Beneath the Surface: The Hidden Shrines of the Amalfi Coast (Part One)
12th february 2021, by Raffaele Ferraioli – Repost 4th june 2025
The Hermitage of Saint Barbara in Furore
They were once called the Saints who came from the sea, and their veneration was deeply felt in Furore. Among them were Saint Catherine of Alexandria, patroness of millers, honoured in the rock-hewn chapel by the Fjord; Saint Margaret of Antioch, protector of women in childbirth, whose image graces the frescoes in the Church of San Giacomo; and Saint Barbara of Nicomedia, the virgin warrior, patron of miners and fireworkers. The hermitage that bears her name stands on the western heights of Furore.
Climbing through the ruins. Unexpected Amalfi Coast
You reach the hermitage from Poggio le Marelle, along the Raven’s Nest Path (Sentiero dei Nidi di Corvo), passing through Centena, Sant’Alfonso, or Pizzocorvo.
Two mule tracks merge just before the site, continuing a few hundred metres to a steep stone staircase. At the top, a small roadside shrine appears, holding two painted ceramic tiles—one of Saint Barbara, the other of the Madonna of Pompeii—dating to the 19th and early 20th centuries, respectively.
From there begins the climb through the ruins—steps clinging to the rocky cliffside, partially collapsed in places. What remains of the hermitage consists of natural caves and the ruins of a church. According to local historian Matteo Camera, the site sits atop the rugged peaks of Furore.
The caves vary in size and are carved into the slopes beneath the Corona Plateau in Agerola, with sweeping views over the Praia valley and the Pennino stream below.
Sanctuary from fire and time
The main cave, at roughly 600 metres above sea level, dates back to the year 1000. It first hosted a community of hermits. The church, dedicated to the Saint who protects from fire, now lies in a state of advanced ruin. It is divided into upper and lower levels, connected by two narrow tunnels.
Some believe the cave is a typical limestone cavity, once shaped by underground water flows. This theory is supported by the presence of a nearby spring—once used by locals as a source of drinking water up until the 1950s.
A hidden entrance and a secret past
There are records of an ancient upper entrance, descending from the Agerola plateau directly into the upper cave—a perfect hideaway, with a secret escape route in case of outside attack. This passage was later sealed off by the Agerola town council when the area was used as a cemetery for victims of cholera, smallpox, and other infectious diseases.
During the age of brigandage—a turbulent period in 19th-century southern Italy marked by bandit uprisings—these caves offered a secure refuge for local bands.
The church and its transformations
The Church of Saint Barbara, located outside the cave, was one of the religious buildings connected to the Amalfi Duchy. Records from pastoral visits by Amalfi’s archbishops—official inspections of churches and chapels—reveal its evolution:
In 1715, it was tended by a hermit.
By 1732, it had two altars—one dedicated to the Crucifix, the other to Saint Barbara—with a small sacristy.
In 1769, it was closed due to roof damage, and that same year, it was repurposed as a cemetery for cholera victims, a role it maintained until the unification of Italy.
In 1850, it was confiscated by the state and sold to a private citizen, who in 1887 granted the municipality continued use for burials.
Today, the church’s remains are almost swallowed by vegetation. In the central nave, you can still see the apse, the masonry altar, and a faded fresco of the Madonna and Child. The collapsed ceilings of the three naves still outline their original shape.
A forgotten world
This is a place of ruin, silence, and forgotten stories. Countless legends still echo among these cliffs—handed down in the cunti, the old tales whispered by grandmothers.
The ruins of Saint Barbara rise, solemn and spectral. Time has etched them with the weight of forgotten rituals and fading memories. Here, history does not shout—it lingers.
Shadows of hermits and saints, of bandits and outlaws, seem to drift through the thickets in an atmosphere both mystical and tragic. The silence is complete—thick and absorbing.
This is a world removed from time, a vanished universe where the ambitions of history dissolve into obscurity. What remains is the delicate trace of something beyond memory—a flicker of presence, quiet and unresolved.