Ghost City of Ani in the Far East of Turkey

Journey to the Ghost City of Ani

March 2018: My friends Jimmie, Frank, and I set off on a 12-day journey through Romania, Armenia, Nagorno-Karabakh, and Georgia. The primary goal of this leg of the trip was to explore Armenia, but there was one place I couldn’t resist venturing farther to see—Ani, the legendary “Walled City of 1,000 Churches.”

Founded over 1,700 years ago, Ani once flourished as a major hub along the Silk Road, its grand cathedrals and fortified walls standing as a testament to its importance. But time has not been kind to Ani. Today, it is a ghost city—an eerie landscape of crumbling ruins perched on the edge of desolate river cliffs.

Reaching Ani from Armenia should have been a simple journey, but due to political tensions between Armenia and Turkey, the direct border crossing remains sealed. What could have been a short trip turned into an arduous eight-hour detour through Georgia and into eastern Turkey. Still, the effort was worth it.

At its peak, Ani was one of the largest cities in the world, a vibrant metropolis of art, commerce, and culture. But history dealt it a cruel hand. Mongol invasions, devastating earthquakes, and shifting trade routes led to its slow decline until it was eventually abandoned. Now, the ancient Armenian city sits just across the river from Armenia—so close, yet entirely out of reach for those on the other side.

This is the story of our journey to Ani—a lost city frozen in time.

Ani Location

Crossing into Eastern Turkey: A Frostbitten Journey to Kars

We crossed into eastern Turkey from the Georgian city of Akhaltsikhe, home to a striking yet overly restored 9th-century castle. It was early in the morning, and the temperature had plummeted well below freezing. Our taxi dropped us off at the lonely border post—its engine still warm as we stepped out into the biting cold. From here, we were on our own, left to navigate the crossing and find onward transport into Turkey.

Turkish immigration proved to be more of a challenge than expected. The officer scrutinized my visa, his expression shifting into suspicion. He claimed my visa was fraudulent because it didn’t include my middle name, which was on my passport. I calmly explained that the visa form never asked for my middle name, but he remained unwavering, almost as if fishing for a bribe. I didn’t push back too hard, keeping my tone polite, and after some tense minutes, he reluctantly stamped my entry.

Crossing into Turkey was the easy part—now we had to figure out how to get to Kars. We stood on the roadside, the icy morning air stinging our faces, surrounded by an empty, frostbitten landscape. No taxis, no buses, no sign of life. Our only option was to start walking and hope to find a village where we could arrange transport.

After trudging a few miles along the frozen road, we spotted a small village ahead. Smoke curled from the chimneys of wooden houses, but the streets were eerily silent. At this point, our concern shifted from finding transportation to simply finding warmth. As we reached the village, we saw a man stepping out of his house toward a van. Seizing the opportunity, I hurried over and asked if he knew where we could get a taxi. He didn’t speak English, but after a quick phone call, another man arrived and offered to drive us to the next village for a small fee.

The next village had a small shop where we withdrew Turkish lira and paid our driver. There, we finally found a taxi willing to take us the three-hour journey to Kars. The road wound through an icy, mountainous landscape, a blur of snow-covered peaks and frozen valleys.

By the time we arrived in Kars, the day was already fading. There wasn’t much time left for sightseeing, but at least we had made it. The journey had been long, cold, and uncertain, but we were finally in eastern Turkey—one step closer to Ani.

Old Turkish men drinking coffee and chatting about politics in the outdoor street cafes in early morning

A Night in Kars: Where the Old Meets the New

We spent the night in Kars, an old frontier city with a mixed population of Kurds and Turks. Arriving late in the afternoon, we wandered the streets until we found a guesthouse, dropped off our bags, and set off to explore. It became immediately clear that we were in a part of Turkey that rarely saw foreign visitors. As we walked through the city, heads turned, eyes followed us, and people openly stared—not with hostility, but with the curiosity reserved for outsiders in places untouched by mass tourism.

Kars has a unique and weathered charm. The city is filled with historic buildings, remnants of an era when it was part of the Russian Empire, and dotted with abandoned, crumbling monasteries. We found ways to slip inside these forgotten relics, crawling through broken windows to explore the silent, dust-covered ruins. The city also offers stunning panoramas from its surrounding hills, where ancient fortifications stand alongside elegant old mosques.

Kars is a place of contrasts. Mornings belong to the elderly—men in flat caps and suit jackets gathering at tea houses, sipping from small glasses, smoking cigarettes, and debating politics. Their conversations carried the usual sentiment of nostalgia, a longing for the “better days” of the past. By night, the city transforms. The younger generation emerges, sporting Adidas tracksuits and Nike sneakers, embracing the latest Western fashion trends. They congregate in lively cafes, the air thick with the pulse of Turkish electronic music.

Yet, one thing stood out—Kars is a conservative city, and as night fell, the absence of women was noticeable. The streets were overwhelmingly dominated by men, reinforcing the traditional nature of this part of Turkey.

Despite its isolation and rigid cultural divides, Kars felt like a city on the brink of change—straddling the past and present, caught between nostalgia and modernity.

Frank overlookig the river valley to Armenia from Ani. Armenian soldiers could be seen patrolling the border on the other side.

Ani: The Lost City on the Edge of Time

The next morning, we hired a taxi for the one-hour drive from Kars to Ani. The journey took us through an expanse of flat, gray, featureless terrain, a landscape as desolate as the forgotten city we were about to visit.

Originally, I had planned for us to camp inside Ani or in one of the caves overlooking the river—an adventure that, while not technically allowed, would have been easy to pull off. But after days of exhausting travel and with a flight to catch the next morning to Bucharest—where we would be climbing to Vlad the Impaler’s castle—the thought of two nights of illegal camping lost its appeal. Instead, we opted for a full day exploring Ani before returning to Kars for one last night.

Entering the City of Ghosts

Ani did not disappoint. The barren landscape abruptly transformed into a dramatic series of rolling river bluffs framed by distant snow-capped peaks. And there, stretched before us, lay the ruins of an ancient metropolis—slowly crumbling, losing its battle against time.

A portion of Ani’s massive city walls still stood, now serving as the entrance and ticket booth, managed by Turkish authorities. Beyond that, however, there were no guards, no fences, no restrictions—just the silent, windswept remains of a forgotten kingdom. Best of all, there were almost no other visitors. We had the ruins nearly to ourselves, free to wander undisturbed through this lost city.

A City Frozen in Time

Ani is vast. It took us most of the day to explore its ruins, and at every turn, we found ourselves pausing—sitting in silence, letting the atmosphere sink in. Unlike so many other ancient sites, Ani has not been over-restored. While some conservation efforts were visible, they seemed to be handled with care, avoiding the mistake of adding too many new materials that would strip the buildings of their authenticity.

We climbed through shattered cathedrals, stood beneath the remains of once-grand archways, and wandered through abandoned streets that once buzzed with the energy of a great civilization. It was impossible not to feel the weight of history in Ani—this was a city that had once flourished, only to be ravaged by Mongol invasions, earthquakes, and shifting empires until it was ultimately abandoned, left to decay on the edge of a forgotten border.

A Moment Before the Secret Gets Out

By the time we left, we all agreed—Ani was one of the greatest highlights of our journey. It was haunting, beautiful, and utterly surreal. But I know that the secret of Ani won’t last forever. One day, mainstream tourism will find its way here. The crowds will come, the ruins will be polished for visitors, and the eerie solitude will fade.

But for now, Ani remains a place where history lingers in the silence, where the ghosts of an empire still seem to whisper through the wind. And I’m just glad we got there before the world did.

Ani ancient church

Frank and Jimmie walking to one of the old buikdings in Ani

Decaying old building in Ani

Crumbling ancient church

Old abandoned church on Armenian side of river precariously clinging to a cliff

Inside an abandoned church

Inside an abandoned church with an old mural of Christ on the cross

Old Ani

Frank admiring an old building that was part of a cave

Jimmie having a moment