Scala dei Turchi
A clifftop, that with its white stone and marked in steps by the sea and the wind, makes the Realmonte's coast unique in the world.
It is so called due to its form shapes as a staircase, and according to the legend, during the period of Saracen raids, Turks climbed up to perpetrate their raids.
It stands between the beach and the hills that mark the coast itself, It is made of marl, a white brilliant stone, thanks also to the sunlight, whose underlying waters are incredibly clear and trasparent.
📌How to visit
Site visits are regulated by time slots, with groups limited to a maximum of 35 participants.
Each visit lasts 60 minutes.
Visiting Hours:
🕙 from 10:00 AM to 7:00 PM (last admission)
PASS Types – "My Scala dei Turchi"
To access the site, you must obtain a PASS, which serves as a symbolic fee for the controlled use of the site.
The online ticketing service for paid passes (Blue and Green) is managed by i-ticket.it.
Three types of passes are available:
🔵BLUE PASS – € 5,00
For tourist visits. The cost is 5 euros per person, including insurance coverage.
⚪WHITE PASS – Free (€ 0,00)
Free admission reserved for:
- residents of the Municipality of Realmonte;
- persons with disabilities;
- schools and universities;
- scientific activities.
Must be requested via e-mail at:
📧 settore5.realmonte@gmail.com
🟢GREEN PASS – € 1.000,00 (full day)
Intended for:
- television or film crews;
- photo shoots for advertising or brand promotion.
This pass requires a contribution of 1,000 euros in addition to mandatory insurance coverage.
📌Please note: Children up to 12 years of age (inclusive) enter for free, provided they are accompanied by an adult.
Watch the video
Andrea Camilleri's description of Scala dei Turchi into his novel Montalbano's First Case and Other Stories
“The profile of the highest part of the marl hill, was engraved against the blue sky, cloudless, and it was crowned with intense green hedges. In the lowest part, the tip formed by the last steps which sank into the light blue, caught full in full the blaze of the sun,it was streaking, blinging, in hues that leaned toward a deep rose- pink. The more recessed part of the cliff, by contrast, rested entirely on a bed of golden sand. Montalbano felt dazed by the excess of color _ real, full- throated cries – to the ponit that he had to shut his eyes and covers his ears with both hands. There were still about a hundred meters to go before reaching the base of the hill, but he preferred to admire it from a distance. It felt as though he'd stumbled into the real unreality of a painting, a work of art – and that he himself had become a blot of color in it, and a jarring one at that. He settled onto the dry sand. Bewtiched by it all.”
