Demre lies at the foothills of the Taurus Mountains, along the Mediterranean coast. To the north, it is surrounded by mountains, while to the south, it opens to the crystal-clear, blue waters of the Mediterranean. Just outside the city, there are vast plains adorned with orange and pomegranate orchards. Olive trees, citrus groves, bay laurels, carob trees, and pines hold a significant place in Demre’s natural beauty. In spring, every gust of wind carries the scent of lemon blossoms. This lush vegetation stretches from the mountain slopes down to the coast, painting the landscape with endless shades of green and vibrant blossoms.
To the north of Demre, the Taurus Mountains rise majestically. These mountains are characterized by forest-covered slopes and deep valleys, forming a natural boundary separating the region from the interior. The limestone structure of the mountains hosts numerous caves and ravines.
Demre is also notable for its wetlands along the Mediterranean coast. Small streams form deltas and marshes before flowing into the sea, providing a habitat for various bird species. So many birds come and go that the sound of their wings can sometimes be heard from the mountains. Among the notable figures of this region, Saint Nicholas stands out the most, his fame having spread across the globe.
Nicholas was born at the end of the 3rd century in Patara, the capital of the Lycian League. Losing his parents at a young age, he inherited a great fortune. One night, he had a dream: In it, Jesus Christ extended his hand toward him. When Nicholas opened his palm, he saw a golden-feathered peacock taking flight toward the sky. He woke up drenched in sweat, the sound of the bird still echoing in his ears. What a beautiful sound it was! He sold all his possessions to his uncle and devoted himself to a spiritual life. For a long time, he lived in a monastery. Later, he packed his wealth into a small chest, loaded it onto his donkey, and journeyed to Demre.
Nicholas grew up listening to legends from distant lands. The elders’ religious tales, filled with epics, ignited a fire in his young heart—a fire that would, years later, drive him to wander the roads. He embarked on a quest to find the voice of a bird, unnamed yet heard, whose presence was unseen. What was Jesus trying to convey to him? According to an old priest, the sound of this bird purified the soul and granted wisdom. Everyone who pursued it would either end up in a mountaintop cave or discover a fountain of wisdom lost in the forest’s depths.
Nicholas believed he would find the bird’s voice after crossing the narrow streets of Patara, traversing mountains and plains, and reaching the Taurus Mountains. When he arrived at the wetlands, he saw tens of thousands of birds. Without disturbing them, he sat and listened; their profound wisdom blended with the wind of the mountains and the song of the stones.
Every morning, before dawn, he would walk deep into the mountains. As the first rays of sunlight struck the peaks of the Taurus Mountains, the chirping of birds would begin. Yet Nicholas’s ears sought that singular, unique sound. No matter how much he listened, he could not find it. At times, his heart would skip a beat, thinking he had heard it, but it was never the voice he sought. Months passed, and although Nicholas explored every corner of the mountains, the bird’s voice eluded him.
Eventually, he lost all hope. One night, in a cave where he had taken shelter, he dug a hole and buried his chest. At dawn, he descended the steep slopes of the Taurus Mountains back to Demre’s fertile lands. Still holding onto a shred of hope, he returned to the wetlands, where thousands of birds again sang alongside the wind and the water. Flamingos, in particular, painted the marshes pink as they spread their wings under the sun.
Overwhelmed with tears, Nicholas retreated to the church, dedicating himself to humanity and renouncing the material world.
Amid Lycia’s warm soil, amidst orange groves and the salty breeze of the sea, the aging Bishop Nicholas quietly prayed in a small church in Demre. His hair was white, his face lined with deep wrinkles, and his hearing dulled to the hum of bees in the nearby orange grove. Yet, the fire of goodness and charity in his heart burned as fiercely as it had in his youth. Some evenings, he would share his bread with a traveler, perhaps going to bed hungry himself. The next day, if he found no food, he would thank God and continue his journey, sustaining himself on fruit he gathered from the mountains. To him, gratitude wasn’t about what happened to us but how we accepted it.
That evening, Nicholas found a small package left at the church door. Inside was an old piece of fabric wrapped around a letter. The letter described a family living in poverty in a mountainous area near Demre. Once wealthy, the family had lost everything to a fire and now struggled to survive with three small children. The letter deeply moved Nicholas. Memories of his own parents came flooding back. Would he have endured such suffering if they hadn’t passed away so early? “There must be wisdom in this, too,” he thought, consoling himself. He resolved to help this family.
He had spent all his wealth over the years helping others, leaving him with almost nothing. The little money he had saved was meant for a father with three daughters of marriageable age. The girls, beautiful and virtuous, needed dowries to marry, but their poverty made this impossible. In this region, marriage without a dowry was unthinkable, and if they remained unmarried, their future would be bleak. If only Nicholas could remember the cave where he had buried his chest! He searched for days but could not find it.
That night, unseen by anyone, he left the church with an old sack in his hand, containing a few gold coins and some food he had retrieved from a worn chest on the church wall. Though insufficient, it was all he could offer. On the dark mountain road, he suddenly stopped. He heard a sound. “Oh my God!” he exclaimed. It was the voice of the bird he had sought for years. Stunned, he nearly fell off his donkey. Looking toward the direction of the caves, he saw a light, its wings fluttering. His heart raced. He was closer than ever to the mystery he had pursued since his youth. Riding his donkey as fast as he could, he reached a glowing cave.
Inside, the walls shimmered like starlight. In the center of the cave was the chest he had buried years ago. Behind him, just beyond the cave entrance, a golden-feathered peacock perched on a pine tree, lighting up the night. Nicholas opened the chest. It was full of gold and jewels, just as he had left it. But the wealth did not excite him. He had already found his true treasure.
After thanking God, he loaded the chest onto his donkey. The cave grew quiet again, and the light slowly faded. “I know why you came,” Nicholas whispered to the bird. “I will complete my final task. Wait for me here. I will return.”
By morning, tales of miracles spread through Demre’s mountain villages. Families in need had mysteriously found bags of gold left at their doors overnight. Though no one saw who delivered them, many believed Saint Nicholas was behind these acts of kindness.
The people searched for him for days, but Nicholas had vanished. Legend has it that some saw him riding a donkey, others claimed he had ascended the mountains atop a golden bird. Over time, his name faded into obscurity, surviving only in the bedtime stories of grandmothers. Yet, one thing never changed: the enduring legacy of goodness and virtue in humanity. Occasionally, people claim to see a golden-feathered bird flying over the Taurus Mountains toward the Mediterranean, a fleeting glimmer of hope, vanishing into the night sky.
Yorumlar