Cathedral of the Holy Cross, Aghtamar

Listen first to the water. Lake Van laps against the rocks of this small island with a soft, steady rhythm. The air smells faintly of salt and warm stone. If you touch the lake, it feels almost slippery on the skin. That is the soda in the water, which is strongly alkaline. And rising above the almond trees, on a low terrace of rock, stands a compact church of pinkish red stone. Its walls are covered, almost from the ground to the roof, with carved figures.

This is the Cathedral of the Holy Cross on Aghtamar, an Armenian church built in the early tenth century. It was commissioned by King Gagik the First, of the Artsruni dynasty. The Artsrunis ruled Vaspurakan, an Armenian kingdom that spread around the shores of this lake. Gagik chose the island as a royal seat. He built a palace, harbours, and gardens here. Almost all of that is gone today. The church is what remains, and it has survived for more than a thousand years.

The work is generally dated to around the years 915 to 921. The architect is recorded in a medieval chronicle as a monk named Manuel. That is a rare detail. For most churches of this age, the builder's name is lost. Manuel worked with the local volcanic stone, a soft tuff that cuts cleanly but hardens over time. In the afternoon sun it turns a warm rose colour. On a cloudy day it looks darker, closer to rust.

Step back and look at the shape of the building. It is not large. Some visitors are surprised by how small it feels after the long journey. The plan is a cross, with four rounded arms and smaller corner niches tucked between them. Above the centre rises a drum, and on top of that sits a pointed, cone-shaped roof. This form is typical of Armenian church architecture. The cone acts almost like a stone tent, sheltering the dome inside.

Now come closer to the walls. This is the reason people travel here from across the world. The exterior is a book of stories carved in relief. Look for Adam and Eve near the tree. Look for Jonah, thrown from a boat towards a great sea creature. Find David, small and determined, facing the giant Goliath. Find Daniel among the lions. These are Old Testament scenes, and the sculptors told them with bold, round faces and wide, watchful eyes.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. On the west side, look for a figure holding a small model of a church. That is King Gagik himself. He offers the building to Christ, who stands facing him. The model in his hands shows this very church, with its cone roof. In other words, the cathedral carries a portrait of itself on its own wall. It is a royal signature in stone, a thousand years old.

Lift your eyes higher, just below the roofline. A long band of carved vines runs around the building. Inside that band, the sculptors placed people and animals at work and play. There are figures harvesting grapes, hunters, birds, and creatures of every kind. Some scenes look almost playful. Higher still, you may notice a frieze of animal heads. This mix of sacred stories and everyday life is part of what makes Aghtamar so important to art historians.

Inside, the light changes. The walls are dim and cool, and the sound of the lake fades. Look carefully at the plaster. Traces of painted scenes remain, faded and broken in many places. These frescoes once covered much of the interior with images from the life of Christ. Today you must look patiently to see them. A face here, the edge of a robe there. Give your eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness before you move on.

The island's history did not end with the kings. From the twelfth century, Aghtamar became the seat of its own Catholicos, a senior leader of the Armenian Church. The church served this role for centuries, until the late nineteenth century. Later additions came too. The rectangular hall attached to the west side and the small bell tower were built long after Manuel's time. Look for the difference in the stonework between the old church and these newer parts.

Then came silence. During the violence of 1915, the Armenian communities around Lake Van were destroyed or driven away. The island was abandoned, and the church slowly decayed. For decades it stood empty. In the 2000s, the Turkish Ministry of Culture carried out a major restoration, and the building reopened as a museum in 2007. Since 2010, an Armenian liturgy has been held here once a year, usually in September, drawing pilgrims from many countries.

The island also has a legend, and locals still tell it. According to the popular tale, a princess named Tamar lived here. A young man from the shore loved her. Each night he swam across the dark water, guided by a lamp she held. One night her father found out and put out the light. The young man lost his way and drowned, crying out, Akh, Tamar. The story says the island took its name from those last words. Linguists suggest other origins, but the tale has lasted.

Before you leave, walk up behind the church. The ground rises over rough rock, and old Armenian cross-stones, called khachkars, stand among the grass and trees. A khachkar is a carved stone slab with a cross at its centre, often framed by delicate patterns. From the higher ground, the view opens across the lake. On a clear day, mountains line the horizon. The water shifts from turquoise near the rocks to deep blue farther out.

So take a last look at the red walls. Notice how the carved faces seem to watch the water, as they have for a thousand years. Listen again to the lake against the rocks, and to the gulls above the boats. When you sail back towards the shore at Gevaş, turn around once. The church becomes small again, a dark red point above the trees. And then the island returns to what it has always been — a quiet place, surrounded by water.