As a young girl, my wife read a children's book about a horse race, the fabled Palio in Siena. It was a simple child's tale about a stable hand who conquers adversity and grows up to win the race. That was decades ago, but the romance of it has remained with her for decades. So for last Christmas, I bought us plane tickets to Europe.



Italy does not change. Rather, it acretes.

In the cities of Rome and Florence and Pisa one can see buildings dating back to Roman times. Sometimes new fronts are put on them, sometimes more stories are added. Often they are reinforced with long steel rods running from one side to the other, and the rods terminate outside the building like steel fists with short crossbeams in their grip, holding fast against the walls.

When I was there in the seventies, power cables and plumbing had been added to many buildings, looping around the outside. They had not been modernized since the time of Garibaldi, maybe not since the time of Ceasar. In 2011, the accretion continues: the cables and pipes are still there, and they have been joined by cat5 and T1 cables.

This accretion is so built into the Italian way of life that is not only allowed, it is planned. In the center of Florence stands the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiorence, commonly known as the Duomo because of the huge dome that rises over the rest of the ancient city. It was begun in 1296 and not fully completed until the 1800s. The sponsors - the wool merchants guild - hired architects and workers to start building, even though the plans were not complete. Some masons spent their whole lives working on the church, knowing that their grandchildren might not see it completed.

The plans called for a huge dome capping the church, starting 130 feet above the ground, rising to over 300 feet, and having a diameter of 142 feet. It was larger than any dome that had ever been built. The sponsors admitted that they did not know how it would be constructed, but started building the rest of the church anyway. The plans have only a note about how to construct it: "God will provide." They built for a century and a quarter, counting on someone to eventually add a dome to it.

In 1418 the wool merchants had the good fortune to choose a brilliant architect named Filippo Brunelleschi, who designed and built the dome. ( The details of this can be found in a fascinating book called "Brunelleschi's Dome". I recommend it )



It appears that even Brunelleschi himself counted on future additions. His plans called for long iron chains to be looped around the base of the dome, countering the outward forces that are generated - known as hoop stress. Recently Italian architects interested in preserving the church searched for them with magnetic sensors, and could not find them. Now they are considering yet one more addition to prevent the eventual collapse.

Seventy two kilometers south of Florence is the hillside town of Siena.


Twice each year the Sienese cast of the accretions of modernity and get medieval.

Siena is divided into 17 contradas. Contradas are like burroughs or neighborhoods, but more partisan. They are socially much like clans, but with clearly defined territory. Some of them can trace their ancestory back to when they were independent medieval city-states. They have colors and shields, and fight songs like fraternities. There are alliances and emnities among them, some going back for hundreds of years.

Each Contrada has a device or symbol on their shield. There is the Tortoise, Wave, She-Wolf, Goose, Shell, Porcupine, Dragon, Owl, Snail, Panther, Eagle, Caterpillar, Unicorn, Ram, Giraffe, Forest, and Tower. The unicorn contrada uses orange and white; the civetta (little owl) contrada - where we stayed - uses black and maroon. I won't bore you with 15 more, but suffice to say that they treat the colors like national flags.

Belonging to a contrada determines who you can marry, where you can work, and which alleys you cannot walk down at night. The Sienese have great pride in their Contradas and fierce loyalty, and will fight - occasionally to the death - over an insult to their Contrada or its colors. It is violence more focused than that of British soccer thugs, but done with less firepower than Bloods vs Crips.

Each year since medival times, the Sienese have a horse race. It is now two per year, one in July and one in August. Each contrada enters one horse. ( Currently, to placate animal rights activists who wish to minimize injuries, only ten of the seventeen contradas are allowed to enter each year. ) The reward for winning is a tall black and white banner, known as the Palio. The race is properly known as 'The race for the Palio', but is more commonly referred to just as 'the Palio'.

The Palio takes place in the Campo, a huge, shallow, D-shaped bowl lined with brick. Back in medieval times, the Campo was designed to trap water draining down from nearby hillsides. As the centuries passed and the town grew, buildings rose around it, and by accretion it slowly turned into an arena. ( You can still see the sewer that drains the bowl. In an amusing juxtaposition, they built the city hall directly above the sewer - a lesson for all of us from the Sienese. )

The Palio is a medieval style horse race. Modern niceties are abandoned. The contradas keep around the clock watch on their horses before the race to prevent drugging or even outright poisoning. They also keep an eye on their jockeys, as some have been kidnapped by rival contradas.
During the race, it is legal to assult the other rider or even push him off of his horse. Accidents are common, and occasionally there are deaths of horses and/or riders. When there is an accident, the race is not stopped, and dismounted jockeys scramble for the fences to avoid being trampled.
The fans' behavior is medieval too. Fights are common, and nobody seems to be arrested unless there is a serious injury. Sometimes it is one on one, sometimes it is huge masses of people brawling with dozens on each side.
The surrounding pagentry matches: a long parade of hundreds of people in medieval costume circles the Campo prior to the race, swirling flags with contrada colors.



Last month, after stops in London, Pisa, and Florence, my wife and I went to see the Palio in Siena.

The preparations for the race begin days beforehand, as tons of dirt are scattered around the perimeter of the Campo. Dozens of workers walk around with shovels and tamping tools, smoothing the raceway.

The jockeys are hired pros. The reputation of a jockey - the number of palios they have won - determines how high the contradas will bid. The Pantera contrada paid approximately 250,000 euros to hire a particular jockey last July because he had won 12 palios.
The horses are chosen from amongst 30 to 35 randomly picked beasts. They run practice races around the Campo in the week before the race. The captains of the ten contrade that are entered select the ten best horses. Those horses are then assigned by lot to each contrada.
Preliminary races are held to test the horses and to allow the jockeys to familiarize themselves with the track. Priests are on hand to bless the horses.

In preparation for the race, all of the local bars and restaurants set up bleachers outside, and rent the seats to fans. Local appartment owners rent out space on their balconies. The best seats - right in front of the finish line - go for as much as 800 Euros. For about 250 Euros each, my wife and I get two places to stand on a third floor balcony with a good view of the main straightaway and a distant view of the finish line - at the upper corner of the 'D'. ( The race starts and ends at about the 2-oclock position on the 'D', and is run clockwise. )

Fans who don't want to pay can stand in the center of the Campo, inside the racetrack. There are no seats, no toilet facilities, and - for most of it - no shade.
There are also no exits. For about 3 hours, from when the parade begins until the race is over, nobody is allowed to cross the track to get out. The few exceptions are those people who pass out from the heat and have to be carried away by the paramedics. There are maybe twenty of them, white shirts over flourescent orange pants, standing around waiting for the dozen or so fans who will be passed over the crowd, hand over hand, like unconcious crowd-surfers.



The estimates of the number of people in the center range from 25 to 50 thousand. They come in to the Campo from one side street in a column about five people wide. It takes several hours for all of them to file in. The prized spots are in the shaded area at the southern part - some people come in early in the morning to get them.


A little after four o'clock, the ceremonies begin. All of the gates are closed, and a squadron of cavalry, decked out in full dress uniforms with red and blue plumes in their hats canter into the ring. Then, at a signal, they execute a cavalry charge with drawn swords, twice around the Campo.

When they are done, several gates are opened. One, at the upper corner of the 'D', lets in the parade; another gate, near the other corner, is the exit for the parade. Along the straight stretch between the two, a third gate is opened to continue to let fans into the center.

Then the parade begins. First are the musicians. Next, each contrada sends flag bearers twirling the colors of the contrada, followed by the race horse.
Finally, the Palio banner itself enters the Campo, mounted on a wagon drawn by four white oxen.

The parade takes a full two hours to make their way around the Campo. During this time, the column of fans is still filling up the center. Their progress becomes slower as it fills, and the newcomers are hard pressed to find even standing room.

Finally the last fan is admitted through the outer gate, and there is an end to the column working its way into the center. Policemen push at the end of the column, like Japanese railway workers trying to pack trains, trying to get them off the track. But there is no place for them to go, for the column ahead of them is stalled thirty people deep. The rear of the column starts pushing back. It looks like rugby, and for a short time, the fans are winning. The police regroup, get reinforcements, and try again. Suddenly one policeman recoils from the column, staggering. He clearly has been struck by one of the fans. Amazingly, nobody is arrested; the police just keep pushing. Eventually they get the last person in and close the gates.

The remnants of the parade fill the bleachers in front of city hall.


The track is now clear for the race.

After days of preliminaries, and hours of parading, the race lasts a mere 90 seconds. Two horses get out early, followed by the pack bunched together, and one or two trailers. They make one circuit, then another. On the final lap, seeing his chances rapidly dwindling, the fourth jockey takes a desperate gamble. He enters the sharp corner at the base of the 'D' much too fast, trying to carrom off of number three to make the turn. His horse bumps number three, stumbles trying to make the turn, and goes down. The horses in the pack behind him turn the corner before he even hits the ground and find themselves with no good options. Horses collide and skid, jockeys go flying, and then the trailing horses pile into the mess. It is a mad tangle of men and beasts, flailing horses trying to right themselves, jockeys trying to avoid being kicked or trampled. Horseless jockeys leap over the fences as horses - some without riders - thunder past. In the end, only five of the ten jockeys finish the race, as do three riderless horses.



As I wrote earlier, Italy does not change, it just accretes. And sometimes it discards a few layers. For a few hours, I got to see medieval Italy in all of its beauty and brutality.

But the best part for me was not just medieval Italy. I found out that people do not change either; they too grow by accretion, and sometimes they too discard some layers. For a few brief minutes, I got to see my wife as a young girl: cheering for her favorite horse, gasping in dismay at an injured horse being led past, as she relived the memories of a childhood storybook.

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I've been to Florence.

I had a bit too much fun with a circular fisheye.

It's 400+ steps to the top of the duomo. There's no elevator.
View from the top of the duomo: https://picasaweb.google.com/1070908531 ... 5804443186
Inside the duomo, near the top: https://picasaweb.google.com/1070908531 ... 0003161298
Inside the cathedral, spherical pan (you can see a bit of the ceiling of the duomo if I've not gotten confused about which cathedral was which): https://picasaweb.google.com/1070908531 ... 7228178274

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An addendum about the Medici fortress in an earlier photo:

It is the Forte di Santa Barbara. It was on the site of a fort built by Charles V and which the Sienese destroyed in 1552. In 1560 Cosimo I de’ Medici had a much biggerfort built to maintain control of Siena.

The bastion at one corner of the fortress can be seen in this photo:


but it is better seen like this:


The fortress is rectangular and takes up a whole city block. It has bastions at each corner to provide covering fire along the walls. This is the view from one bastion to another:

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And the medici has apparently the world's best defended parking lot. Cool.

Nice story

It is funny how someone else can see differently what I saw too often.

Did you happen to visit the Pisa or Florence Go Club?

No. Didn't have the time.

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