Nestled in the rugged highlands of eastern Anatolia, Erzurum stands as a silent witness to centuries of conquest, cultural exchange, and geopolitical upheaval. Today, as the world grapples with climate change, migration crises, and shifting power dynamics, this ancient city offers a lens through which to examine how history repeats itself—and how communities adapt.
Long before modern borders were drawn, Erzurum (then known as Theodosiopolis) was a strategic prize for Byzantines, Seljuks, and later the Ottomans. Its fortress, Erzurum Kalesi, bears scars from countless sieges. In an era where global tensions echo old rivalries—think Russia-Ukraine or China-India border disputes—Erzurum’s past reminds us that territorial conflicts are rarely new.
While Istanbul and Samarkand dominate Silk Road nostalgia, Erzurum thrived as a trade nexus. Armenian merchants, Persian poets, and Georgian craftsmen mingled here. Fast-forward to today: as the BRI (Belt and Road Initiative) reignites Eurasian connectivity, Erzurum’s bazaars whisper lessons about globalization’s winners and losers.
Palandöken Mountain, Erzurum’s ski paradise, faces an existential threat. Rising temperatures have shortened winter seasons, mirroring crises from the Alps to the Rockies. Locals now pivot to summer tourism—a microcosm of how climate adaptation reshapes economies worldwide.
The Karasu River, feeding the Euphrates, is dwindling. Downstream, Syria and Iraq already accuse Turkey of hoarding water. As droughts intensify, Erzurum’s ancient kümbets (tombs) overlook a 21st-century flashpoint: who controls the taps in a parched Middle East?
In the 19th century, Erzurum absorbed Circassians fleeing Russian expansion. Today, Syrian families repopulate abandoned villages. The city’s muhacir (migrant) legacy challenges Europe’s immigration debates: integration isn’t new—it’s survival.
Young Erzurumites flock to Istanbul or Berlin, leaving ghost villages. Similar stories play out from rural Japan to Italy. Can tech hubs like Erzurum’s nascent IT park reverse the brain drain? Or is this the inevitable fate of non-coastal cities?
Erzurum hosts Turkey’s largest NATO airbase. With Russia next door, it’s a frontline in hybrid warfare—cyberattacks on infrastructure, disinformation campaigns. The city’s 1916 resistance against Tsarist troops feels eerily relevant.
Closed since 1993, the nearby Armenian border symbolizes frozen conflicts. As Azerbaijan’s victory in Karabakh reshapes regional dynamics, could Erzurum become a bridge—or a battleground—again?
Yağlı güreş (oil wrestling) isn’t just sport here—it’s identity. In a homogenizing world, Erzurum clings to its dadaş (gentleman-warrior) ethos. Compare this to Basque pelota or Maori haka: cultural resistance through ritual.
Once nearly extinct, the horseback javelin game cirit now draws tourists. Like Mongolia’s Naadam, it’s heritage commodified—but also preserved.
Erzurum’s çifte minareli medrese (twin-minaret madrasa) stands half-ruined, half-restored. It’s a metaphor for the city itself: battered by time, yet stubbornly alive. As autocracies rise, glaciers melt, and millions flee, perhaps this ancient crossroads still has answers—if we’re willing to listen.