A Tango On Top of the World

Aug 01, 2025

Precipizio was the one-word theme of this year’s Le Parole della Montagna festival, a two-week series of lectures and discussions with authors, poets, and philosophers that takes place each summer in the small hill towns of our area in Le Marche. The word means “precipice”. Probably all of us, whether we live in rural Italy, urban America, or anywhere else in the world, can catch the relevance.

Right now it seems everyone has a feeling of balancing precariously on the edge. Even a Coldplay concert can prove one step too far.

To be fair, the Italian village of Smerillo is a remarkably tranquil place to talk about imminent danger. Buffered by its 12th century defenses, the population of 300 would appear to live in something as close to idyllic seclusion as can be mustered up in the 21st century, surrounded by green forest and flowering fields and views that take in the Sibillini mountains on one side, the Adriatic sea on the other, and the quilt of farmland, forest, and terracotta-tinted fairytale villages that stretches between the two. Even the heat of the Italian summer loses its steam by the time it gets to Smerillo. The night we attended the festival, it was so breezy and pleasant that some of the Italians were slipping on sweaters.

That’s because Smerillo is way up there. Often called “the roof of the Marche”, it perches 2500 feet above sea level. So presumably the locals know a thing or two about precipices, particularly after having narrowly survived the earthquakes that struck this part of Le Marche in 2016. There’s still a lot of orange mesh wrapped around buildings in Smerillo, and plenty of houses in a state of demolition, reconstruction, or quiet abandonment.

But the medieval porta is still standing, as is what remains of the watch tower, which is surrounded by a public garden. As a crowd of about fifty people sat on the lawn, listening attentively to a lecture about the ancient Greek concept of a chaotic abyss that swirls at center of the universe, there seemed to be little risk of imminent panic.

Later that evening, Roman poet, novelist and dramatist Daniele Mencarelli, best known for his book and subsequent Netflix series “Tutto chiede salvezza (Everything calls for salvation)” , spoke of our contemporary tendency to seek security by insulating ourselves, even when that may be the riskiest idea of all. “If my fourteen year old daughter were to announce to me that she was never going out again, but would spend all her time alone in her room” he suggested, “I might think: well, at least she’ll be safe,” But of course he quickly pointed out that the dangers of a quiet life at home— overexposure to social media, emotional isolation, family stress— are far more likely to cause harm than anything she would encounter outside. The precipice, he explained, is often closer than we know, like the tectonic shifts happening beneath our feet long before we feel the earthquake.

A few days later, we found ourselves on even loftier ground than Smerillo. This time we were in Abruzzo, where the jagged peaks of the Gran Sasso mountains scrawl like a painter’s signature along the bottom of the skyline. Somewhere among those rocks and ridges was Calascio, a town first founded by the Normans in the early 800’s.

There’s not a lot of traffic on the road up to Calascio, which is a good thing since there’s not a lot of road either. All you get is a two lane superstrada that spirals its way up the mountainside with an abundance of hairpin turns and notable lack of guardrails.

C had chosen this town as a convenient and interesting spot to spend the evening before catching an early bus from the city of L’Aquila. Given its position straddling a mountain in the Monti della Laga National Park, with no parking lot, motorized vehicle access, or even a central piazza, Calascio fell somewhat short on the convenience side. But even I had to admit that it did not fall short in most other respects. After all, it’s located at an elevation of almost 4000 feet. And that’s not even its highest point.

The top of the top would be Rocca Calascio, the highest fortress in Europe, which stands imperiously about a 1000 feet above the town itself. It was initiated in the 10th century as a single lookout point, and work was completed three hundred years later to create the imposing stone citadel that now towers over… well, almost everything.

From its position, it can survey the whole plain of Navelli and the high plain of Campo Imperatore, making it an ideal strategic spot for a military fort. Its forces used torches at night and mirrors in the day to send messages all the way down the Adriatic Coast. Yet it was never a residence for the nobles, probably because of its limited access. “Interesting”, I imagine they said when they saw it. “But not super convenient.”

On a summer Sunday, the pebbled paths from Calascio to the Rocca were busy with hikers and families on a excursion, eager to make the 40 minute trip up the slippery slope of the mountain to the fortress. There are two trails that lead to the top: one is longer but easier, while the other is shorter and more difficult. We managed to get lost, so I’m not entirely sure which one we took. But as we strode and stumbled up to the base of the structure, I was surprised to hear what sounded like music coming from inside the bulwarks. I did not take it as a good omen.

Could it be that in the most remote castle on the continent, someone built a snack bar, complete with piped-in music? I braced myself for cafe tables of spritz-sippers lounging around to the inglorious sounds of Radio Subasio. Is there truly no place one can go anymore for a little contemplative peace and quiet?

The music grew louder as we made it into lower part of the fortress and crossed the drawbridge into its center. When I turned the corner toward one of the four towers, I was fully expecting to see people lined up for pizza and fries.

Instead, they were dancing.

I mean, really dancing. Couples sashayed elegantly in the corridors behind the crenellated walls—the arid valleys of Abruzzo yawning far below—as if they were in a ballroom in Buenos Aires. Apparently, this was the final evening of the sixth annual Tango Competition. If the ruins of a 1000 year old castle on top of a mountain seem an unlikely location for such an event, consider it one more entry in Italy’s surrealist sweepstakes.

What better place then for a final lesson on the nature of the precipizio? If we haven’t learned this one after several thousand years of history, we probably should:

Security is an illusion. Even with its perfect elevated location and its impenetrable facade, Rocca Calascio was abandoned by the 1700’s, felled not by foreign invaders but a catastrophic earthquake. It turns out we’re never more vulnerable than when we’re at the top of the world.

So we can wall ourselves off if we wish. We can live in fear of the precipice and contemplate chaos and the abyss. But ultimately the best solution may be to fall in with the rhythms of nature, reach out to those next to us, and embrace the beauty and brevity of the present, whether it’s in an intimate tango or an awkward, fumbling foxtrot.

We all live on the edge—and always have. To learn to dance there is our only hope.

Life Lived Italian

Discussion about this post