Exploring Kubad Abad Palace: Selenga Discovers Seljuk Treasures

The morning mist hung low over Lake Beyşehir as Selenga stepped off the boat. Across the water, between the pine trees, something glimmered in the sunlight. Blue. Turquoise. And green. “Tiles,” her father said. “The ruins of Kubad Abad Palace.” As they drew closer, the tiles grew larger before them—broken and scattered, yet their colors still shone brilliantly after eight centuries. A guide handed Selenga a tile fragment. "You can touch it. This isn't a museum piece,“ she said with a smile. Selenga held it carefully. It was cool and smooth, decorated with half of an animal figure. ”What is this?“ she asked. ”A double-headed eagle—the symbol of the Seljuk Empire,“ the guide explained. ”One head faces east, the other west. It shows how the Seljuks saw themselves as a bridge between two worlds.“ Selenga gazed at the tile in her hands, imagining the master craftsman who created it 800 years ago—mixing colors, shaping clay, and firing it in a kiln. And still it gleamed. The palace had belonged to Sultan Alaeddin Keykubat, the guide told them, the greatest ruler of the Anatolian Seljuk State in the 13th century. ”What did they do here?“ Selenga wondered. ”It was a summer palace,“ her father explained. ”The royal family spent winters in Konya but came to the lake's edge each summer.“ ”Like a vacation?“ Selenga asked. The guide smiled. ”In a way, though the work of running a kingdom never stopped. Ambassadors visited, decisions were made, and poetry was recited.“ ”Poetry too?“ Selenga was surprised. ”In Seljuk palaces, poets held an honored place. The sultan would request a poem, and the poet would respond with verses.“ Inside the small museum, Selenga saw more tiles decorated with lions, dragons, peacocks, double-headed eagles, and elephants. ”Why so many animals?“ she asked. ”Each one has a special meaning,“ the guide said. ”Lions represent strength, peacocks symbolize beauty, dragons offer protection, and elephants stand for wisdom.“ ”But there are no elephants in Anatolia,“ Selenga pointed out. ”True, but the Seljuks traded with India, China, and Persia. The elephant was a symbol they brought back from those distant lands." Selenga realized that trade carried more than just goods—it transported symbols, ideas, and images across the ancient world. As evening fell, Selenga sat by the water's edge, watching the palace ruins across the lake. As the sun dipped lower, the tiles' colors transformed. The turquoise deepened, the blue grew richer. “Who made these tiles?” she wondered aloud. “Perhaps a master from Kashan,” her father suggested, “a famous city in Persia known for its tile makers. The techniques traveled west—to Spain with Majolica, to Italy with faience—all learned from the East.” “So we taught them?” Selenga asked. “In a way, yes. Knowledge flowed both directions, from east to west and back again.” Selenga watched the reflection of that ancient blue shimmer on the water's surface—a color that had survived eight hundred years. What We Learned: Kubad Abad Palace was built in the 13th century by Sultan Alaeddin Keykubat as a summer residence for the Anatolian Seljuk royal family on the shores of Lake Beyşehir. Seljuk tiles, with their turquoise and deep blue glazes, represent some of the finest examples of Islamic art and craftsmanship. The double-headed eagle symbolized the Seljuk Empire's position as a cultural and political bridge between East and West. Poetry, music, and the arts flourished in Seljuk palaces, where creative expression was deeply valued. Tile-making techniques traveled along trade routes, spreading knowledge and artistic traditions across continents. Questions to Discuss as a Family: How would you feel seeing a color that has remained vibrant for 800 years? What do you think the double-headed eagle symbol tells us about how the Seljuks saw their place in the world? If you could live in a palace like Kubad Abad, how would you spend your time?