There’s a place in Italy where time stands still.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
A place where the roads narrow into winding stone paths. Where the sky seems closer. Where the loudest sound is the wind brushing against ancient walls.
It’s called Civita Superiore, and chances are… you’ve never heard of it.
But once you do, you might never forget it.
High in the hills of Molise, a region already known for being overlooked even by Italians themselves, sits a village that seems untouched by the modern world.
Civita Superiore isn’t just small. It’s nearly abandoned.
No crowds. No traffic. No buzzing phones or honking horns.
Just cobbled alleys, empty courtyards, and stone houses whispering stories from centuries ago.
Some would call it desolate. Others — especially those burnt out by modern life — would call it paradise.
It wasn’t one event. It was a slow unraveling.
Earthquakes hit the area hard. People left, seeking safety.
Then came the bigger killer: opportunity elsewhere. Cities offered jobs, infrastructure, modern comforts.
And so, family by family, Civita Superiore emptied.
By the 1960s, the last residents packed up and walked away. They didn’t just leave homes behind — they left a whole way of life.
Today, only a handful of souls remain. Most of the village is still, quiet, and wonderfully eerie.
But here’s the twist: what once drove people away… is now exactly what draws others in.
In a world that’s constantly shouting, Civita Superiore whispers.
Want to get away from screens, schedules, and obligations? Come here.
Want to walk for hours and not meet a single soul? Civita.
Want to sit in a stone piazza, look out over rolling hills, and feel like you’ve slipped into a forgotten century? You know where.
This is a place that doesn’t try to impress you. It just is. And that’s its secret power.
At the heart of Civita stands a Norman castle, battered by wind and time. Locals say it’s haunted. That spirits roam the ruins, guarding the past.
Are the stories true? Maybe. Maybe not.
But walk through the village at dusk, when the light fades and shadows stretch long across the stone… and tell me you don’t feel something.
Every cracked door. Every faded fresco. Every stairwell worn by centuries of footsteps — it all feels alive.
Not with noise. But with memory.
First, breathe.
Then walk. Slowly.
Let your eyes adjust to the silence.
Climb the narrow alleys. Photograph the sun filtering through ancient archways. Touch the cool stone walls. Listen — not for noise, but for the absence of it.
Explore the Norman castle. Wander the trails around the village, deep into the untouched nature of Molise.
And when you’re ready to eat, head down to nearby towns for a taste of Molise’s rustic cuisine — local cheeses, mountain herbs, slow-cooked stews, desserts with names you can’t pronounce but flavors you’ll crave forever.
Civita Superiore isn’t for everyone.
It’s not Instagram-ready in the traditional sense. It doesn’t cater to tourists. There are no souvenir shops. No Wi-Fi cafés. No polished brochures.
But if you’re the kind of person who feels more at home in ruins than resorts, who prefers stories to selfies, who’d rather hear the wind than a playlist…
This place will wreck you — in the best possible way.
It’ll quiet the noise in your head. It’ll remind you what slowness feels like. It’ll haunt you long after you’ve left.
Would you spend a weekend in a forgotten village — just you, the wind, and 900 years of history?
Tag someone who needs this kind of escape. Or better yet… start packing.
Welcome!
