Why the best place to watch whirling dervishes in Turkey is Konya

A pin-drop silence hangs over the auditorium in Konya’s İrfa cultural centre, broken softly by a reed flute solo as lilting and melodious as a call to prayer. A dozen men file onto the stage in tall, conical hats, their bodies wrapped in black cloaks. Voices and drums join the flute in a stately march of Ottoman court music, before the men throw off their cloaks, revealing white tunics and wide skirts. They begin to whirl, slowly at first and then quickening along with the music, until they resemble a blur of spinning tops, all in perfect time yet each one lost in his own ecstatic dance.

These are the Mevlevis, known to the world as whirling dervishes — a mystical Islamic order for whom whirling is a meditative prayer practice and also, in recent decades, a cultural heritage performance. Even as a non-religious observer, it’s a powerful experience. The skirts of the dervishes are perfumed with frankincense, and their whirling sends its heady scent through the air; over the next hour I’m sent if not quite into religious ecstasy, then at least into a blissed-out reverie.

Whirling performances are also staged in Istanbul, but the Mevlevi order’s heartland is here in the city of Konya, in central Turkey. It started in the 13th century with the mystic and poet Jalal al-Din Rumi. Tradition tells that Rumi was walking among Konya’s coppersmith workshops when, amid the clinking, he heard the names of God, and began spinning in celebration. His followers, the Mevlevis, still whirl throughout the year, but I’m visiting at a special time, during the annual festival of Şeb-i Arûs, which commemorates Rumi’s death every December.

Today, Konya is Turkey’s sixth-largest city and it remains a holy place but not a sombre one. The joyous themes of Rumi’s poetry, alive with music, dance and the celebration of life, are still reflected in the modern city — especially during Şeb-i Arûs. At this time of year, in addition to whirling performances at established venues like İrfa, bands play on makeshift stages that spring up across town, and free Turkish delight is laid out on trays for festival-goers.

After the show, I meet one of the black-bearded whirlers, Mithat Özçakıl. In his early 30s, Mithat already has two decades’ whirling experience under his belt. “Whirling is in my blood — my father was a whirling dervish, and his father before him,” he says, telling me about the strenuous training programme he began at the age of 14. “When we whirl, our body weight is all on the ball of our left foot,” he explains. “To practice that stance, we whirl for hours at a time with our heel above an upright nail.” I wince, but these rigorous practices — which also include fasting for several hours before performances — are partly why the Mevlevi are inscribed on UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage list.

Leaving İrfa, I take a walk through Konya’s centre, passing the towering minarets of the Selimiye Mosque, to find Rumi’s 13th-century mausoleum, visible for miles with its dazzling turquoise-tiled fluted dome. Now known as the Mevlana Museum, it’s one of many historic buildings in this Silk Road city that embody the Islamic Golden Age.

Entering the mausoleum, I pass through a veil of green velvet into a room of exquisite beauty. But it’s Rumi’s tomb that draws my eye above all else: a sarcophagus draped in green velvet, embroidered with gold and set in an alcove tiled in geometric patterns of emerald-green, lapis-blue and ruby-red. A crowd is gathered, many of them overcome with emotion, wiping tears from their faces. One man, dressed in a sandy-coloured woollen robe, is spinning quietly, his eyes closed, arms outstretched — a small, personal act of whirling that encapsulates the magic of Konya.