A Long Time Coming – Sultan Han Caravanserai (Istanbul & Everything After #44)

The further our tour traveled into the interior of Anatolia, the more I had a creeping sense of déjà vu. Home did not feel so far away. I had traveled from the high plains of western South Dakota to set foot for the first time in Asia Minor. Now I found myself looking out a bus window at a landscape that resembled home. The land rolled away towards a limitless horizon and an enormous sky that consumed all before it. The similarities had an enervating effect. I had dragged myself halfway across the world to see what I had left behind. How could a landscape be so similar and its history, culture, and people so different? Surely, I did not pay a thousand dollars to look into a distorted mirror. The parallels between the Anatolian Plains and America's High Plans were amusing and unsettling. Amusing, because the joke was on me. Unsettling, because I had lost my way back home.

Roadside Attraction – The Scheduled Stop

The closer we got to our scheduled stop between Konya and Cappadocia, the greater my fatigue. The yawning spaces induced somnolence, the barren land left me feeling melancholic. This trip, like my life, seemed headed for some indeterminate point. I was on the road to somewhere, even though it felt like nowhere. And what place could be more redolent of nowhere than our next stop which was the equivalent of a roadside hotel. I had experienced those loathsome places many times before. Filled as they are with wayward souls, spending a cheap night in a place that is neither here nor there. Hotels in small towns just off the highway on the Great Plains are halfway houses for the hopeless. They are where you fall in and out of sleep hoping you never spend another night there. Surely the medieval equivalent of a roadside hotel, the Seljuk caravanserai would not be that bad. Thankfully it was not.

The 21st century has a long way to go before it catches up to the 13th century. That is when it comes to roadside accommodation. The Sultan Han caravanserai had been a long time coming. While we had only left Konya an hour and a half earlier, it felt like another lifetime ago. The road between the two places had been long and wearying. Hope finally arrived when we pulled into the car park outside the thick, stone walls of Sultan Han. Caravanserais were an eastern creation, built to provide traders, travelers, and caravans with everything they would need while making long journeys across vast spaces. Sultan Han was a haven on The Royal Road between the Sultanate of Rum’s two greatest cities, Konya and Kayseri. Due to a combination of the bus ride and barren landscape, I could feel the tiredness in my bones. This was nothing compared to what it must have felt like for those who arrived at Sultan Han after traveling across the dusty and inhospitable plains in a caravan with camels, horses, and a wealth of goods. All while exposed to burning sun, biting wind, and dust or snowstorms.

Settling In – A Haven of Hospitality

Sultan Han came as a much-needed relief for those traveling in caravans. The structure’s stone walls stood tall and solid in the radiant sunlight. A roadside refuge that acted as a haven of hospitality. Traders could rest their weary bones while enjoying food, shelter, baths, and spiritual sustenance. There were boarding facilities and veterinarians for animals. Repair of equipment could be done on site by craftsmen. In sum, there was everything a caravan needed for resting, repair and rehab before they got back on the royal road. The lodging, food, and services had already been paid for well ahead of time. Each year a fee was paid to the sultan by merchants which allowed them. This covered the cost of staying at caravanserais strategically located along The Royal Road and in other parts of Anatolia. It was basically a paid membership for what amounted to five-star service at the time. I only wish the roadside hotels on the Great Plains offered the same number of amenities that the Sultan Han caravanserai did. And unlike modern hotels, caravanserais were built to last.

For a structure built in 1229, Sultan Han had held up rather well. This was partly due to modern restoration work, but none of that would have been possible if a sizable portion of the original structure had not been intact. The scale of Sultan Han was exhilarating. The entrance was through an immense portal. ?The interior included a large courtyard flanked by arcades. There were the remains of a mosque raised on four pillars above the courtyard and a large, covered hall where camels and horses had been kept. Other areas once held dormitories and private rooms. The caravanserai had been self-contained, like a town in miniature. This was by design and not only for the needs of caravans, In case of war. Sultan Han could double as a fortress able to hold its own until help arrived. The dormitories would be used to house soldiers. Because security and trade were vital to the Sultanate of Rum, the caravanserais proved integral to both. They were ingenious innovations that withstood baptisms by fire and the test of time.

Staying Power - The Gracious Host

A walk within Sultan Han’s capacious interior left me impressed. The architecture had the look and feel of permanence. This was no easy feat in such a harsh and unforgiving region. It had been over 700 years since the Sultanate of Rum had vanished into history, but the Seljuk Turks left behind this remarkable caravanserai. With a bit of sprucing up and some modern gear I could have stayed at Sultan Han and been sheltered from the elements. There was only one drawback. I would not be able to enjoy the same creature comforts that medieval merchants once did. There would be no hot meal, refreshing bath, call to prayer, or conversations with other travelers who had found a temporary home along the Royal Road. Those times had passed, but a semblance of them still remained at Sultan Han. For that I was grateful.