Italy’s hidden myths. From ancient gods to enchanted villages
Italy isn’t just a country—it’s a story. A place where ancient myths seep into the cobblestones, and every corner seems to whisper secrets from another time. For me, it’s a place that refuses to be ordinary. Let me take you to five places where Italy’s magic isn’t just remembered—it’s alive.
The Sibyl’s Cave, Mount Vulture: riddles in the shadows
If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to stand where legends were born, the Sibyl’s Cave in Basilicata is that place. Perched in the rugged hills of Mount Vulture, this eerie grotto was said to be the lair of a prophetess who offered riddles to those desperate for answers.
The hike to the cave wasn’t for the faint-hearted, with sharp rocks and sudden gusts of wind.
By the time I reached the entrance, my heart was pounding—not just from the climb. Inside, the air was cool, damp, and utterly silent. Marco, a local historian, joined me there, holding a lantern that flickered like it was alive.
“People come here looking for clarity,” he said, shaking his head. “But the Sibyl doesn’t do clarity. Her answers? Pure chaos, like life itself.” I laughed nervously, but the weight of his words stayed with me.
Standing in the cave’s shadows, it was hard not to wonder what I’d ask if I had the chance—and whether I’d want to know the answer.
Civita di Bagnoregio: a village holding on
Civita di Bagnoregio isn’t just a village; it’s a survivor. Perched precariously on a crumbling hill, connected to the modern world by a single narrow bridge, it feels like something out of a dream—or maybe a warning.
As I crossed the bridge, I met Luca, a wiry man carrying a crate of fresh tomatoes.
“It’s not easy living here,” he said with a shrug. “Every day, we wonder if the hill will win.
But hey, life’s a gamble, isn’t it?” The village itself was hauntingly beautiful, with ivy creeping over stone walls and windows that seemed to watch as I passed.
At Anna’s trattoria, I sat down for a plate of homemade pasta. “This place doesn’t just survive; it thrives,”
Anna said, pouring me a glass of wine. “You’ve got to respect a town that fights back.” As I watched the sunset turn the valley golden, I realised Civita isn’t just dying, it’s teaching us how to live.
Lake Nemi: Diana’s reflection
Nestled in the Alban Hills, Lake Nemi is more than just a pretty spot—it’s a place that feels alive.
The Romans believed it was sacred to Diana, the goddess of the hunt, and called it her mirror.
Walking along the shore, I met Lorenzo, a fisherman who looked like he’d stepped out of a Hemingway novel. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips and a fishing net slung over his shoulder.
“You think this lake is just water?” he said, squinting at the horizon. “It’s a mirror, sure.
But it shows you more than your face. Shows you what’s inside, and not everyone likes that."
I laughed, but there was something in his tone that made me uneasy. Standing there, with the lake perfectly still and the hills wrapping around it like a secret, I felt like the world had paused—just for a moment.
The Forest of Casentino: a sacred silence
The Forest of Casentino, tucked into Tuscany’s rolling hills, is the kind of place that doesn’t just take your breath away, it gives it back, slower and deeper. It’s said to be a place where saints walked, where the divine feels just a little closer.
Giulia, a park ranger with mud-streaked boots and a bright smile, was my guide.
“People come here for peace,” she said, brushing a leaf off her sleeve. “But what they find is perspective.
This forest doesn’t care who you are, it just is. You either get that, or you don’t.” We stopped at a clearing where sunlight poured through the trees like liquid gold. “This,” Giulia said, gesturing around us, “isn’t about escaping life.
It’s about remembering how to be part of it.” Sitting under an ancient chestnut tree, I felt the forest breathe around me, timeless and unyielding.
Triora: shadows and resilience
Triora wears its past like a badge of honour—and a warning. High in the Ligurian Alps, this medieval village was Italy’s Salem, where women accused of witchcraft were imprisoned and tried.
The cobbled streets were narrow and steep, twisting like the stories of those who once lived there.
Lucia, who runs a shop selling handmade charms, greeted me with a warm grin and a knowing look. “Tourists come here for the witches,” she said, holding up a charm shaped like a crescent moon.
“But the witches? They’re still here. You can feel them, can’t you?” I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if it was agreement or just the atmosphere getting to me.
Climbing to the ruined castle at the top of the village, I looked out over the valley below. Triora isn’t haunted—it’s alive.
And the stories it tells aren’t about fear, they’re about survival.
Italy’s stories are your own
Italy’s myths aren’t just history—they’re part of the landscape, woven into the hills and lakes and forests.
From the reflective stillness of Lake Nemi to the quiet strength of Civita di Bagnoregio, these places remind us that the past isn’t gone—it’s waiting for us to remember it. So, go. Walk the cobbled streets. Stand in the shadows. And let Italy’s magic tell you something about yourself.
