Perched on the fertile coastal plain of Lycia in southwestern Turkey, ancient Myra lies adjacent to the modern town of Demre. This once-mighty city is especially celebrated for its rock-cut Lycian tombs, a monumental Roman theatre, and as the 4th-century seat of St. Nicholas (the original Bishop of Myra). In fact, Turkey’s Ministry of Culture notes that Myra “is especially famous for its Lycian-era rock tombs, Roman-era theatre, and Byzantine-era Church of St. Nicholas.”. These highlights, set against a backdrop of citrus groves and greenhouses, make Myra an unforgettable destination.
For the curious traveler, Myra offers layers of history in a single site. Its Lycian League roots (one of the six principal cities with voting rights) blend with later Hellenistic and Roman urbanism, and finally early Christian heritage. The result is a unique tapestry: monumental tombs carved like temples into sheer cliffs, a grand theater hewn into the hillside, and the basilica-church where Saint Nicholas once ministered. Few ancient sites combine such dramatic funerary architecture and early Christian legacy in one place. Archaeologists and guidebooks alike award Myra high marks – after all, one can wander among marble ruins by morning and sip local orange juice by afternoon. In short, Myra should be at the top of any Turkish itinerary for history and culture, offering a depth of story and spectacle found nowhere else.
What is Myra famous for? First and foremost are its rock-hewn tombs, carved in Lycian times as grand “houses of the dead” on the cliff faces above the ancient city. These tombs, often painted in brilliant colors, reflect Lycian beliefs about the afterlife. The city’s Roman theatre is also renowned – the largest of its kind in Lycia – and stands testament to Myra’s prosperity under the Roman Empire. Finally, Myra’s enduring legacy is tied to Saint Nicholas, a 4th-century bishop whose altruism and legendary miracles inspired the modern Santa Claus. Today the ruins of his church in Demre attract pilgrims and tourists alike, cementing Myra’s fame in both secular and sacred traditions.
Understanding Myra’s story means peeling back its historical layers. In Lycian times it was a chief city (known in inscriptions as “Muri”) with a strategic port on the Mediterranean. The Romans later elevated Myra to a metropolis, rebuilding public buildings and fortifications. By the Byzantine era it remained an important bishopric, hence its association with St. Nicholas. Natural calamities (earthquakes and river flooding) and the silting of its harbor led to Myra’s decline after the 7th century. Buried under meters of soil and largely forgotten for centuries (earning it the nickname “Anatolian Pompeii”), Myra was rediscovered by 18th–20th-century explorers. Today systematic excavations (initiated in the 1960s and accelerated since 2009) are steadily uncovering the city’s secrets.
Long before Christianity or Rome, Myra belonged to an indigenous Anatolian civilization known as the Lycians. The Lycians were distinctive: they were Anatolian-speaking (an Indo-European language related to Luwian and Hittite) and they called themselves Termili (their land Trm̃mis). The name “Lycia” itself likely derives from these local terms. Ancient Near Eastern sources (Hittite texts) refer to this region as “Lukka” (the “Land of Light”), hinting at a long heritage. Lycian culture was vibrant and proud; the people were known as seafaring traders and skilled stonemasons who fiercely defended their autonomy.
From at least the 5th century BCE, Myra was a flourishing Lycian city. By the 2nd century BCE the Lycians formed the famed Lycian League, a confederation of city-states that is celebrated by historians as one of the first democracies in history. According to the ancient geographer Strabo, the League had 23 member cities, with the six largest (including Myra) each holding three votes in the common assembly. This system, possibly the inspiration for later democratic ideas, gave Myra an equal voice among its peers. In fact, during the mid-1st century BCE Strabo describes Patara (the capital), Xanthos, Pinara, Olympos, Myra and Tlos as the six chief cities of Lycia. In the League’s grand council, delegates from each city (even including women, a rare innovation) met to decide military and economic policy. This era was Myra’s first apogee: its coffers swelled with trade, and Lycian aristocrats poured wealth into city monuments and sanctuaries.
Lycians enjoyed a unique culture. They carved exquisite monumental tombs into rock, apparently as both tomb and house for the soul. (Indeed, the UNESCO dossier notes that Lycian rock tombs are among the most distinctive in Anatolia.) They had their own alphabet (now partly deciphered from inscriptions found at Myra and elsewhere). Religious life in Lycia blended Greek and indigenous elements: in Myra, for example, coins depict Artemis as Cybele (the Anatolian mother goddess). Atop a hill above Myra stood a temple to Artemis, symbolizing the city’s ancient piety. In everyday life the Lycians tended gardens and olive groves; on the plains north of the city they grew citrus and vegetables (today this tradition flourishes under greenhouses). Socially, Myra’s community was organized into city districts under local councils, but united with its neighbors through the League’s federal assembly.
No visit to Myra is complete without gazing at its legendary rock-cut tombs. These tombs are carved directly into the cliff face on the south side of the old city, appearing like a funerary neighborhood high above the plain. For the ancient Lycian, building tombs into hillsides was both practical and symbolic: it lifted the deceased closer to the gods, ensuring that mythic winged creatures (thought to carry souls on to the next world) could easily reach them. Archaeologists note that Lycians “buried their honored dead in geographically high places … to make them closer to ‘heaven’,” believing that magical winged beings resembling sirens would convey the souls onward. In other words, placing tombs atop cliffs was a religious choice, embedding the city’s dead into the very rock of its landscape.
The largest concentration of tombs clusters in two main cemeteries above Myra’s ruins. The western grouping (often called the “Ocean” Necropolis) extends above the old theater, while the eastern group (the “River” Necropolis) overlooks the Myros stream. (Early antiquarians sometimes described a smaller southern cemetery, but the two grand necropolises are the most striking.) These collections contain over a hundred tombs, dating mostly to the 4th and 3rd centuries BCE. The façades of the tombs mimic wooden and temple architecture: many have columns, pediments, and even carved doorways – they look like miniature temples or houses suspended in stone. Inside were placed the body of the deceased (often in a stone sarcophagus) along with some treasured possessions. By building tombs to be sturdy and visible, the Lycians honored their ancestors and advertised their prominence; indeed, the scale and number of these tombs in Myra signal the city’s ancient wealth and high social status.
The Lycian tombs of Myra have long fascinated scholars. One theory is simply pragmatic: carving into limestone cliffs provided a durable, long-lasting resting place protected from tomb robbers and collapse. But for the Lycians, the tombs were far more than graves; they were symbolic eternal homes. As one archaeologist explains, a Lycian tomb façade often mimics a house front so that the deceased “may have a home in the mountains to which his soul could return.” In effect, each tomb is a stone replica of a villa or temple, complete with sculpted doorways and columns. Inscriptions and mythological reliefs carved on the tombs reinforce the idea that these structures were meant for ritual as well as burial. In many cases, the interiors include steep steps or platforms that suggest funeral ceremonies took place there. Thus, the tomb was conceived as both sepulcher and sanctuary – a permanent abode for the spirit.
Religious belief also dictated placement. The Lycians practiced an ancestor cult: they believed the living should care for and remember the dead. By elevating tombs on sheer cliffs, they honored their ancestors in a conspicuous way. According to UNESCO records, Lycian tombs are often explicitly inscribed with devotions to the ancestral cult. Inscriptions in the Myra tombs invoke love and lineage, as if speaking across the centuries to those who pass below. Remarkably, 23 tombs here bear Lycian and Greek inscriptions (about ancestors, family, dedications), underscoring how important these monuments were in civic religion. The sheer number of tombs at Myra (104 documented) tells us how many elite families wished to preserve their names and status for eternity on these rock faces.
Myra’s tombs are arrayed on the hills flanking the ancient city center. One can approach them via a path from the old theater or by hiking above the Church of St. Nicholas. The western cluster is often referred to as the Ocean Necropolis, because it faces the sea. The eastern group is known as the River Necropolis, after the Myros Stream at its base. Together they form a “necropolic amphitheater” above Myra’s ruins. Both necropolises contain a mixture of “house-tombs” (rectangular chambers with columned façades) and “temple-tombs” (monumental facades resembling Greek temples). The walls of the theatre hill itself are studded with these tombs, creating an otherworldly sight: as one guide poetically notes, descending toward Myra from the hills of Demre, “one is met first by a sea of glass and plastic” – meaning the modern greenhouses – “well-stocked and prosperous”, and then by the ancient tombs rising above them.
Today many of the façades still retain traces of the bright paints used by the Lycians – reds, blues, yellows – which have weathered to warm, earthy hues. Although overgrown by scrub and vines, the carvings remain impressive. In springtime, white and orange narcissus sometimes bloom along the paths, adding living color to the silent stony monuments.
The decoration on the tomb façades is rich in meaning. Common motifs include lions, bulls, mythological scenes, and sacred symbols, each chosen deliberately. Lion and bull heads frequently garnish tombs, symbols of strength and protection. One tomb in Myra – aptly named the Lion Tomb – features life-sized stone lions and bulls guarding its entrance. These beasts, carved in relief, were probably meant to ward off evil and emphasize the tomb-owner’s nobility. Mythological scenes also appear; for example, some tombs show the goddess Leto (the mother of Apollo and Artemis), linking the deceased with divine favor.
Family and love find expression too. On the Lion Tomb’s façade is an especially poignant Greek inscription: “Moschos loves Philiste, the daughter of Demetrios.”. This simple declaration – as modern as it is ancient – suggests the tomb commemorated a married couple or close relatives. Inscriptions like this personalize the monuments and remind us that real people with emotions and stories lie behind these stones. Another tomb at Myra bears a relief of the deceased in a chariot, perhaps indicating a military or leadership role.
Art historians note that taller, more ornate tombs were likely built for the city’s elite families, while simpler tombs held lower-status citizens or multiple burials. Some multi-chambered tombs may have served as family crypts. In all cases, the common thread is clear: these carvings and plans declare the individuality and values of the Lycian aristocracy. The tombs were meant not only to preserve bones, but to proclaim the family’s lineage, virtues and beliefs to every passerby.
The Lion Tomb, located in the Ocean Necropolis, is arguably Myra’s most famous. Named for the life-sized marble lion (and accompanying bull) sculpted on its façade, this tomb contains a remarkable ensemble of 11 standing figures carved in high relief. Scholars believe these figures represent the tomb’s occupants – perhaps a father, mother, children and attendants – gathered in final repose. The affectionate inscription “Moschos loves Philiste, the daughter of Demetrios” (dated to the 4th century BCE) was found on this tomb. It hints at personal stories: here, a man publicly declaring love for his wife or daughter even in death.
Nearby lies the Painted Tomb, so called for its remnants of fresco decoration (rendered in red, blue and ochre) on the vestibule inside. Its interior walls still show traces of geometrical patterns. Other notable tombs display carved temple-front facades adorned with columns and relief panels. While many have deteriorated over two millennia, restorers in Turkey have stabilized the stone enough that visitors can appreciate their scale and detail. Standing before these carved tributes, one cannot help but feel a profound connection to the ancient Lycian belief in family, honor, and an afterlife that these monuments so vividly embodied.
Picture this: A Lycian funeral procession winds its way up the city’s main road. Perhaps an ox cart is loaded with offerings – fruits, pottery, or oil – destined for the family’s tomb. As the mourners reach the necropolis, priests and relatives may have performed rites at the threshold of the tomb-chapel. Some larger tombs at Myra even have carved steps leading up to an antechamber, suggesting that the living entered them for rituals. Inside, the body was placed in a sarcophagus. The relatives might pour libations on the tomb floor or leave behind small statues. Over days, feasts and lamentations honor the dead and reaffirm kinship bonds.
Archaeological evidence of the exact ceremonies is scarce, but the design of the tombs implies they were active shrines, not mere burial holes. Stonemasons at Myra took care to create interior chambers that could be entered, and some walls are worn as if by feet walking inside. By lighting lamps within and performing memorial rites, the Lycian family kept its ancestors near. Even now, visitors to Myra can almost hear the echoes of those ceremonies in the silent stone: a moment when the living and the dead briefly coexisted at the edge of the cliff, under a sky that inspired those haunting feathered monsters of legend.
With the rise of Rome, Myra entered a period of prosperity and transformation. By the 2nd century CE, it was one of Lycia’s grandest cities. Local benefactors and emperors poured resources into urban projects. According to archaeological surveys, Myra’s wealthy citizens remodeled and built many structures during this time. The massive Roman theatre we see today, though it had earlier Hellenistic origins, was significantly expanded into a 10,000–12,000 seat amphitheater in Roman times. Aided by strict imperial guidelines (excavations show it was rebuilt after a 141 CE earthquake), the theater’s design is superb. It arcs in a perfect semi-circle, with 27 rows of stone seats curved around a deep stage. The cavea (seating area) spans over 110 meters in diameter. Engineers cut into the natural slope of the hill so that the lower seating (ima cavea) rests on solid ground, ensuring durability.
This superb architecture paid off acoustically: in the intact theater of Myra, even a word murmured on stage can be clearly heard at the highest bench. Ottoman guidebooks dubbed it the “Miracle of Myra” for this very reason. The Romans used the orchestra for more than drama and rhetoric. In the late 3rd century, the inner circle was converted to an arena where gladiators and wild beasts fought under the open sky. Not long after, it was adapted again into a water basin (a colymbethra) for naval reenactments, once the organizers had dug channels to fill it from nearby springs.
Aside from spectacles, the Roman theater was the heart of civic life. Broad stairways and triumphal arches once guided spectators in. Today we see fragments of the stage building and rows of seats, but one can easily imagine citizens arriving in togas, filling each row to applaud a play or a delivery by a visiting orator. Festivals and games likely punctuated Myra’s calendar, much as they did in other Lycian centers.
The Myra theatre showcases classic Roman engineering. Its ima cavea (lower seating) comprises 27 concentric rows of limestone benches, broad at the bottom and narrowing as they climb the hillside. Broad radial stairways separated sections of seats, allowing orderly ingress. The summa cavea (upper seating) once extended onto the slope above, though only traces of these upper benches remain today. The full seating capacity is estimated at around 11,000 spectators. Compared to other ancient theaters of Anatolia, Myra’s is among the largest. This capacity reflects Myra’s sizeable population during its heyday and its role as a regional cultural hub.
Roman-era Myra would have staged a variety of entertainments. Although no playbill survives, it is reasonable to assume that the theater hosted Greek tragedies and comedies, as was customary across Lycia and Anatolia. Public addresses by local officials or Roman dignitaries may also have taken place here. By the imperial period, the emphasis often shifted to more sensational entertainments. Excavations indicate that the Myra orchestra (the flat circular area at the foot of the stage) was waterproofed and used for aquatic games, known as naumachiae, where the orchestra flooded with water. Before that, in the late 3rd century CE, evidence shows the same space was used for gladiatorial combat. We can picture roaring crowds as fighters battled with tridents or as boats sailed through a makeshift lagoon. Such adaptations were common in Roman Anatolia, where theaters became multifunctional entertainment centers.
One of Myra’s most celebrated attributes is the theater’s acoustics. In antiquity it was often remarked that the design allowed the tiniest sound to carry. In practical terms, this means a person standing on the stage can speak or sing in a normal voice, and even a whisper would reach every spectator in the cavea. Modern tests confirm this: the stone geometry of the theatre focuses sound upward. Roman engineers achieved this by constructing the cavea on a precise radius and using hard limestone that reflects sound. This “theater of wonders” must have awed ancient visitors as much as it impresses today’s archaeologists and tourists.
Myra under Rome was a bustling city of bazaars, baths, and workshops. At its core was the Roman agora (forum), a rectangular plaza lined with colonnades and stoae for shops and offices. No trace of the marble basilica or forum remains above ground, but archaeological mapping suggests the later Christian church was built on this very site. In the surrounding neighborhoods, houses and warehouses opened onto streets roughly parallel to the theater.
Public amenities abounded. Two well-preserved structures attest to Myra’s urban sophistication: a grand nymphaeum (public fountain) and public baths. On the road from the theater into town one can still make out the brick foundations of a Roman bath complex, complete with caldarium (hot room) and laconicum (dry sauna). The water for these and for daily life came from aqueducts and natural springs. Channels channeled mountain water into the city; on the south valley wall near the theater are visible carved water channels that fed cisterns and fountains.
Daily life would have been animated. Street stalls might sell local produce – dried figs, olives, wheat bread – while craftsmen such as potters and blacksmiths worked behind shopfronts. Stalls around the ruins today still sell water and souvenirs to visitors, echoing how the ancient agora would have teemed with trade. The Lycian Council likely met under the portico of the forum to resolve civic issues, while priests conducted sacrifices at a temple. By the 2nd century AD, rich Myreans proudly financed many of these buildings. Inscriptions tell of generous patrons endowing construction projects and equipping the theater, ensuring that public life remained vibrant and grand.
Few historical figures are more closely linked with a place than Saint Nicholas is with Myra. Nicholas (Greek Nikólaos) was a real person – probably a native of nearby Patara who became Bishop of Myra in the early 4th century CE. Contemporary records of his life are sparse, but legend filled in the gaps. Stories circulated that Bishop Nicholas was especially generous and kind, secretly giving alms to the poor and performing miracles. Medieval hagiographies depict him saving sailors from shipwreck, providing dowries for destitute maidens, and even resurrecting children – acts that earned him the title “Nikólaos the Wonderworker” (Άγιος Νικόλαος, Hagios Nikolaos).
The historical record is cautious: as Britannica notes, “nothing certain is known of his life”, but the essence endures – Nicholas was a beloved Christian leader whose reputation for generosity and miracle-working made him famous. After his death (circa 343 AD), Nicholas was venerated as a saint throughout the Eastern Orthodox and later Latin churches. He became patron of sailors (appropriate for a port city like Myra) and of children, reflecting the many legends of his kindness to youth. Over the centuries, his name and figure spread widely: in Western Europe he inspired the Dutch Sinterklaas tradition, and eventually the American Santa Claus. A whimsical connection traces Santa’s “Christmas gifts” back to Nicholas’s anonymous presents to the needy.
Historically, Nicholas was likely born into a devout Christian family in Lycia and rose to become bishop of Myra. The earliest concrete mention of Nicholas is only from around 600 AD, but local tradition maintains he attended the Council of Nicaea (325 AD) and staunchly defended orthodoxy against heresy. We have no contemporary documents from Nicholas’s lifetime, so most biographical details are legendary. For example, tales of him slapping the heretic Arius or walking on water are not substantiated by evidence, but they illustrate the saint’s larger-than-life status.
What is verifiable is that by the 7th century, Nicholas’s cult was firmly rooted in Myra. Pilgrims came to pray at his tomb. Over time, Myra’s name became inseparable from Nicholas. However, many legends date from centuries later. The famous story of him anonymously giving gold to three poor sisters (ensuring their marriages) likely originated only in the 12th century. In truth, Nicholas’s legacy was built gradually by popular devotion. By the time a Norman raid on Myra’s church occurred in 1087, the saint was a major Mediterranean figure.
In life, Nicholas would have fulfilled all duties of a bishop: overseeing churches, administering charity, and guiding his flock. Archaeological context (such as grand sarcophagi of probable bishops in Myra) suggests he came from an affluent background. His emphasis on charity would have set him apart; in a largely pagan world, a bishop with a reputation for secretly aiding the poor earned great admiration. After his death, miraculous legends solidified his fame. The Eastern Church liturgy calls him “the Great Wonderworker”. Pilgrimage to his tomb was believed to grant blessings – for example, sailors offered tokens in thanks after surviving storms at sea.
Nicholas’s influence expanded beyond faith. By the Middle Ages, his cult had made Myra a site of Christian pilgrimage, on par with other important saintly sites in Anatolia. This early Christian heritage left a mark on the city’s identity. In later centuries, even as Myra declined as a city, the church of St. Nicholas remained a revered shrine. The Venetians, Crusaders and Ottomans each respected the saint – Ottoman sultans often made offerings at his relics in Bari (see below).
Perhaps the most curious chapter of Nicholas’s legacy is how he became Santa Claus. The transformation began in Europe: by the 11th century, Nicholas was patron saint of Russia, Bari (Italy) and many cities. Dutch merchants and colonists brought stories of the generous Sinterklaas to North America in the 17th century. As Britannica notes, the Dutch name Sinterklaas (“Saint Nicholas”) was shortened and Anglicized to “Santa Claus” by the 19th century, complete with red robes and gift-giving lore. Thus a bishop of 4th-century Myra became, over many translations and tales, the jolly figure of Christmas legend.
Through this evolution, Myra’s name has entered global culture. Every December, millions indirectly celebrate the mythic Nicholas of Myra – even if few realize the origin lies in the Lycian cliffs of Demre.
The Church of St. Nicholas in Demre (the modern town built over ancient Myra) stands on the hill where Nicholas himself once served. Archeological evidence and local tradition concur: Nicholas was said to be entombed beneath the church floor, and a 6th-century basilica was erected over the earlier martyr’s shrine. The building visitors see today was largely constructed in 520 AD under Emperor Justinian, although it retains fragments of an even older sacred building.
Inside, the basilica’s fragments are impressive. The stone ciborium (canopy) that sheltered the altar, its supporting columns (with Corinthian capitals), and the semicircular clergy benches (synthronon) are still partly standing. Colorful mosaic floors and marble plaques from the 6th century can be seen among the tiles. The walls are adorned with faded but evocative frescoes depicting scenes from Nicholas’s life – for example, him giving alms or preaching – painted in a distinctive Byzantine style. Archaeologists have discovered hundreds of inscriptions and relics in and around the church as well.
Today this church is a museum and pilgrimage center. A portion of the crypt houses Nicholas’s original sarcophagus (now empty), and a silver effigy of the saint was installed in the Byzantine period (though it has been relocated to Istanbul for preservation). Guides point out a hole in the floor that marks where Nicholas’s body reputedly lay. (In 1087, Venetian merchants broke open his sarcophagus and transported the bones to Bari, Italy, but in Turkish lore he is said to have miraculously reappeared in Demre centuries later.) Regardless, the church itself carries the aura of age and holiness. Visitors light candles and leave votive tokens here in the hope of blessings, echoing the centuries of devout attention to Myra’s most famous bishop.
Only about five kilometers west of Myra lies its ancient port, Andriake. In antiquity, a canal linked Myra to this harbor across the Myros River delta. Andriake was in effect Myra’s lifeline: ships from Rhodes, Alexandria and beyond would dock here, bringing grain, wine, olive oil, and luxury goods. Ottoman and modern accounts confirm Andriake was long used – from Classical Greek times through Roman and Byzantine periods – as the sheltered harbor for the Lycian coast. Unlike the silting city of Myra, Andriake remained relatively accessible by sea for many centuries (a chain is still reported in Byzantine texts as having once stretched across its mouth to deter pirates).
The prosperity that Myra enjoyed was rooted in this port. With the sea at its doorstep, Myra struck symbiotic deals with trade networks throughout the Mediterranean. The harbor also supported a large naval store; for instance, the Romans built two massive granaries at Andriake to stockpile provisions. Today one of those granaries – the Horrea Hadriani (Hadrianic granary) – is a striking ruin. Constructed in 129–130 AD under Emperor Hadrian, it spans over 2,300 square meters and rises intact to roof level. Its wall inscription even once bore the portraits of Hadrian and his empress. Alongside the granary archaeologists have uncovered the foundations of a plakoma (commercial market building) and storehouses, highlighting Andriake’s role as a trade emporium.
The Hadrianic granary at Andriake stands as a testament to Rome’s investment in the region. Its immense storage halls once kept grain for the legions and local populace. Modern visitors can climb into the granary’s central chambers, whose vaulted brick roofs remain stable. Inscriptions on the walls credit Hadrian (regardless of the Greek phrasing) and confirm the date of construction. The sheer size of this building – roughly 2,300 m² on one level – indicates the volume of trade that flowed through Lycia. Today it serves as part of the Lycian Civilizations Museum at Andriake, hosting exhibits of recovered amphorae and trade goods.
Beyond grain, Andriake hosted other industries: an ancient salt pan and remnants of ship repair docks hint that amphora production and ship maintenance were also local trades. Yet visitors must cross the road to the south to appreciate Andriake’s crown jewel: the Lycian Civilizations Museum.
In recent years, the Turkish government and archaeologists have transformed ancient Andriake into an open-air museum complex, showcasing artifacts from all over Lycia. In the restored Hadrianic granary and eight adjacent exhibition halls, the Antalya Museum of Lycian Civilizations presents the story of Lycia from the Bronze Age through the Byzantine period. Galleries are organized by theme: Lycian history, language and coins, religion and society, and so on. Among the tens of thousands of finds are steles from Xanthos, tomb relics from Myra, and votive offerings. An entire room is dedicated to the six great Lycian cities (including Myra), illustrating how they formed a cultural unity under the League.
Highlights for the Myra-inclined include funerary reliefs rescued from the necropolis, votive statuettes of Leto and Apollo, and even artifacts related to Saint Nicholas (Bari relic displays). Interactive reconstructions allow visitors to experience a Lycian port city in miniature. In short, the museum ties together everything learned at the Myra site itself: its economy, beliefs, and art. Under one roof, Myra’s legacy joins that of Patara, Xanthos and others, making Andriake a fitting terminal for any Lycian coastal tour.
After centuries of growth, Myra’s fortunes reversed. Starting in the 7th century CE, the city began to decline. A series of powerful earthquakes repeatedly shook the region, leaving many buildings partially ruined. At the same time the Myros River (Demre Stream) flooded its plain each winter, eventually depositing vast sediment. These silts gradually filled in the harbor and low-lying sections of Myra, making sea access difficult. Arab naval raids from the Mediterranean also damaged what remained of Lycia’s infrastructure. By the 10th–12th centuries the once-metropolitan Myra had dwindled to a small village. The Byzantines lost interest in the site, and the region’s capital shifted to more secure inland cities. In short, a combination of natural disasters and political changes caused Myra to fade. By the end of the Middle Ages its ruins had mostly vanished beneath fields.
It was not volcanism but river-borne earth that preserved Myra under ground. Modern archaeologists call it an “Anatolian Pompeii”: not because of fire and ash, but because the city was entombed under up to eight meters of alluvial soil. This is vividly described by historian Nevzat Çevik: “It seems plausible that … Myra should be regarded as an ‘Anatolian Pompeii’ – entombed not in molten ash, but beneath the fertile soil.”. Only the tombs and the highest structures escaped burial; elsewhere roofs collapsed and walls sank. Today Demre’s greenhouses rise above what was once a bustling Roman-Byzantine city center. Motorists on the highway north of Demre pass over what used to be the Roman baths and market; farmers plow fields where temples once stood.
It was an accidental preservation. The silt that ruined Myra’s harbor ensured that its ruins were shielded from stone-robbing for centuries. From time to time, villagers digging irrigation trenches would reveal a column fragment or inscription. Early travelers in the 18th century first noted the theater and tomb façades protruding from the hillside. These romantic ruins sparked scholarly interest. The first systematic survey of Myra was conducted by German archaeologist Jürgen Borchhardt in 1965–68, who mapped walls and reopened the theater. In the 21st century, Professor Çevik and his team have been diligently excavating. Each new trench at Myra and Andriake often yields spectacular finds – a carved frieze here, a statue head there – offering fresh layers to the story of the Lycian coast.
Myra today is accessed via the town of Demre in Antalya Province. If you are coming from Antalya (the regional hub), the journey is straightforward: drive or take a coach westward on the D400 highway for about 140–150 kilometers (roughly 2½–3 hours). Regular buses and minibuses (dolmuş) run from Antalya’s main bus station to Demre (sometimes listed under Myra ruins), though schedules may be infrequent. One such route is operated by RivieraBus, which makes a few trips per week on this line. According to Demre’s tourism board, buses from Antalya and even Fethiye can drop you off in Demre, from where Myra is a short taxi ride.
If you prefer self-drive or hire a car, Demre is well marked. From Antalya, exit the D400 at Kumluca and follow signs through Finike to Demre. (The road winds near the coast; allow extra time if you wish to stop at beach villages like Olympos or Phaselis en route.) For those based in the popular towns of Kaş or Kalkan, daily dolmuş services to Demre provide another option. Alternatively, many tour operators in Antalya, Kemer or Kaş offer guided day tours that bundle Myra with nearby sights (see below). Once in Demre, Myra’s archaeological site is a few kilometers southwest; local minibuses or taxis serve the site entrance.
The site of Myra (along with St. Nicholas Church) is managed by the Turkish Ministry of Culture. As of 2025, the entrance fee is ₺450 per person (adults). Students and many foreign visitors enjoy discounts or free entry if they present a valid museum pass (the Museum Pass Türkiye covers all Antalya archaeology sites, including Myra). The site is open every day of the year. During the summer season (April 1 – October 31) visiting hours are 08:00–19:00. In the winter (November 1 – March 31) it closes a bit earlier, at 17:30. Guided tours can often be booked online or at Demre’s tourism office; these provide entry without standing in line and usually include a local expert. The adjacent archaeological museum in Demre (opposite the church) offers more artifacts and is a good complement to the ruins.
Myra lies in a classic Mediterranean climate: long hot summers and mild, rainy winters. High season runs June–August. If you visit in summer, plan to go early or late in the day to avoid heat and crowds. There is very little natural shade among the ruins, so mornings and late afternoons (or even the 8pm closing in peak season) are best for walking around. The most comfortable time is spring (April–May) or early autumn (September–October), when daytime temperatures are warm but not sweltering, and the surrounding countryside is in bloom. Autumn also has the advantage of fewer tourists and the sight of ripe pomegranates and persimmons in local orchards.
Avoid the peak midday heat by carrying water and wearing a hat. Even in winter the ruins rarely close due to rain, but be aware that the evening light fades by around 17:00 from November through March. In summary: for pleasant weather and good light, try to see Myra in April–June or September–October. If you must come in July or August, the site’s early opening at 8am can allow a couple of quiet hours before the summer heat peaks.
Practical gear will enhance your visit. Wear sturdy walking shoes (the ground is uneven among ruins and tombs). A sunhat or cap and high-SPF sunscreen are essential in summer. Dress modestly if you plan to visit the church of St. Nicholas or local mosques in Demre (a scarf or long skirt for women). Bring refillable water – a kiosk at the site entrance offers drinks, but once inside the ancient city there is no shade. A camera is a must (see the note below on photography). Binoculars can help read distant inscriptions on tombs. A light snack won’t hurt, though local cafés in Demre have refreshments. Finally, carry some cash; as of 2025 the site accepts lira and museum passes, but small vendors in Demre may prefer cash.
Myra is a photographer’s delight. Early morning or late afternoon light brings out the warm colors of the tomb facades and casts dramatic shadows in the theater. For tombs, try shooting from the narrow paths at the same eye level as the carvings to emphasize their depth. Climbing the shallow steps inside some tombs (where allowed) can yield interesting angles looking out at Demre below. The theater is best shot from the orchestra area, facing up towards the seating; the scale of 11,000 seats can be shown by placing a person on stage for contrast. A mid-lens (50mm to 100mm) is ideal for isolating details on tomb reliefs. If visiting with friends or a guide, ask them to pose in front of the Lion Tomb for a sense of scale. Lastly, don’t miss the panoramic view: from the east bank of the Myros River one gets a sweeping vista of Demre’s plain with greenhouses, backed by mountains – a reminder of Myra’s shifting fortunes.
In short, yes. Myra uniquely combines spectacular monuments with an accessible, walkable site. Even for those not normally “history buffs,” the sheer drama of the tombs and the aura of antiquity in the theater captivate visitors. Travelers consistently report that Myra exceeded their expectations: the place “comes alive with history,” they say. Whether you come for archaeology, mythology, or the Santa Claus connection, Myra rewards you with a deep sense of the past. After winding through those cliffside tombs and imagining ancient ceremonies, one emerges enlightened about Lycian culture and profoundly aware of how the layers of history can accumulate in a single ruin. In fact, as one guidebook aptly summarizes, Myra is “a unique destination for history and archaeology enthusiasts” precisely because of its magnificent tombs, vast theater, and the Church of Saint Nicholas. The echoes of civilization here are undeniable – and enduring.
After a morning at the site, a stroll through today’s Demre offers its own pleasures. The town is small and quiet, its life anchored by agriculture and Saint Nicholas tourism.
Demre is known for its fresh produce, thanks to the fertile river plain and greenhouses. Local specialties include orange and lemon products (marmalades, fresh juice) – Antalya Province is Turkey’s citrus heartland. Farmers also grow peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes and eggplants in abundance. These appear in dishes like menemen (scrambled eggs with tomato and pepper) and gavurdağı salad (a chopped tomato-cucumber salad), which you should sample at any local restaurant. Olive oil is ubiquitous; expect bread drizzled with good olive oil and stuffed vegetables like stuffed vine leaves.
Seafood is also prized, given Demre’s proximity to the Mediterranean. Many bayside restaurants in nearby Demre (and in Kaş/Kalkan) serve fresh fish, squid and shrimp. A popular local dessert is portakal suyu – frozen orange-flavored sherbet. Don’t miss trying the regional sheep or goat milk yogurt, often served plain or with honey. For the adventurous, Demre’s restaurants sometimes feature cilbir (poached eggs on yogurt) and gozleme (filled flatbread, here often with local cheese or spinach).
Recommend dining: The area around the St. Nicholas Museum has several homestyle eateries where you can try kebap served in clay pots (testi kebab). Small cafes also sell foamed coffee (boza) and tahin pekmez (sesame molasses). As Demre’s Spanish onion (soğan) is famous in Turkey, expect superb onion salads and stews.
Demre is often called one of Antalya’s “greenhouse capitals”. Before you reach the ruins, you will pass greenhouse after greenhouse producing vegetables year-round. Indeed, descending from the nearby Taurus foothills into Demre’s valley, travelers first encounter a “sea of glass and plastic” – countless greenhouses rippling in the breeze. These glass houses yield prolific harvests of tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and eggplants almost every month. Antalya Homes even notes that districts like Demre lead Turkey in this advanced greenhouse farming. This modern agricultural abundance turns the plains into fields of deep green (in spring) and golden (in autumn), framing Myra’s remnants with a lush backdrop.
The region’s bounty is noticeable in everyday life. Small roadside stands sell buckets of strawberries or crates of oranges. In summer, watermelons and bay cherries are piled high in shops. Festivals like the annual citrus harvest (and a colorful bird-watching festival at Demre’s lake) celebrate the land’s productivity. For visitors, a highlight is sampling fruit directly from the growers. If you have time, drive a few kilometers outside Demre toward Finike to wander among citrus orchards (especially sweet oranges and lemons in February-March) – it feels like stepping into a garden maze.
Myra is rarely a stand-alone stop. Tour operators often link it with Kekova Island, the site of a famously submerged Lycian city. From the harbor town of Üçağız (next to the Sunken City), glass-bottom boat tours sail around the sunken ruins, Byzantine castle, and rock tombs of Kekova’s coast. Most day trips from Antalya or Kaş will hit all three: the Myra ruins, St. Nicholas Church, and the Kekova boat excursion. This combination works beautifully: morning light at Myra’s monuments, midday cruise on the turquoise sea, and late afternoon wandering in tiny Simena (Kaleköy) – an ancient Lycian village still inhabited, with its own small castle and tombs overlooking Kekova. Such tours typically return to Antalya by evening.
For a longer stay, consider this sample itinerary:
This itinerary weaves together archaeology, boating, and leisure. Demre has a handful of mid-range hotels and pensions; Kaş offers bigger hotels and a lively evening scene. Many travelers mix nights in Demre with at least one evening in Kaş for variety.
What is the modern name for Myra?
The ancient city of Myra is located in what is now the town of Demre (pronounced Dem-ray), in Antalya Province of Turkey. In antiquity it was sometimes called Muri in the Lycian language, but today all signs and maps list it under Demre.
Is Myra mentioned in the Bible?
Yes. The New Testament records that the Apostle Paul, en route to Rome, “came to Myra in Lycia” (Acts 27:5) during his voyage. In other words, Myra appears briefly in the Bible as a port where Paul changed ships. This passage confirms that Myra was a known maritime stop in the 1st century CE.
Are there hotels near Myra Ancient City?
Myra (Demre) is a small town, but it has a selection of hotels and pensions within a few kilometers of the ruins. You will find guesthouses and family-run inns in and around Demre village (just a 5–10 minute drive from the site). For more options, the nearby coastal towns of Kaş and Kalkan—30–60 minutes away—offer dozens of hotels, resorts and holiday rentals. Many visitors choose Kaş as a base and do Myra as a day trip. Regardless, accommodations are plentiful in this region of the Lycian coast.
Can I visit Myra and Kekova on the same day?
Yes. Day tours from Antalya or Kaş often include both. A typical schedule is to spend the morning exploring Myra’s ruins, then drive to Üçağız/Simena for an afternoon boat ride around Kekova Island (the sunken city). These combined tours pack a lot into one day but are a popular way to see multiple highlights of Lycia. If you prefer a more leisurely pace, you can stay overnight in Demre or Kaş and do the sites on separate days.