Our first day in Siena had tested us both. The next 24-and-a-bit hours would require commitment. But first we thought it best to buy our bus tickets to Rome for the Monday morning, before it sold out. This was to be the day’s first trying moment. Instead of the advertised five euros it was in fact 21 euros each - quite a difference.
In a huff we walked up into the main fortification of Siena and looked out over the city on what was a beautiful morning. This couldn’t even boost our spirits. So we walked into the basilica where we found not only a shrine to St Catherine but the relics, proof of her existence perhaps to the pilgrims. Among the trinkets in a glass box was her head, skin intact, even if the gristle of her nose had decayed along with part of her top lip. I was glad to see this one relic from a distance, yet to the pilgrims it is a great sight.
On we walked back toward the duomo to survey it without the assembled town’s folk, that we came across the night before. But of course, it was Sunday, and there was a service on - a good chance to grab lunch we guessed.
Wandering the streets there seemed to be only two options: pizza and pizza. Maybe with a side of pasta. Normally we’d love this but these meals had become our entire diet since we landed in Italy. Eventually we got tired of rejecting places and chose one of the tourist traps. Alysia was starving and ordered ravioli while I ordered a ribbolina soup and some roast (pan seared) veal. “Half a litre of wine?” Better make it a regular bottle and enjoy ourselves. While it wasn’t cheap I quite enjoyed it. Alysia enjoyed her dish too, all five pieces of it. Despite my repeated offers to share my meal she declined but help me plough through the bottle.
Back at the duomo people were flowing in through the doors so we followed suit. We had a much better view of the frescos including a whole room with texts from the 1500s and earlier. The only problem was, Alysia was drunk, having barely eaten. This was compounded by her missing breakfast. She didn’t get the happiness either - she virtually skipped straight to hungover. Wandering around the cathedral, followed by the crypt, the baptistry and then the museum. The only consolidation; it was a little cooler indoors. The crypt was a little disappointing. There were cabinets everywhere to display stuff but nothing in them. The room itself was a little more interesting, as we walked around on a false floor with glass sections so we could see the original dirt and rock floor, constructed as it was in the foundations of the duomo above. But there were no monuments or the like. The baptistry ceiling was beautifully painted in the most curious way. My favourite scene depicted people emerging from the earth almost like plants, pulling themselves out of the soil. It wasn’t the most beautiful but the most unexpected. We then entered the museum proper that housed the marble sculptures that once adorned the duomo. Now they’re safe I guess. The little glass chests that contained the bones of religious identities were interesting too. Our entry to the museum also included a panoramic vista (as the Italians call them). So we climbed yet another tower and out along a wall. If nothing else it gave us a great view of the Piazza del Campo where Palio would be run in little more than 24 hours.
With the day filled in we decided to grab some dinner. The trick though, was navigating the streets, flooded with people and blocked off so each province’s supporters could eat outside their church. We were keen for Chinese that we had spotted the night before, but couldn’t get back there. We were close to cannibalism and divorce (possibly in that order) after two hours and settled for another tourist trap of a restaurant - at least the food was good and in bigger portions than lunch. Time for bed.
The sun was well up when we rose. It was after breakfast so pizza for brunch was all but mandatory - we didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. Ready to go? No. The video camera battery was flat. With a quick charge we were out the door on our way to the del Campo at noon. By half past we had worked out the best vantage point in the centre of the square. We sat on the ground at the highest point so we could see as much of the track - 50cm of clay laid over cobblestones - as possible. As a bonus, we would get the shade soon. And we were in the second row off the fence. There we sat for hours, watching the square fill up, eating a handful of snacks and sipping water occasionally. There are no toilets in the square and once they close the gates you are stuck there so at minimum we had to hold our bladders for three hours. The water cart wetting the track surely tested a few bladders but provided many more the option of a shower if they urged the driver strong enough.
Here we had our second celebrity sighting of the trip in the form of Sting. He was in the terrace of one of the buildings directly in front of us, watching the entertainment below among the plebs.
A little after five the square was getting rather full and the prelude began. People roared as the guards, as I call them, rode into the square prancing along on horseback- the loudest cheers being saved for when they hit full gallop, swords drawn and outstretched. The cheers were few and far between from then on during the procession, extended toward the flag bearers from each of the 17 provinces. The men in their wigs, carrying batons or on horseback were equally worthy. But inevitably people would cheer when the flags were thrown into the sky and caught successfully.
The procession went on and on. Alysia in the midst of this succumbed to the heat and lack of food, feeling the urge to throw up. Maybe it was a drop in blood pressure from standing still so long, packed in like a sardine. A middle-aged couple were eager to help and make sure all was well though. They made her sit down while they fanned her with our hats. All I could do was watch helplessly. And try to get around the English Spanish language barrier. Perhaps she needed sugar he thought, so another guy was kind enough to offer some biscuits. All the while the parade went on. Four bullocks even pulled a heavy dray around with ornate solid timber pews atop, sitting in which were some men of the church. Right at the end all the flag bearers were vying to outdo one another. This was how Palio was to claim another victim. As the flag bearers were leaving the track one guy wrapped the flag around the pole and threw it higher than anyone into the air. Skewing off course, such was the force behind it, the bearer ran toward where he thought it would land. But he couldn’t reach it. Because it speared into the crowd. The paramedics ran toward the scene, seconds later, they pulled a woman out of the crowd on a stretcher. The drama didn’t end there. As the vehicle tried to manoeuvre a three-point turn it tagged the fence, raising another cheer from the crowd. This was only topped by the applause for safely getting her out of the stadium - a sign of appreciation to the medics.
The horses with their jockeys soon entered the stadium proper, having earlier been paraded. The rope starting line was strung from post to post and the theatrics began. Over a loudspeaker a man, seemingly at random, starting calling the horses to the startline. All the while corners of the crowd booed at their horse’s poor starting position. Then, the horses appeared unable to line up behind the rope. The theatrics grew as the jockeys then started fighting. This of course enraged corners of the crowd even more, screaming at the opposing jockeys. And when they couldn’t line up, the horses would be drafted back out for the process to start over. The jockeys drew the crops on each other at one stage - it was outrageously funny especially when one could see the jockey’s faces complete with small grin. Lined up again and again it was quite without warning when the race started and the crowd roared. The horses flew down the first straight and round the first bend - the speed magnified by how close we were. The rest is a blur. I struggled to capture any video and Alysia failed to really get any pictures. A horse lost its jockey, then they were seemingly crossing the finish line accompanied by three large explosions to signal the end. The crowd roared and were on the track in moments to meet the winner, the region symbolised by the tortoise. There was nothing left to do but head back to the room with some pizza and sleep. It was only 8pm.
Sam (August 15 and 16)
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