Siena and the Palio

“A traveler without observation is a bird without wings.” – Moslih Eddin Saadi

The next day dawned hot and bright (of course!) and we were off to explore the crete sienese (literally means sienese clay) – an area mainly characterized by pure and untouched nature: hills, woods, waters and a semi-desert. The colours are unique to the Sienna area as it was covered by sea about two and a half million years ago. On the way we stopped at a mediaeval fortified village. Up on the old original wooden fortifications we could see all around to the Tuscan oak tree forests and the villages in the distance. “Look, I promised you more bells,” Martin said and just then the bells began to ring in two belfries. 

We then drove to where Barry and Martin were to begin their cycle and Jesse and I drove off into the Sienese hills. I was fascinated by the type and colour of wheat in the fields – so different from my Canadian prairie experience. Jesse managed to find a place to pull off the road and he and I took cameras in hand and explored. I waded out into a wheat field and stood still – and breathed in the silence. Then slowly it dawned on me – it was so very silent. There was no traffic noise, nor conversations. But neither were there cicadas with their constant, temperature inflected chirr, nor were there birds, of any sort, of any song. It was just so very, very silent. By each of the villas there were the swallows, the cicadas, other birds and their different song languages. But here, up to my waist in golden, soft-headed wheat, not a single insect alighted on me (unlike the grasshoppers in the Canadian prairie wheat fields), not a bird sang nor flew across my vision. Other-worldly. Was this silence part of the Tuscan magic, or the result of too much pesticide. I hoped with all of my heart that it was the former.

As we drove on we circled back over some of the week’s previous roads and saw again some Chianina cattle (a very large breed of cattle, formerly used for draft work). There had been a small herd as we had driven up to our fortress villa. They were together on a small knoll that was just large enough for their number. There were about ten of them, including some calves. When had first seen them they had all been laying down in the last rays of the dying sun. Today, they were all standing, all facing out in a circle like they were their very own crop circle. Jesse told me that in all the times they have driven past that place, the cattle seem never to have moved from that knoll. They stared at us with that bovine look that is so very enigmatic.

That evening we went to the town of Siena, a town said to have been founded by the sons of Romulus and Remus. As it turned out it was the eve of the Palio, Europe’s most famous and frantic horse race. Seventeen different neighborhoods hurl themselves into traditional revelry and medieval abandon, each supporting a horse in the race. Neighborhood pride is evident in the parades, the childrens’ choirs, the flag throwing, the banners, the singing, the wearing of colourful scarves signifying their neighborhood. We found a place against a stone wall and just watched – it was fantastic. Each horse is led, surrounded by the citizenry that it represents, to the cathedral where they are led up to where the priest stands by the altar. He blesses them with “go and return victorious”. The jockeys themselves are considered hired guns . . . paid mercenaries. The race is a no-holds-barred affair,  a bareback race held in the Piazza del Campo and it lasts all of seventy-five crazed, chaotic seconds. First horse across the line wins, even if it doesn’t have a rider by that time. Then one-seventeenth of Siena goes berserk for the next 365 days. This is not an event put on for tourists, it is instead the yearly competition for the pride of identity. The whole experience was wild – and we didn’t even see the actual race.

A little later, after several detours and back-tracking (whole sections are blocked off for either victory or sorrowful feasts), and exhausting ourselves pushing through the crowds we arrived at our restaurant for the night – the Antica Osteria “Da Divo”. It was unique in that it is in ancient Estruscan rooms cut out of the ‘tuff’ – the soft volcanic rock on which Siena is built. The murals and mosaics on the walls were truly beautiful and the food fabulous. Late that night we were driven back to our villa – all of our senses sated with fantastic food, Etrucan history and the Palio.