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 itsself, It is made of marl, a white blinding stone, thanks also to the sunlight, whose underlying waters are incredibly clear and trasparent.
Come visitarla
Le visite al sito sono regolate in fasce orarie, con gruppi composti da un massimo di 35 partecipanti.
Ogni visita ha una durata di 60 minuti.
Orario visite:
🕙 dalle ore 10:00 alle 19:00 (ultimo ingresso)
Tipologie di PASS – "My Scala dei Turchi"
Per accedere al sito è necessario munirsi di un PASS, quale canone simbolico per la fruizione controllata del sito. Sono disponibili tre tipologie:
🎫 PASS AZZURRO – € 5,00
Per visite turistiche. Il costo è di 5 euro a persona, comprensivo di copertura assicurativa.
🎫 PASS BIANCO – Gratuito (€ 0,00)
Tariffa gratuita riservata a:
- residenti nel Comune di Realmonte;
- persone diversamente abili;
- scuole e università;
- attività scientifiche.
È necessario fare richiesta all’indirizzo e-mail:
📧 settore5.realmonte@gmail.com
🎫 PASS VERDE – € 1.000,00 (intera giornata)
Destinato a:
- riprese televisive o cinematografiche;
- shooting fotografici a fini pubblicitari o per la promozione di brand.
Il pass prevede un contributo di 1.000 euro oltre alla copertura assicurativa obbligatoria.
📌 Nota bene: I bambini fino a 12 anni compiuti entrano gratuitamente, purché accompagnati da un adulto.
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.”
