Taşkuyu Cave. Illumination for the Darkness (part 2)

Call of the Void

Vanishing Point

We’re used to thinking darkness is something external. That it’s down there, in the depths, behind the metal railing and the “Caution: Slippery” sign. But Tashkuyu offers something else: you enter the belly of the Earth, and inside—everything is lit.

Under your feet — stairs. Above your head — a stone ceiling with LED strips. Inside the rock, it’s warm, humid, and for some strange reason, music is playing. You’re descending into a place where nature was silent for millions of years — and now it speaks with the voice of an audio guide.

Tashkuyu Cave doesn’t hide. It doesn’t take effort to find — and that’s what makes it more unsettling. This isn’t a wild abyss. It’s a simulated abyss. It’s comfortable. Paved path, marked trails, Instagram spots pre-lit. But the deeper you go, the clearer it becomes: true darkness isn’t where there’s no light. It’s where you can’t tell where reality ends.

Landscapes Without Hope

Tashkuyu is a network of underground halls and corridors over 500 meters long. Karst rock sculpted itself for centuries, slowly turning limestone into an art installation of stalagmites, stalactites, and gleaming dampness. Once, only bats went in here. Now it’s tourists.

The cave is nearly straight, tamed by civilization, and very visitor-friendly. The lighting is soft — spa-like. Humidity is regulated. There are even photo platforms.

Outside — the slopes of the Taurus Mountains, scattered trees, and the burning sky above Tarsus. But just a few meters underground — and it feels like you’ve entered a cleaned-up model of something that used to be deep.

Cry of the Stones

Stones don’t cry. They can’t. But you stand in front of a massive stalagmite, like a blind giant, and it feels like it once screamed. So long ago, its voice became stone.

Every detail in Tashkuyu feels like a leftover fragment of pre-civilizational pain. Drops falling for centuries, layering calcium. Voids where a person could vanish. Forms that shouldn’t exist. But now — stainless steel railings and “Do Not Lean” signs.

There’s nothing wild left here. And the more comfort you see — the more absurd it feels. As if you’re being shown a simulation of “wilderness,” with every pixel under control. Real presence is out of bounds.

Shadows on the Edge of Mind

Maybe simulation is all we have left. We fear true nature like a beast fears fire, and so we build its props. Tashkuyu Cave isn’t a memory of what once was. It’s evidence of how forgetting works.

You stare at walls soaked in geological eternity, but instead of awe, you feel a transaction. Depth replaced by lighting. Mystery replaced by signage. Sacredness — replaced by a QR code.

And maybe that’s the new horror. Not the cave itself. But the fact that we brought light into it.

Footprints on the Map

Tashkuyu Cave is located about 10 kilometers from central Tarsus, in Mersin Province, Turkey.

Accessible by car via the D400 highway or with a local tour. You can also get there by minibus from Tarsus. Parking is available, along with tourist stalls at the entrance.

Opening hours: usually 9:00–17:00, may vary by season.

Entry is ticketed, but cheap — around €0.50 as of spring 2025.

Echo in the Void

You come back to the surface — and the sun burns your skin like ultraviolet truth. Everything feels flat: the trees, the asphalt, the face of the souvenir seller. The cave is behind you now — or maybe it’s inside you.

You were inside the earth, but not inside the depth. You saw underground emptiness — but it was curated. The only thing unclear is: for whom?

For you. Or for the version of you that fits cleanly into tourist throughput.

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