Il Palio and Perugia



SUNDAY, July 16, 1995.

A few weeks ago, I returned to Siena to witness "Il Palio," a local summer festival where they race horses around the perimeter of the Piazza del Campo. It occurs only twice a year - once in July and once in August. If you've been to Siena, you know that the shape of the Campo is somewhat sub-optimal for horse racing. It is semi-circular and slopes gently upward. If I were a race horse, I wouldn't like turning corners that were greater than 90 degrees. Luckily, I'm not a race horse. Each "contrada" (neighborhood) of Siena wants more than anything to win the Palio. There are 17 contradas, but because of practical constraints, only 10 get to participate in any given Palio. This is done by lottery, but every contrada is guaranteed to run one July and one August Palio at least once every other year. I could explain this in more detail, but you don't care. For this little city in Tuscany where not much really happens, Il Palio is it.

I rolled out of Zurich on Friday night, June 30, on the night train to Florence. Italy here I come again! I'd made two phone calls to Siena earlier in the week. One to the hotel where I had my reservation. I'd asked Signora Provvedi back in February if I could stay with her for Il Palio, but she'd said that she already had other people staying with her, so I set out to find myself a hotel room. Every place I called (in February!) was already booked. With Signora Provvedi's help, I landed a room at an (expensive) hotel run by a friend of hers. Connections aren't everything, but they sure do help. I also called Signora Provvedi who'd said in February that we should "do lunch" when I was back in town. In was a real kick to talk with her on the phone. I was hobbling along in my Italian. It's a funny thing, my Italian. It's absolutely terrible. I know about three verbs and five nouns and less grammar than a parakeet, but I absolutely love the fact that I can communicate at all in a language other than English. We agreed that I would simply go straight to her apartment when I arrived in Siena.

Though it was no surprise that the city was filled with tourists, I knew right away that something was up because the early morning local train from Florence to Siena was full. You know, all those early Saturday morning commuters... not! Funny though, as with the airport in Athens, I was the only person from the train who took the bus into town. Everyone else had people waiting for them - it was a train full of Italians with friends in town. Come to think of it, I didn't hear any English (or German) on the train - these are the tourist languages. I'd cruised into town with all of the "in-the-know" Italians.

I didn't go straight to Signora Provvedi's (boy am I ever disobedient). Instead, I went straight to Nanini for a (oh, boy, oh, boy) real Italian cappuccino and an absolutely unnecessary early morning piece of Torta al Cioccolato, because life is uncertain. I also stocked up on Sienese goodies for gifts since I feared that everything might be sold out by the end of the weekend. This was a paranoid delusion. Nanini and all the other pastry shops in town were perched and ready to sell at least 100 pounds of Panforte to every last visitor. They were as happy as Toys'R'Us at Christmas time, but better stocked. At least I got my shopping out of the way early. Plus, any excuse to go to Nanini is a good excuse.

Naturally, I had to cross through the Campo on my way to Provvedi's, and I was shocked by what I saw. The perimeter of the Campo had been turned into a race track. It was completely covered with dirt - Terra (earth) in Piazza, they call it. Plus, there were bleachers set up against the building, a fence separating the track from the rest of the Campo, souvenir stands, people with horses, and big colorful flags! And tourists! It wasn't packed yet, but there were more tourists than I'd ever seen during the winter. Il Palio! I snapped a few photos and then headed down to via San Martino, 10, and buzzed upstairs.

I was buzzed in and headed up the familiar 72 steps to the apartment on the top floor. I was instantly nostalgic and completely amazed by the visual familiarity. I felt suddenly like I'd never left, but I knew just as strongly that I had left, that this life was behind me. It was a big time-warp. It'd only been four months since I'd left. In the scheme of things this is nothing. Really, I'd just been there. But considering the density of experiences I'd had in those four months, it seemed more like four years. My first term of freshman year at MIT always seems like it was as long as the next six semesters combined. When everything is new, new, new, time seems not slower, just longer. Tell a five year old to wait a year for something, and you're basically telling him to wait for the next ice age. This subsides as we age. Actually, I think it may have nothing to do with our age. It has to do with the fact that things become increasingly familiar and mundane.

Though I'd just had a cappuccino, this was Italy and I couldn't turn down the offer of a cafe. So we sat there in the kitchen sipping espresso like we always had before and talking in painful Italian like we always had before, but it was exciting and fresh and we'd had time to recover from the massive build up of communication frustration. She may be 78, but she's got a memory, and she asked me many relevant questions about my travels - stuff she remembered about my mom coming to Spain and about my job in Zurich. This also proved to me that I had actually managed to communicate with her. She turned on the TV and there was live coverage of the Campo. Turns out that if I'd stayed down there another 15 minutes, I could've seen a practice race - darn! At least, there was another one that evening that I would see - a good chance to see the horses go by with a smaller crowd, although the real super-charged crowd and excitement only existed for the main event.

Photos of Siena

It didn't take me long to chat myself out in Italian, so I headed out to check into my hotel and have a look around. Signora Provvedi said to come back for lunch at 1:30. Sure. You betcha! I walked across town to the Athena hotel. It seemed that as every minute elapsed more tourists were arriving. I dumped my pack in the room (which to my delight was air conditioned, but certainly not so great for about $100 a night) and headed out. I went and knocked on the door of the apartment where Carol, Michele and Malina used to live hoping that Carol might still be around. She wasn't, but I met the new tenants who knew her and were amused by my stopping by to say hello. I knew for sure that everyone else was gone and it was a bit depressing to visit somewhere where all my friends had left. It was a bit like going back to Montclair, New Jersey where I grew up.

I really wasn't sure what to do. Here I was back in Siena for Il Palio, something I had to do. Still, I'd already seen this town - wandering around was not likely to reveal much new. I did notice that a nightclub where I'd seen a cool blues band had been turned into a snazzy post-modern laundromat (hey! perhaps the Internet cafe concept could be expanded to include Internet laundromats), but really what to do? I went to the bookstore and bought myself a book of short stories by John Irving (Trying to Save Piggy Sneed) and headed to Piazza La Lizza across from my old school and read on a bench next to some old Italian men. The weather was great and it was fun. Did I have to travel to Siena for this? Yes.

Lunch was a delicious feast, a typical Provvedi meal, but I'd gone four long months without one and I was overjoyed. First a bowl of rotelli with ricotta and pesto. Then some stuffed zucchini, stuffed tomatoes and some sliced beef simmered in olive oil. She had the sweetest sliced strawberries for dessert, and, of course, espresso. Marco and Simone, her grandsons about my age from across the street, joined us for lunch and were just so darned unappreciative. The TV was on for the meal and they took it all for granted. I was super-appreciative and managed to say something in Italian along the lines of "I didn't have the cooking of Provvedi for four months. This didn't please me." This made her very, very happy.

After lunch, I went back to the hotel for a nap and some more reading. On my way back to the hotel, I decided to visit the Duomo which quickly reminded me of its beauty. There were two American women having their picture taken by a third. I said, "Why not have all three of you in the picture?" I took their camera and had to lay on my back to get a picture of the three of them and a reasonable shot of the Duomo in the background. They said I sure was a dedicated stranger. I answered some of their questions about the town and then I sent them straight to Nanini. After my nap, it was back to the Campo at 5 PM to catch the afternoon practice race. It was pretty wild to see the horses running around. One of the horses was really fast, galloping in long strides for all three laps. Others weren't so into it. One horse stopped in front of me to show me his teeth before deciding to continue on... walking. Can you call a horse a dork?

Photos of Siena

Photos of Siena

Photos of Siena

The rest of the day was spent enjoying culinary delights (pizza, gelato, cappuccino, Panforte) and walking around town just watching all the tourists discovering everything. I visited the pizza place where I had lunch all the time and they remembered me and I chatted a bit with the cashier and that was cool, yet my overwhelming psychological state was a downer. I wasn't really depressed, but something was eating me. I think I was homesick. I think that returning to Siena got me to thinking about the roots of my European adventure. November in Belgium with Ebie. Siena. The Rome that wasn't. Somehow, it started to feel so over, like returning to Siena was providing some kind of closure. But then I knew it wasn't over, that I still had four and half months to go in Zurich and plenty of plans, but still somehow it felt like it should be over. But then I got to thinking that if it were over, then what would I do? Go back to Silicon Valley and fall back in to the same old routine? No, never. Never the same old routine. But what? What? I went over to the Piazza della Liberta, the Fort where Ebie and I (and later Lonnie, the "American girls", and I) had watched the sun set. I figured that if I was going for closure, I should go for closure. I watched the sun set.

Sunday was the big day of the Palio and more and more tourists flooded into town. I had lunch at Signora Provvedi's again. This time I got to have some of her famous tomato sauce with garlic - rotelli al pomodoro! Yum. Except for the change in pasta sauce, the same meal as Saturday, but still darn tasty. I could eat her cooking everyday, forever. I was lucky to get it for two months. Though I admit that a burrito to break the monotony wouldn't hurt. Or perhaps an Indian restaurant?

During lunch, I saw on TV that people were already (at 2 PM) staking out good places to stand for the 7:30 main event. After lunch, I went to claim my spot. I figured that I was in Siena to see this darn race, and I was going to see it, damn it. Hard to believe, but five hours before show-time, all of the spaces up against the fence were taken. However, I noticed that there were pieces of the fence, to be replaced later, that had been removed to allow access to the center. I decided that I would simply stand in a gap and hold my ground until the fence was replaced. I had the misfortune to pick the opening that would be last to close. The final mad surge of people into the Campo pushed by me. After standing four and a half hours in the brutal sun, I wasn't about to be pushed away from my spot (I wasn't the only one with this scheme by the way). It was brutal, especially when they finally did come to put the fence in place. At that point, mothers being separated from their children were screaming. Crying children were being lifted over the fence while it was still in motion. People were pushing, shoving and somehow, miraculously, I ended up pushed only one person back away from the fence. I considered this a major accomplishment.

Standing there for hours before the race, I got to see the crowd fill in, and it was some crowd. I got to see a cart drawn by oxen. People in costumes with crossbows. Costumed people marching with the flags of the contradas, waving the flags and flipping them in the air as a finale. A sign marched by declaring Il Palio Luglio (July) 1995. I saw the band come in and take the best seats. I was expecting them to be saved for important looking people in suits or celebrities. And then suddenly, it was time! The horses were off and running and it was really exciting. Everyone was into it and the horses ran around three times and then it was over maybe two minutes after it'd begun and suddenly the fence was removed and I was out on the track running among all the other running people and drums and flags and people crying in joy and following everyone through the streets to a victory celebration inside a church. (So it's a run-on sentence, big deal.) It was really emotional. It made me cry. There was just so much emotional energy. Crying, laughing, screaming, they were all unavoidable. Somewhere in the excitement, I met a student that I'd known in January, who had left in February, and apparently had come back in March and never left - though she is no longer a student, she has no plans of leaving town. She tipped me off as to the location of the contrada victory party. Her contrada won!

It was madness. I made my way back out to Banchi di Sopra, the main drag, and watched the flood of people leaving town. It was amazing. Palio's over, let's go. They weren't even stopping for one last bite of Panforte at Nanini, so I did. A cappuccino and a hunk of Panforte and then more watching people move past and then back down to the Campo where an amazing transformation had already begun. Virtually everyone was gone from the Campo. The sanitation crews were out picking up trash and sweeping and spraying down the Campo. A crew was out dismantling the bleachers. Incredible. They ought to hire these guys to sort the mail in Rome. I hit the celebration party, where I helped start emptying the huge barrels of local wine. All night people were parading around with the flag of the winning contrada, drumming and being really happy about winning. In other parts of town, the losing contradas were taking down their flags and putting everything away, sullen and disappointed and probably already thinking about next time.

After plenty of wine, night had fully fallen and candles lit the top of the Palazzo Publico (this is not normal) and people had returned to the nicely cleaned Campo to hang out. I ended up sitting around with an American guy from San Diego with his guitar and a bunch of English speaking Italians - all men except for one woman (with her boyfriend). This was a rare chance to talk to a local woman. I asked her where she was from and she said Siena, so I asked which contrada, and she said that she was actually from a town outside of Siena, and I asked where, and she said Grosetto, and I said, "Oh, Grosetto, I spent a night there," and she asked why, and I said that I'd taken the wrong train out of Rome, and she laughed. The guy from San Diego was quite a good guitarist and he could sing and we sat around and sang songs including the Rolling Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil," with everyone really getting into the Woo-woo's.

My wine-buzz started wearing off and I suddenly got depressed again and knew that I'd never be able to lead sing-a-long like this guy (as much as I want to) and somehow I just started thinking that Siena was over and I went back to the hotel.

In the morning, I paid a possibly final (though this makes me sad) visit to Signora Provvedi. She joked that she might not be alive the next time I made it back to Siena. I wish she could live forever. She is so kind and unselfish and taken for granted by those around her. I couldn't find the words, but I said every nice thing I could in Italian and gave her a kiss on the cheek and we held hands and suddenly spoken language was unnecessary and we both knew in our hearts that we wished each other only the best. Then down 72 stairs out onto the street and I decided to walk down to the station. In the Campo, half the dirt had already been removed.

Farewell, Siena. Farewell.

My original plan was to continue on to Perugia, which had made it onto my list of cities to visit, but which I hadn't yet visited. Somehow I was emotionally exhausted and just wanted to return to Zurich. I argued with myself. Why throw away an opportunity? And so I made myself go. Perugia ho!

There's really not much to say about Perugia. I didn't really want to be there - I forced myself to go and I'm glad that I did because now I've seen it and don't have to wonder for the rest of my life what it would have been like if I'd gone. As with any Italian hill town, its train station is at the bottom of the hill. I took a bus up, up, up into town and headed for the hostel - which really has quite a good location near piazza Duomo, the town hangout. I was surprised by the absence of large Baci walking in the streets. I think I was expecting a visit to something like Hershey, Pennsylvania where the street lamps are capped by Hershey's Kisses, where just about everything reminds you that this is where Hershey's chocolate comes from. In fact, I can't say that there was any more opportunity to buy Baci than in any other Italian town. In case you have no idea what I'm talking about - Baci are chocolate kisses with an oh-so-delightful-for-that-single-crunch hazelnut inside - they are made in Perugia. They can be purchased just about everywhere - including the Italian sandwich shop near my office here in Zurich - but like in the U.S., they're a bit more expensive in Zurich than in Italy. In Italy, you buy them like you'd by a 10 cent Peppermint Patty or the like - out of a box sitting on the corner shop counter. Of course, you can by large boxes of them as well. They are good. I introduced Jack to these in Venice and when I saw him again in Paris, he'd stocked up.

If Perugia is in any way representative, Umbria (the region of Italy) is a Tuscany want to be. Perugia was OK - but I couldn't help but think that Siena is simply better. The Perugians never finished their Duomo because they lost a war and had to return the stolen marble they were going to use for the facade. Doh! Their Palazzo Publico resembles Siena's in many ways but doesn't have a Piazza del Campo in front of it. Like I said, the Piazza Duomo serves as the hangout but it's not that fabulous - it just serves as the hangout. In Siena, the Campo deserves to be sat in, even if you're alone. I explored the town, rode the public, outdoor escalators (weird!) up and down the hill, looked at some old churches, the university zone, yeah, yeah, I felt like I'd seen it all before - but better. Perhaps I've seen too much. Am I jaded? Still, I love Italy... it was my mood - still feeling down, homesick, something.

Photos of Perugia

Because it was the thing to do, I hung out in Piazza Duomo for the evening. There was a ton of English being spoken and tons of students, and even all the local Italians seemed to speak English. I met a group of students on a summer program from the University of Wisconsin at Madison. They were a fun bunch with their concerns properly prioritized - beer is more important than cigarettes which are more important than food. They drank and drank and had fun arguing with their friend Georgia (named after her home state) who had quite a mouth and attitude and loved to be disagreeable. It was entertaining. I fazed out of that conversation. Then a woman came and sat down next to me on the steps. We started off in Italian, but quickly switched to English. She was from Slovenia which I'd learned existed from the girls I met while waiting for the ferry in Milazzo, Sicily. It's next to Italy, below Austria and is part of the ex-Yugoslavia. We chatted about this and that and then walked around town with some of her friends from Marcedonia (also part of the ex-Yugoslavia), who had at some point joined us on the steps. It was interesting but awkward. They all spoke way better Italian than I did and were also unhappy about speaking English, and so I felt guilty in English and stupid in Italian, but heck, it was something to do.

Back at the hostel, some guy kept me up the whole friggin' night snoring his head off. I wasn't the only one awake either. I kept kicking his bunk but it'd only help for about 10 seconds. When the sun was finally coming up and I'd hardly slept a wink, I was really mad, and I kicked his bed really hard. He woke up and looked at me like "What the hell?" and I raised my finger to my mouth and said, "Sssh!" and that was that. I decided it was time to leave. I'd say I slept for about an hour the whole night. I headed out of town back to Florence.

I got stuck with an hour layover in some tiny village in Umbria - so I decided to go for a walk and look for a barber to shave off my goatee, which had started to drive me crazy again. I found a little flea market and then a barber. It was my first barbershop shave and though it made me nervous to have someone else in charge of the razor on my neck, it was cool. Ta da! A clean-shaven look again. Back in Florence, I had to decide whether I should spend the afternoon and evening in Florence and take the night train I'd reserved or if I should just go home. I decided that I'd had enough and that I'd just go back to Zurich and get a good night's sleep before I had to go to work on Wednesday morning (I'd taken Monday and Tuesday off - what kind of American would I be if I worked on July 4?) .



Copyright 1997 by Bradley Edelman
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