanctuary in times of siege (Credit: Emicristea/Getty Images)

Viscri's main attraction is its fortified church, which was built for sanctuary in times of siege (Credit: Emicristea/Getty Images)

The guesthouses are operated by Experience Transylvania, MET's social-business side arm, and the house I was staying in was decorated with objects that were once used by the villagers themselves, such as tall Saxon trundle beds (that slide open like a chest of drawers) and a terracotta-tiled heater. It was sparse but comfortable, and an appropriate base from which to explore the region.

How to live the life

Stay in a Saxon house

Experience Transylvania has a network of Saxon guesthouses in Viscri, Criț and a number of other villages in the area, which have been faithfully restored and decorated with original furnishings. Most of the houses are managed by local families trained by the Mihai Eminescu Trust.

Meet the artisans

Learn the techniques involved in making Saschiz pottery at a workshop with the Atelier de Ceramică Saschiz, bookable through Fundația ADEPT. You can arrange visits to blacksmiths, slipper-makers and charcoal-burners, and to the shepherds in the hills around Viscri, Criț and Saschiz via Experience Transylvania and Fundația ADEPT.

Explore the villages by bike

Transylvania Bike Trails is a network of 100km of tracks through the meadows and forests of Târnava Mare. A popular circuit links Viscri, Bunești, Criț and Meșendorf. Bikes are available to rent from Viscri 125, Bike Check Inn in Bunești, Casa Kraus in Criț, and Tei in Saschiz.

Viscri's main attraction is its fortified church, which gives the village its German (Deutsch-Weißkirch, or German White Church) and Hungarian (Szászfehéregyháza, or Saxon White Church) names. One of seven fortified churches in Târnava Mare that have been inscribed on Unesco's World Heritage list, it was built in the 12th Century, fortified in the 15th and then further strengthened over the next 200 years with an outer wall and defensive towers. Storerooms were fashioned out of the thick walls, and when Viscri was under attack, its villagers would retreat with their livestock into the church and sit out the siege. The rest of the time, the rooms were used to keep dried hams and bacon fat; the church's so-called "Lard Tower" was opened every Sunday so that each household could take a single piece of fat or ham to last them the week, a tradition that only ended in the early 1990s.

On the laneways running down from the church and in the surrounding streets, I came across little stalls outside some of the houses, each one draped with woollen socks and gloves and colourful slippers, the fruits of an initiative that helps local women earn an income. Cristina Vasilche, who has been making two pairs of slippers a day for the last 10 years, showed me the process, scrubbing each alternate layer of wool and linen mesh with soap and water until the supple shoes took shape.

It's just one of several such enterprises. The Prince of Wales, who has a house in Viscri and has been a regular visitor to Transylvania for more than 25 years, has set up a training centre at the bottom of the village that provides apprenticeships for locals in the preservation of architectural heritage and traditional handicrafts. MET, too, has helped several of the region's weavers, carpenters and blacksmiths launch their own businesses in recent years and were instrumental in re-establishing the lost art of brick- and tile-making in Viscri, part of a wider renewal of ancient crafts and trades across Târnava Mare.

Local women earn an income making socks, slippers and other handicrafts (Credit: Hemis/Alamy)

Local women earn an income making socks, slippers and other handicrafts (Credit: Hemis/Alamy)

One of the most interesting of these artisans is Marinel Györfi, who, with the help of Fundația ADEPT, has revived traditional Saschiz blue pottery in the Saxon village of the same name, 20km north of Viscri. In a workshop at his Atelier de Ceramică Saschiz, at the end of a narrow lane opposite the village's towering fortified church, I watched him pound and deftly spin the clay into pots and plates that were then glazed with a rich cobalt blue. He scratched the motifs into the glaze, rather than painting them on, a sgraffito technique that the previous potter of Saschiz used before him in the late 18th Century. What Marinel makes depends on the weight of the clay – and how he's feeling on the day. "Making a pot is about the journey, rather than the destination," he told me. "It is all about the emotions you feel along the way."

Saschiz, like Viscri and all the other villages in Târnava Mare, has remained relatively unchanged since the Saxons first settled here: it consists of two parallel rows of pastel-hued houses, built in a line on either side of a stream. The villages were originally organised into different neighbourhoods, or Nachbarschaften; supportive communities who worked together to carry out communal tasks, a practice that continues today. Livestock owners, for example, are still required to spend a certain amount of time (depending on how many cattle or sheep they own) clearing the pastures and meadows of scrub.

It was a creaking ride by horse and cart up to the scrub-cleared pastures between Viscri and Criț. Liviu Damian, the man chosen to look after the village flock this season, was spending the entire summer at the sheepfold here, his only company a couple of local shepherds and the fierce sheep dogs that (mostly) keep the area's wolves and bears at bay. His temporary home was a bare-floored shack, where he cooks, eats, sleeps and – in the room next door – makes cheeses using an assortment of wooden troughs and trays. There were about 180 sheep under his watch, which his shepherds milked by hand each evening; most households own between 10 and 20 sheep, and they all receive a few kilograms of cheese from Damian each week.

Horse-drawn carts are still the main method of transport in Târnava Mare's Saxon villages (Credit: Keith Drew)

Horse-drawn carts are still the main method of transport in Târnava Mare's Saxon villages (Credit: Keith Drew)

He thumped a slab of caș, a giant spongey loaf of squeaky white cheese, onto the table in front of me. It was so fresh it tasted slightly acidic. Next came feta-like telemea. Then brânză de burduf, strong, salty and with a texture that looked like cake mix; it's kept in the sewn-up stomach of a sheep or wrapped in pine bark for a resinous flavour. I tried them all, watched the shepherds corral their sheep and milk them, and then climbed onto the cart for the lurching ride down the hills in the half-light.

I wanted to get back to Viscri in time to see the cows come home.

Country Rambles is a BBC Travel series that embraces rural life, helping travellers to reconnect with nature, learn a handcrafted skill and live more sustainably – all while experiencing local culture.

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