Church of Profitis Ilias, Protaras
Cyprus is full of churches—grand cathedrals, weathered Byzantine chapels, crumbling ruins tucked in fields—but there’s something magnetic about Profitis Elias in Protaras. Perched high on a rocky knuckle of land, it’s not just a place of worship. It’s a compass point, a viewing deck, a shrine, a memory-maker. Whether you’re local or visitor, devout or simply curious, the climb to this church seems to pull you toward it.
A beacon above Protaras
Even before you’ve decided to visit, you’ve probably noticed Profitis Elias. Its pale stone walls and orange-tiled dome catch the sunlight all day long, visible from almost anywhere in central Protaras. At night, floodlights bathe the church in golden light, turning it into a glowing crown over the town. It watches over the bustle below—families on evening strolls, holidaymakers at tavernas, the glow of resort pools—and feels like a quiet guardian keeping the rhythm steady.
This visibility is part of its charm. You can sit at the beach in Fig Tree Bay, glance up at the hill, and think: “Tomorrow morning, I’ll climb there.” And when you do, the climb transforms the town from flat streets into a layered mosaic beneath your feet.
The ascent: steps as a ritual
The staircase—about 300 steps, depending on who’s counting—is more than a route; it’s a ritual. Each step gives you a new sliver of sea, a new angle of horizon. Locals sometimes climb it for exercise, others for penance, others simply for the joy of greeting the sunrise from above.
The climb is not punishing, but it does make you slow down. That slowing feels deliberate, like the hill is preparing you for the hush at the top. By the time you reach the final landing, the noise of traffic, music, and beach bars has dropped away, replaced by wind and birdsong.
Inside: intimate faith
Push open the wooden door, and the contrast is immediate. The bright, sunlit stone outside yields to a dim interior warmed by candlelight. Icons line the walls, framed in wood and gold. The iconostasis—the screen separating the altar from the main space—is simple but gleams with devotion. You might see a parishioner kissing an icon, crossing themselves, or whispering a prayer.
The church is not a museum piece; it’s alive. Even on a quiet weekday morning, someone has left fresh flowers near the altar. Even when tourists trickle in, there’s respect in the air.
The meaning of Elijah on the hilltop
The dedication to the Prophet Elijah isn’t random. In Greek Orthodox tradition, Elijah is almost always honored with hilltop chapels. He’s seen as a prophet of fire and sky, the one who rode to heaven in a whirlwind, close to storms and light. From a hilltop, he feels closer to the heavens, and his gaze can stretch far across the land.
On feast days in July, the church becomes the heart of local celebration. Pilgrims climb the hill, sometimes barefoot, to light candles and attend services. The chants spill out into the open air, the bells ring long and loud, and afterward families share food and laughter in the streets below. For locals, these days bind memory, faith, and community together. For visitors lucky enough to witness it, it’s a window into the island’s soul.
Around the church: ribbons, trees, and whispers
Step outside again and circle the grounds. To the north side, you’ll notice a tree tied with ribbons, notes, and pieces of fabric. This “wishing tree” has become a place where people leave prayers or hopes. Some slips of paper ask for healing, others for safe travel, others for simple happiness. It’s a patchwork of longing fluttering in the breeze.
The courtyard itself is modest—low shrubs, a few benches, simple stone paving—but what it offers is uninterrupted space to look out. The sea never stays the same shade of blue. Some mornings it’s glassy silver, others a fierce turquoise. Watch long enough and you’ll see fishing boats heading out, or parasailers floating like bright punctuation marks in the sky.
Seasonal moods
Profitis Elias changes with the seasons, and each visit carries a different flavor.
- Spring: Wildflowers cling to the hill, and the climb feels gentler under soft skies. The air is cool, fragrant with herbs like thyme and oregano.
- Summer: The climb is hot, the light is harsh, but sunrise and sunset are unforgettable. At night, the illuminated church looks almost theatrical, hovering above the resort lights.
- Autumn: The air softens again, the sea deepens into indigo, and the church feels quieter after the summer crowds.
- Winter: Often empty, sometimes windswept, the church becomes a solitary refuge. The sea looks stormier, the hill feels starker, and Elijah’s presence seems stronger in the wild weather.
Profitis Elias in daily life
For locals, the church isn’t just a tourist stop. It’s woven into everyday rhythms. Couples climb here before a wedding. Families light candles for loved ones. Joggers and walkers use the steps for fitness, but often pause to catch their breath inside, turning exercise into a moment of reflection. Taxi drivers point it out to visitors with pride, and hoteliers recommend it as “the place to see the real view of Protaras.”
A photographer’s dream (and challenge)
Profitis Elias is a dream to photograph—but also a challenge. The bright midday sun can wash the stone too pale, the horizon too flat. The best shots come when the light is soft: the blue hour before sunrise, golden hour before sunset, or even at night, when the church glows like a lantern.
Try these angles:
- Halfway up the stairs, with the church framed against the endless sky.
- From the back terrace, catching both the bell tower and the spread of Protaras below.
- At night, with long exposure to capture the illuminated stone and glittering coastline.
A pause above the resort buzz
What makes Profitis Elias stand out is the contrast. Protaras is a lively resort town—music, lights, full beaches, cocktails by the pool. The church is a counterpoint: calm, reflective, rooted. Spending time here balances the holiday mood with a sense of grounding.
For many visitors, it’s not about religion, but about perspective—seeing the town from above, feeling the wind at your back, touching a bit of silence before plunging back into the sea and sun below.
Making it part of your journey
Here are a few ways to weave Profitis Elias into your Protaras days:
- Early riser’s reward: Climb at dawn, watch the sunrise, then head to the beach while it’s still quiet.
- Romantic evening: Stroll up at sunset, linger until the lights come on, then descend into town for dinner at a taverna.
- Family outing: Make the climb together, let children tie a ribbon at the wishing tree, and take group photos with the whole coastline as backdrop.
- Reflective moment: Bring a notebook or sketchbook, find a bench, and let the hill’s silence shape your thoughts.
Why it stays in memory
Profitis Elias isn’t grand, isn’t ancient, isn’t elaborate. Yet it leaves a mark. Maybe it’s the way the steps slow you down. Maybe it’s the way the sea spreads like a living painting beneath you. Maybe it’s the hush inside, the smell of beeswax candles, the quiet prayers left behind.
Whatever it is, when you leave Protaras, you’ll remember not just the sand and the water but the view from above, the little church that felt much bigger than its size. Profitis Elias is proof that sometimes the smallest places hold the largest sky.
