At the foot of the Gran Sasso d'Italia lies a village that seems to spring from stone and wind, a place where the air smells of real mountain air and silence still holds the sound of footsteps on ancient cobblestones.
Walking through the narrow streets of Castel del Monte
Castel del Monte appears suddenly, its compact form resembling a star from above, and at night, when the lights outline the houses, it looks like a nativity scene suspended between sky and rock. To enter it means crossing an invisible threshold: the alleys narrow, the limestone facades brush against each other, churches emerge like silent presences, but it is above all the overhangs that tell the soul of the village.
Arches carved into the rock, tunnels supporting stacked houses, passageways uniting residential cores in a masterful interplay of volumes and shadows: walking beneath the overhangs is like traversing the very memory of the village, in a succession of views that surprise and protect, that close off and then suddenly open to the light. These are not simple architectural elements, but the defining signature of Castel del Monte, proof of an ancient constructive knowledge capable of transforming necessity into beauty.
Around, the mountain dominates and inspires. Just beyond the village stretches the immensity of Campo Imperatore, the “Little Tibet of Abruzzo”, a plateau that takes your breath away with its vastness and the light that changes by the hour. Here the land tells the millenary story of the Transhumance, the seasonal journey of flocks towards the Apulian plains, when hundreds of shepherds and millions of animals crossed drovers' roads and valleys following the rhythm of the seasons.
Castel del Monte is the homeland of this ancient civilisation, and even today farms produce intense cheeses, cured meats, fine meats, even a craft beer made with hops grown at high altitude, as if to demonstrate that the mountain continues to nourish those who live there. Yet, the most surprising thing is to discover that those shepherds, often imagined as rough, isolated men, were actually cultured individuals. During the long hours of guarding the flock, they carried books with them, read the great classics, and learned to write and to think. The solitude of the plateau became time for the mind, space for poetry.
This is testified by the life of Francesco Giuliani, the shepherd poet to whom the municipal theatre is dedicated. A self-taught woodcarver and the living memory of the village, Giuliani wrote down stories, rituals, and traditions in his notebooks, transforming the experience of transhumance into verses and reflections. In his house, now part of the scattered museum, one can still feel that blend of simplicity and depth that belongs to someone who knew how to make the mountains a school of life. And then there are the churches, guardians of faith and history, such as the Madonna dei Pastori, which every 2nd July welcomed the return of the flocks, or the small San Rocco, built after the plague – tangible signs of a community that has always intertwined spirituality and survival.
Castel del Monte is also a place of mystery. For centuries, it was believed that witches inhabited its nights, wandering through the alleys to cast spells, particularly against children. The women of the village, to break the enchantment, would silently walk seven paths in the same night, carrying the sick person's clothes to a crossroads where they were burned in an ancient ritual, suspended between religion and superstition. Today, that memory lives on in a grand summer festival that transforms the village into an open-air theatre of lights, stories, and re-enactments that bring to life the shadows and legends, attracting thousands of visitors from all over Italy.
And when winter arrives and the snow slides slowly between the stone arches, when white envelops roofs and alleys and the silence deepens, Castel del Monte truly becomes a fairytale village. It is a place that doesn't just show itself, but allows itself to be felt, in the scent of wood, in the taste of its local produce, in the vast breath of the plateau. A village that embraces, calms, puts thoughts back in order and reminds us that in the mountains of Abruzzo, beauty is not just landscape, but culture, memory and living story.
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