Nemrut and Conversation
The peak of Mount Nemrut is probably the only archaeological site I’ve tried to visit three times. The first time, I was sent back by the entrance guards with only 2 km to go due to the uncleared snow on the road. That evening, I chose to camp in the lower area of the mountain to make a second attempt the next morning—but the following day turned out to be drizzling with a thick fog already in the lower area, an obvious sign of no visibility at the top. I made the third attempt a week later after checking the weather forecast carefully. The day was hot and sunny on the ground, but I could not be certain until I actually reached the peak—I was just happy to finally be able to buy the ticket.
There was no strong reason why I had to see it this time. It was just that I had previously found the view of the decapitated stone heads eerily impressive, and I could manage to come back to the area easily because it was close to a major crossroads in the country.
Rising about 2,100 meters above the Taurus Mountains, the summit of Mount Nemrut hosts a sanctuary dating back to the 1st century BC. There are many large statues around what is assumed to be a royal tomb. The site was built by King Antiochus I of Commagene, and it was his political program to bring back Persian traditions to the kingdom. There are statues up to nine meters tall of the king himself, joined by lions, eagles, and Greek and Persian gods. The heads now sit on the ground, having been deliberately cut—one theory suggests this was done by early Christians because they saw it as an act of worshipping idols.
Among other reasons, I was glad that I made it in person because I immediately realized the experience was quite different from what I imagined—instead of simply being presented with the large statues and the view, I had to endure a grueling climb first, which took an hour. I saw that the other fellow visitors were panting, some on the verge of giving up entirely due to safety reasons. I honestly thought that the responsible body’s decision to open the site was premature—but it did add to my experience when I later reached the peak.
At the top, the statues actually did not fully attract my attention. Seeing that I was standing at the highest point among the surrounding mountains, feeling the strong wind and the chill it was creating, and seeing the clouds below my feet convinced me that the place was not an ordinary one. The atmosphere of the location already explained why an ancient king would want to build a sanctuary there despite the physical hardships, especially during antiquity.
There, I thought about the experience of going up to the peak of Jungfrau years ago, a summit that boasts a whopping 4,100 meters of height in Switzerland. The experience was surprisingly ‘plain’, not because of the lack of breathtaking views, but perhaps because of the ease of arrival—I had taken a mountain train directly to the peak. So, there was no doubt that having to climb up to the peak of Nemrut was an essential part of the experience. I am sure the elusiveness of the site—that I had to try multiple times for the right weather—helped me appreciate it properly.
Time and time again, I realize that what you can find about a destination online can be much different from the in-person experience thanks to all the context that Google’s first page does not show. And even if it did show that, the personal experience should still differ because we bring different life contexts. Being attentive to my personal context while remaining open to the environment feels like facilitating a continuous conversation between the surroundings and myself. And that makes it impossible, in a way, to feel lonely even when physically alone.
The rather dangerous climb also gradually brought us closer to the only other visitors: a group of Brazilian women who were old friends. Their friendly suggestion for dinner in town seemed like the beginning of another great ‘conversation’, but I was already running late for my next plans.
April 15, 2026
Mount Nemrut, Turkiye
