SAFRANBOLU, Karabük (Türkiye): One is nestled in the lap of the Himalayas, the other rests between the Köroğlu Mountain valleys and canyons of northern Türkiye’s Karabük province.
Pampore in Kashmir and Safranbolu in Türkiye may be separated by thousands of miles, but they are united by a single golden thread -- saffron.
Both towns, draped in history and heritage, owe their fame and fragrance to the world’s most precious spice, but as a closer look reveals, their stories diverge dramatically in how history is remembered, preserved, and celebrated.
The fields where safffron is grown are similar, but what makes Safranbolu—a UNESCO World Heritage City different is its cobbled streets and its stunning preservation of history. If Pampore is a forgotten poem, Safranbolu is a living manuscript—restored, celebrated, and read by the world.
Both towns owe their name and fame to saffron, the crimson stigma of the crocus flower that blooms for just a few weeks each year and must be plucked by hand at dawn.
“While Kashmir’s saffron is richer in medicinal and nutritional value,” explains Professor Javaid Zafar of nearby Karabük University.
“Safranbolu’s variety excels in colour and visual beauty, giving it a strong foothold in the cosmetics and dye industries.”
But beyond chemistry and crocuses, it is what these towns have done—or failed to do—with their heritage that marks the real contrast.
Safranbolu is not merely a town. It is a time capsule. Declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1994, the city is a rare survivor of the caravan trade era, preserving the architecture, urban fabric, and aesthetic of the Ottoman world with stunning fidelity.
Walking through its streets with Professor Zafar and journalist Afroz Alam Sahil, one felt not just visiting history—but actually getting immersed in it.
The streets themselves are a sensory delight. Narrow and winding, paved in carefully laid stone, they curve along the natural topography, opening into little squares, courtyards, and surprising vistas.
At every turn, there are 18th and 19th-century houses with whitewashed walls, timbered frames, and elaborate bay windows. Above the windows, traditional wooden eaves cast angular shadows, while carved balconies offer glimpses into a way of life that once was.
“Every corner here seems to whisper stories,” says Professor Zafar.
“Even the drains are designed in the traditional Ottoman way—sloping inward to whisk rainwater into hidden canals.”
These lanes are lined with old-style shops selling copperware, calligraphy, textiles, a variety of handmade delights and saffron-infused delights. There are spice merchants in wooden stalls, cobblers using century-old tools, and artisans crafting Turkish coffee pots and silk scarves.
The air carries the scent of cinnamon, cardamom, and freshly ground coffee. Tourists, some on foot, amble through the past with the wonder of time travellers.
Charm of Safranbolu
The charm of Safranbolu is best understood by its three distinct districts—each with a unique function and character. The low-lying Çukur is the historical market district, where the heart of the city pulses. The workshops of craftsmen, khans, and hamams stand shoulder to shoulder with residential homes, many now transformed into boutique hotels.
Kıranköy, once home to the town’s Greek Orthodox community, tells the tale of multicultural coexistence. Its stone houses, influenced by European architectural traditions, remain as silent monuments to a forgotten era.
Though the population changed following the 1923 Greco-Turkish population exchange, the spirit of that diversity endures in the mosaic of building styles and cultural memory.
Bağlar, literally “the Vineyards,” lies on the upper slopes and was the city’s summer retreat. Here, large mansions with lush gardens face south, offering a cooler climate and pastoral respite. The contrast is deliberate—Bağlar for leisure, Çukur for commerce, Kıranköy for community.
Together, these districts create what UNESCO calls “an outstanding example of a traditional human settlement that reflects a culture’s interaction with its environment.”
According to Professor Zafar, Safranbolu rose to prominence as a key node on the Istanbul–Sinop caravan route during the Ottoman period. It became a rest stop for traders and pilgrims, its prosperity etched into its stone mosques, domed hammams, and arched bridges.
Cinci Han, a historic caravanserai, once hosted travellers and their camels under vaulted ceilings. Nearby, Cinci Hamam still operates, offering steam baths much like it did four centuries ago. The 48-metre-high clock tower still chimes through the day, marking time in a city seemingly untouched by it.
With over 1,000 buildings under legal protection, including 25 mosques, 5 tombs, 8 historical fountains, and hundreds of homes, Safranbolu is more than a town—it is a museum city. The Turkish government, aided by NGOs and the Faculty of Architecture at Karabük University, ensures continuous conservation. Restoration is not just cosmetic—it is a deeply planned process rooted in authenticity.
“The architectural detailing—half-timbered walls, carved wood panels, and multi-functional rooms—is a living archive of 18th and 19th-century Turkish life,” notes Professor Zafar.
“You don’t just visit Safranbolu, you inhabit its time.”
A three-story museum on top of the hill, also known as the "Old Government Office," takes its visitors on a journey in time with cultural publications, clothes, coins and manuscripts from the Roman, Ottoman and Republic periods.
Sustainable Tourism
Tourism, the town’s new lifeline, hasn’t eroded its essence. Abandoned mansions have become boutique hotels and restaurants, while souvenir shops remain regulated to ensure they don’t compromise the town’s integrity. But this delicate balance requires constant monitoring.
“The pressure of tourism is both a blessing and a burden,” warns a municipal conservation officer. “We must welcome the world without losing ourselves.”
There’s even a Faculty of Tourism and a Coffee Museum—housed in a restored mansion—that showcases traditional brewing practices and the social role of coffee houses in Ottoman life. Nearby, the Safranbolu Vocational School trains future custodians of this legacy.
Even after the caravan trade declined with the advent of railroads in the 19th century, Safranbolu retained its form. The industrial growth of nearby Karabük in the 1940s, with its iron and steel factory, drew the working population away but left the town’s architectural canvas undisturbed.
Today, Safranbolu is not just preserved—it is living. The vast campus of Karabük University, one of the largest academic institutions hosting 45,000 students, stands tall with its strikingly designed library and diverse student population from across Africa and Asia, providing the academic thrust for conservation.
Safranbolu welcomes them, and they, in turn, become ambassadors of its legacy.
“Safranbolu shows us that heritage is not nostalgia—it’s strategy,” says a visiting Nigerian student. “You don’t preserve the past to freeze it, but to build a future on it.”
Its Faculty of Architecture and Vocational School on Restoration offers technical expertise to the local municipality, ensuring that every renovation honours authenticity.
Tourism sustains the town’s economy. Revenues fund the conservation council’s efforts, while regulations restrict the type of modifications that can be made to listed buildings. Souvenir shops in the Çarşı (bazaar) are carefully monitored to prevent over-commercialisation, and local craftsmen are trained in traditional techniques to prevent the loss of intangible heritage.
Safranbolu’s magic isn’t confined to architecture.
The town is surrounded by stunning natural beauty—canyons carved by rivers, thick forests, and mysterious caves like Bulak (Mencilis), which stretches over 2.7 kilometres underground. Plateaus like Uluyayla, with its central pond and hidden cave river, and Sarıçiçek, known for its scenic hiking routes, attract eco-tourists and adventure lovers.
The Hızar and Ağzıkara caves are not just geological wonders but silent witnesses to human presence dating back 4,000 years.
Even the weather contributes to its dual charm—Bağlar’s higher elevations remain cool in summer and snow-covered in winter, while the market quarters enjoy a milder climate.
Fading glow of Pampore
Back in Kashmir, Pampore's saffron fields are older, its flower richer, its people equally proud. But while Safranbolu wears its past like a badge of honour, Pampore’s heritage lies buried beneath years of neglect.
Its historic buildings lie crumbling. Its streets, once used by King Yusuf Shah Chak, his poetess Queen Habba Khatoon or Zoon, Mughal emperors and Kashmiri traders, are unmarked by plaques or preservation plans.
“There’s no reason Pampore can’t be our own Safranbolu,” says a historian, who does not want to be named. “We have the stories, the architecture, the crop, the culture—but not the will, nor the investment.”
Safranbolu stands as a mirror. Not just to what Pampore could be, but to what any town could become when it values its soul. It teaches us that heritage is not about freezing the past but curating it for the future. That cobblestone streets and carved ceilings are not luxuries, but blueprints of identity. That saffron, whether Kashmiri, Persian or Ottoman, is not just a spice—but a story.
Kashmir, too, is a palimpsest of civilisations. Pampore could learn from its Turkish twin—not just in packaging its saffron but in valuing its past. With serious investment, policy focus, and local will, it too could become a global heritage gem.
Let Pampore walk this bridge. From the saffron bloom to the cobbled lanes. From forgotten history to living heritage.
As night falls over Safranbolu, the setting sun bathes the domes and ochre walls of the Cinci Han Caravanserai in molten gold. At a quiet corner, Turkish singer Selim Yorulmaz catches sight of three South Asian visitors. With a knowing smile, he lifts his flute and weaves a haunting melody—Teri Meri, Meri Teri Prem Kahani Hai..Do Lafzon Mein Ye Bayaan Naa Ho Paae.—a Bollywood refrain rising like incense into the dusky air.
Indeed, to tell the love story of Safranbolu and Pampore, two words will never suffice. These twin towns—one Turkish, one Kashmiri—deserve volumes.
Let the fragrance of saffron, whether from Anatolian hills or Himalayan fields, be more than a spice or a fleeting tale. Let it be a memory made visible—rich, radiant, and lingering.
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