- Destinations
- Experiences
- Stay
- What's new
- Celebrating People
- Responsible Tourism
- CampaignsCampaigns
- Subscribe
- Buy Now
Perched atop Vomero Hill, high above the lively chaos of Naples, Castel Sant’Elmo is the kind of place where the entire city spills out beneath you like a living fresco. Terracotta rooftops, the blue sweep of the Tyrrhenian Sea, Mount Vesuvius brooding in the horizon—it’s a view that has long made the castle a pilgrimage for travellers seeking that “Naples moment.” But at the castle’s belvedere, something quietly extraordinary waits, something that ensures this famous view does not belong only to those who can see it.
Running along a 92-foot stretch of the castle’s parapet is a sleek stainless-steel railing. At first glance, it looks like an ordinary guardrail; a safety feature blending with the medieval ramparts. But run your fingers across it, and a different story unfolds. The surface is textured with Braille—carefully etched verses describing the valley, the sea, the volcano, the cityscape, and the centuries layered beneath them. For visitors who are blind or low-vision, the panorama is no longer out of reach. They, too, can “read” the landscape.
This thoughtful detail is not merely embellishment, it is a reimagining of how we experience place, memory, and beauty.
Castel Sant’Elmo dates back to the 14th century, when Aragonese rulers shaped it into the star-shaped fortress still visible today. Over the centuries, it served as castle, prison, lookout, symbol of power, and now cultural site. Locals know it as a vantage point where Naples appears almost quiet, softened by altitude.
Visitors often climb the slope expecting only a view. But this castle has always been layered—its chambers hold exhibitions, its bastions carry echoes of armies and revolts. And now, its walls hold a gesture of inclusion that subtly shifts how we think about heritage and access.
The Braille railing is an artwork by Neapolitan artist Paolo Puddu, titled Follow the Shape. Installed first as a temporary intervention in 2015, it later became permanent in 2017 after winning the “Un’opera per il Castello” competition, a programme encouraging artists to re-engage historic sites with contemporary ideas.
What Puddu has created isn’t just a description of the view—it’s a literary and sensory journey. Passages from Italian writer Giuseppe de Lorenzo’s La terra e l’uomo appear alongside other evocative descriptions of Naples’ landscapes. The text is presented in Braille in both Italian and English, allowing readers to perceive not just geography, but sentiment—the poetry of the place.
Importantly, the piece is not meant exclusively for visually impaired visitors. The act of following the text with one’s hands is an invitation to slow down. To “trace” the horizon rather than devour it in a single glance. For sighted visitors, it becomes a reminder: seeing is only one way of knowing.
Follow the Shape is the kind of intervention that seems simple—almost obvious—once you notice it. Yet, such obviousness is precisely what the accessibility movement has long struggled to achieve. Public spaces, especially heritage sites, often prioritise preservation over adaptation, treating accessibility as something secondary or optional.
Here, however, inclusion is woven into the experience itself.
The railing does not alter the castle’s architecture. It doesn’t interrupt the view. It doesn’t announce itself loudly. Instead, it exists as a parallel pathway into meaning. And that is its quiet brilliance—everyone shares the same panorama, but not through the same sensory channel.
Efforts like these highlight something essential: travel is not merely about seeing. It is about storytelling—about being moved by place, history, geography, and the emotions they stir. And storytelling can happen through words, touch, movement, memory, and imagination.
Around the world, museums and heritage sites have begun experimenting with tactile sculptures, audio pathways, multi-sensory exhibitions. But Castel Sant’Elmo’s railing stands out precisely because of its elegance—it is low-cost, low-tech, yet deeply transformative.
For visually impaired travellers, this is more than convenience, it is inclusion. It is recognition. It is the right to beauty.
There is a particular magic in the idea that the skyline of Naples—the same skyline painted by artists, photographed by tourists, celebrated in song—can also be read. Fingertips instead of eyes. Rhythm instead of perspective. The landscape becomes not merely visual territory, but shared cultural space.
And in this small yet powerful gesture lies a lesson for architects, planners, museum curators, and anyone who builds or preserves spaces of wonder: Accessibility is not a compromise. It is enrichment.
As discussions about inclusive tourism continue, Castel Sant’Elmo offers a model worth studying. Not because it solved everything—but because it demonstrates what is possible when design begins with empathy. When beauty is not gatekept. When history is not exclusive.
So, the next time you find yourself in Naples, climb the hill. Stand at the ramparts. Look out, or reach out, and follow the shape of the city.
The view is waiting. For everyone.
1. What is the Braille railing at Castel Sant’Elmo?
It’s a 92-foot stainless-steel handrail etched with Braille text that describes the panoramic view from the castle, allowing visually impaired visitors to “read” the landscape.
2. Who created the installation?
The installation, titled Follow the Shape, was created by Neapolitan artist Paolo Puddu and became a permanent feature of the castle in 2017.
3. What texts are included on the railing?
The Braille inscriptions feature descriptive passages and literary excerpts, including writings by Italian author Giuseppe de Lorenzo, in both Italian and English.
4. Is the railing only for visually impaired visitors?
No. While it enhances accessibility, sighted visitors are also encouraged to interact with it, using touch to experience the view more reflectively.
5. Where is the railing located within the castle?
It runs along the belvedere at the top of Castel Sant’Elmo, overlooking Naples, the Tyrrhenian Sea, and Mount Vesuvius.
