The auditorium of Konya’s İrfa Cultural Center is silent, broken only by a reed flute solo as lilting and melodic as a call to prayer. A dozen men in tall, conical hats and bodies wrapped in black cloaks march onto the stage. Voices and drums join the flute in a majestic march of Ottoman court music before the men shed their cloaks to reveal white tunics and full skirts. They begin to whirl, slowly at first, then faster and faster in time with the music until they resemble a spinning top, all in perfect time, yet each lost in his own ecstatic dance.

These are the Mevlevis, known to the world as the “whirling dervishes” – a mystical Islamic order for whom whirling is a meditative prayer exercise and, in recent decades, a cultural tradition. Even for a non-religious observer, it is an awe-inspiring experience. The dervishes’ skirts are perfumed with incense and their whirling sends an intoxicating scent through the air; for the next hour, if not religious ecstasy, I am at least in a blissful reverie.

Whirling performances also take place in Istanbul, but the heart of the Mevlevi order lies here in the city of Konya in central Turkey. It began in the 13th century with the mystic and poet Jalal al-Din Rumi. Tradition has it that Rumi was walking among the coppersmiths’ workshops of Konya when he heard the names of God amidst the clinking and began to whirl in honor. His followers, the Mevlevis, still whirl all year round, but I’m visiting at a special time, during the annual Şeb-i Arûs festival, which commemorates Rumi’s death every December.

Today, Konya is Turkey’s sixth-largest city and is still a holy place, but not a gloomy one. The joyous themes of Rumi’s poetry, brought to life through music, dance and joie de vivre, are still reflected in the modern city – especially during Şeb-i Arûs. At this time of year, in addition to swirling performances at established venues like İrfa, bands play on improvised stages that spring up all over the city, and free Turkish delights are laid out on trays for festival-goers.

After the show, I meet one of the black-bearded dervishes, Mithat Özçakıl. In his early 30s, Mithat already has 20 years of dervish dancing experience. “Dervish dancing is in my blood – my father was a dervish and his father before him,” he says, telling me about the grueling training regime he began at age 14. “When we whirl, our entire body weight is on the ball of our left foot,” he explains. “To practice this pose, we whirl for hours with our heel over an upright nail.” I wince, but these rigorous practices – which include fasting for several hours before performances – are one of the reasons the Mevlevi are on UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage List.

Leaving İrfa, I take a stroll through central Konya, past the towering minarets of the Selimiye Mosque to find Rumi’s 13th-century mausoleum, visible for miles with its dazzling turquoise fluted dome. Now known as the Mevlana Museum, it is one of the many historic buildings in this Silk Road city that embody the Islamic Golden Age.

As I enter the mausoleum, I pass through a veil of green velvet and enter a room of exquisite beauty. But it is Rumi’s tomb that catches my eye above all else: a sarcophagus draped in green velvet and embroidered with gold, set in a niche tiled with geometric patterns in emerald green, lapis blue and ruby ​​red. A crowd has gathered, many of them overcome with emotion, wiping tears from their faces. A man dressed in a sand-colored wool robe spins calmly in a circle, his eyes closed, arms outstretched – a small, personal twirl that captures the magic of Konya.