Sheki: Where Light Finds Its Pattern

by Selene
Writer • Historian • Seeker of Stillness

I left Derbent before dawn. The air still tasted of sleep, and the Caspian shimmered like a quiet prayer beneath the moon. I traveled west — through valleys, over hills veiled in mist — my soul still tethered to the adhan echoing from the Juma Mosque.

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But before I share what I found in Sheki, I must pause and honor a place I passed through quietly — a place I’ve not yet written about in full.

Derbent, in the Republic of Dagestan, was a city I had long yearned to visit — and I did.
I prayed in the Juma Mosque, where the stone holds the breath of centuries. I watched the sun set over the Naryn-Kala fortress, where the adhan rises above the Caspian like a sigh. I shared tea with women who spoke little English but recited the Shahada like poetry.

But due to the Russia-Ukraine war, and the region’s cross-border complexities and limited accommodation availability, I’ve chosen, for now, to hold that chapter close.

Perhaps, when peace returns, I will write it as it deserves to be written.
Some stories ripen slowly, like figs beneath mountain sun. Derbent is one of them.

And so I continued — crossing back into Azerbaijan, westward, toward Sheki. A city that would show me how even light can pray.

🛎️ HalalBooking Made it Easy

I had arranged my stay in Sheki through HalalBooking.com before I left Derbent. It wasn’t just about convenience — it was about alignment.

The hotel I chose was modest and serene, tucked near the forested slopes, with views of both the town and the distant peaks. No alcohol on the property, prayer rugs waiting in the room, and a small Quran on the nightstand — the kind of details that make your soul exhale.

After checking in, I prayed, unpacked slowly, and opened the window. Birds. Cypress trees. The scent of warm bread drifting from the kitchen below.

🕌 A City Draped in Devotion and Design

Sheki is a city woven from light and lineage. Its streets wind upward, as if the town itself is trying to ascend toward something sacred. And everywhere — wood, stone, and stained glass.

The crown jewel is the Sheki Khan’s Palace, a masterpiece of 18th-century design. I removed my shoes, stepped inside, and was nearly undone.

The shabaka windows — intricate stained glass mosaics set in hand-carved wood without a single nail — catch the sunlight like prayers catching fire. I stood there, still, heart wide open, as reds and golds and blues wrapped around me like a silent surah.

I thought of Surah An-Nur —

“Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth...”
And here, it felt true. Tangible. Danced across the floor.

🧕 Sheki’s Spirit

Unlike Baku or even Derbent, Sheki is more like a whisper. Life moves slowly here, with grace. Women pass in long dresses, baskets balanced on hips. Elder men gather under walnut trees, reciting Qur’an or simply watching time fold into evening.

At the Shaкi Khan Mosque, I joined the women in the prayer hall. The space was simple, but the recitation was clear and strong. One of the aunties embraced me afterward, and offered homemade baklava wrapped in cloth.

“You are far from home?” she asked.
“No,” I replied softly. “I just forgot how close home really is.”

🍽️ Nourishment, Body and Soul

That evening, I returned to the guesthouse where a warm dinner awaited me — arranged with the halal dining filter I’d selected through HalalBooking.

• Piti, a traditional lamb stew slow-cooked in clay pots, rich and fragrant with saffron and chickpeas.
• Sheki-style dolma, lighter than those I had in Baku, but no less soulful.
• And of course, halva, softer here, perfumed with rose and pistachio, melting like a whispered du'a between sips of mint tea.

🌙 When the Moon Finds Her Reflection

I sat outside after Isha, wrapped in a shawl, notebook in my lap, tasbih in hand. Above me, the stars trembled through mountain air, and the moon — the one that named me — hung full and kind.

Islam didn’t erase my past.
It gave it context.
It turned longing into direction.
And places like Sheki?
They are the footnotes in the margin of that mercy.

📍 Next Steps

From here, perhaps I’ll head deeper into the mountains. Or maybe return south — to Ganja, or even across the border into Georgia, to remember my roots in Athens beneath Tbilisi’s crescent sky.

But for now, I am here.
With warm bread. With dhikr.
With the kind of stillness that doesn’t silence you — it lets you listen.

Until next time,
Selene
Born by the sea. Carried by stories. Rewritten by light.

✈️ Explore more on my travel blog