A Visit to St. Nick

Rain and sun took turns as our taxi sped along the highway south of this ancient coastal city. As cloud curtains parted, windshield sprinkles evaporated. Green-blue, the Mediterranean Sea peeked through gaps of evergreen forest. The rumbling thunder could have been Poseidon and Zeus quarreling.

It was odd weather to be on a search for Santa Claus--the original St. Nicholas, the 4th century Catholic bishop who’s the kernel of reality at the root of modern Christmas celebrations.

Nicholas was born here on the southern coast of today’s Turkey, where the only snow is on mountain peaks. In ancient times, this was the land of Lycia, heavily influenced by the Greeks, later a province of Rome. Christianity flourished here in the earliest years; St. Paul stopped here on his way to Rome in AD 60.

Not much is known about Nicholas other than that he was bishop of Myra, once a busy Roman port, and was known far and wide for his good works. Legend has it that he showered children with gifts and provided dowries for poor girls--and that he dropped the coins intended for them through chimneys if their doors were shut. Today in some Christian countries, children receive gifts on the feast day of St. Nicholas, Dec. 6.

Myth and reality flowed together on our two-hour drive, the Taurus Mountains on one side, the sea on the other. We were bound for the town of Demre (also called Kale) and the ruins of Myra.

My husband, Ron, and I had lived in Turkey and were back for a monthlong visit last March. After seeing the ornate box of bones, reputedly St. Nicholas’, in the Antalya Museum, we resolved to go the extra miles to Myra.

Nicholas’ Myra was well disguised by modern Demre/Kale’s acres of plastic-covered greenhouses. From the highway, Noel Baba (Father Christmas) signs pointed the way to the Basilica of St. Nicholas. In front stood a statue we easily recognized by the worshipful children at his feet. Artistically it didn’t hold a candle to regional Greek and Roman statuary displayed in Antalya’s museum, but undeniably it was the man millions know as Santa Claus.

In this land noted for its rich ruins, the little church of St. Nicholas is modest. The first church that sheltered the bishop’s tomb was destroyed in 808, and its Byzantine successor was a basilica. In 1087 his bones were spirited away to Bari, Italy, where they remain a major attraction for pilgrims. But Venice, too, claims to have the saint’s bones, and other devotees believe that they’re in Russia. At any rate, the few specimens we saw in Antalya and a lot of speculation are all that remains of the real Nicholas in Asia Minor today.

We walked down a ramp to the scaffold-draped domed remains of the old church, 5 or 6 feet below street level. It was excavated in 1956, and efforts are ongoing to preserve what is left. Ordinary green garden hoses were placed to drain water away, but were no match for the seepage. Old Byzantine mosaics could be seen under several inches of water.

A pair of dilapidated marble sarcophagi snuggled against dank corridor walls adorned with faded Byzantine paintings. One of the stone boxes was deemed the saint’s resting place, but scholars are not sure. Both have been empty for a long time, and there is no warm, fuzzy feeling about the place.

Czar Nicholas I sponsored the building of a new church for his namesake on the site a century ago. The Turkish government finished the job in the 1960s, then commenced an effort to restore the underpinnings and prevent further deterioration. In the process, the original floor was located and much of the 8th and 11th century construction was uncovered.

Demre/Kale/Myra retains little of its Roman origins. But two miles west lies Roman Andriace, which was the commercial port of Myra. Just south of the highway there stands a granary built in AD 139, the bust of Emperor Hadrian still over the door. The Roman harbor was silted up by the same process that buried Myra. Today the bay is dammed for fishing. Nearby is the pleasant beach of Cayagzi (pronounced chy-a-zi).

Much of Roman Myra lay buried at the foot of the mountains a few miles from St. Nicholas’ church. Souvenir stands guide tourists to one of the accessible ruins, a well-preserved stadium where gladiators once fought wild beasts and one another. The huge, slightly askew stones at the entrance defy the next earthquake.

At the base of the mountain, weeds and wildflowers cradled fallen marble faces and figures that once adorned the 2,000-year-old Roman amphitheater. Above us, what looked like a cluster of condominiums clung to the mountainside. These were 3,000-year-old Lycian tombs, empty for centuries, carved to represent houses.

In Demre/Kale there were several cafes that offered lunch and a chance to rub elbows with the locals, but there also were quite a few tourists. We opted for the more atmospheric Cayagzi beach. Our driver negotiated an excellent fresh fish lunch from a run-down-looking restaurant (nameless, as far as I know) beside the bay. After the chef prepared the salad and main course, he sped off on a motorcycle to fetch our beverage--Coca-Cola.

As we drove back on the road to Antalya, the sun picked out dark goats with curled horns that grazed among stones and cactus. A woman in printed bloomers, head wrapped in a colorful scarf, sat knitting. Was it Demeter watching her flock, counting greenhouse harvests?

Seeing the source of the Santa Claus legend had been interesting, but the tombs carved 3,000 years ago inspired more awe than the little church. And the Taurus Mountains and Mediterranean Sea . . . now we understood how they had spawned tales of gods and heroes; our own brief glimpse judged this rugged coast too much for just one god. House-size boulders defined sharp ridges, flung there in one of Zeus’ tantrums, perhaps. Gray mists hid stony peaks. Waves pounded rocky beaches as whitecaps rushed across small coves. Without doubt Aphrodite materialized from such restless waves.

As we neared Antalya, clouds closed off the mountains; rain beat the windshield and lashed the pavement. A freighter anchored in the harbor was a pitching gray blur. We passed the hotels on Konyaalti beach and the museum, then turned downhill into the crooked streets of Kaleici (Old City), arriving “home” at our hotel in time to duck Zeus’ wrath. Or was the storm Poseidon’s doing?

Yes, we found St. Nicholas, but he paled compared to other divine messengers in this ancient land.

GUIDEBOOK

St. Nick’s Antalya

Getting there: Flights from L.A. to Antalya, Turkey, require a double connection in each direction. Best connections are on Delta Airlines connecting to Turkish Airlines. For example, Delta from L.A. to Frankfurt; Turkish Airlines, Frankfurt to Istanbul; Turkish Airlines, Istanbul to Antalya. Round-trip fares start at about $850.

Where to stay: The Turk Ev Otel, formerly three private residences in Antalya’s Old City, is modest but charming. Double room with bath starts at $50. Telephone 011-90-242-248-6591; we found the language barrier easier to bridge by fax 011-90-242-241-9419.

The more upscale Marina Hotel, a restored Ottoman mansion, charges about $70 for a double. Tel. 011-90-242-247-5490, fax 011-90-242-241-1765.

Antalya is a popular resort city, with a number of luxury beachfront hotels. One beauty is the Sheraton Voyager, where room rates start at $140 single, $160 double. Tel. 011-90-242-243-2432, fax 011-90- 242-243-2462.

Dining tips: We ate at neighborhood cafes and bakeries, which are numerous around the intersection of Ataturk and Cumhuriyet streets. Some patio restaurants at the yacht harbor post their menus outside in English.

For more information: Turkish Tourist Office, 821 United Nations Plaza, 4th Floor, New York, NY 10017; tel. (212) 687-2194,fax (212) 599-7568, Internet https://www.turkey.org/turkey. E-mail, tourny@idt.net.