Where the Buna Begins

There is no trickle, no gathering of streams. The Buna simply arrives — a full, cold river surging out of the rock beneath a two-hundred-metre cliff, as if the mountain had decided to give it up all at once. Stand at the tekke on a still morning and you can hear it before you see it.

The Dervish house has kept watch over the source for five centuries. Whitewashed and low, it folds into the cliff so completely that from across the water it looks grown rather than built. Inside, the rooms are cool and dim; outside, the terrace hangs a metre above water so clear it flattens depth.

Come early, before the coaches. Order tea, let it go cold, and watch the light move down the cliff face. This is the kind of place that asks nothing of you — which is exactly why people travel so far to sit beside it.