Stuck in the piazza watching the race with thousands

Saturday night in Siena. The rain has stopped. Rowan and I are standing in the Campo in Sienna, the central square in front of the Palazzo Pubblico, the town hall built in the 1300s, complete with 330 foot clock tower. We are not alone. There is the woman from Hamburg on one side, down in Siena for her annual week-long trip to Italy; there is the family from Belfast, the father who works in Dunmurry and mother who is a personal injury lawyer with lots to say about safety and liability in Italy, and their three kids; there are the three women behind us, one Japanese, one from Eastern Europe, and a third whose accent I can’t place, talking in broken Italian and then switching to broken French; and then there are the tens of thousands of others that have packed the square wearing and waving flags and scarves of the seventeen ‘Contradas,’ the different districts in the town. We are all there for the Palio, the bareback horserace around the half-moon shape piazza that has been run since 1283.

The premise is simple: riders from 10 of the contrade race three times around the piazza. First to pass the finish line wins the Palio, the banner of the Madonna, and glory for their contada until the next race. Of course the practicalities of racing around a piazza with sharp corners, thousands of spectators, and no rules really is a bit more interesting. In one of the lead-up qualifying races, one of the riders was thrown, trampled and killed. Still the race goes on. Of the ten riders that started, maybe five finished, the others having crashed into the pads that line the corners, been thrown, knocked into or over. There are horses running free everywhere, crowds rushing onto the track the moment the race is over, and all of us crammed into the square. By 4:30, most of the entrances to the piazza were blocked off so Rowan and I had to make our way round to the back of the Palazzo Pubblico, past the old synagogue, through the police security check (no bambini, strollers, no WCs, no food – but we saw lots of kids aged 2+ and a stroller), through the crammed like sardines passage, along with drunken Englishmen and rowdy Sienese youth, and into the piazza. We were told we had to be there by 4:30, but the gate wasn’t closed until at least 6:30. The square also wasn’t nearly as crowded as we expected, once we got in. We had room to move around, sit down, though not quite as comfortable as the seats in the windows overlooking the piazza, for the low low price of 300Euros per person. We were fine on the ground, with our pastries and water and chocolate. We couldn’t see  much of the race, but we did get a good view of the far corner and home stretch.

When we were in, the procession had already begun. Each contrada had flagbearers, drummers, knights in full armour with swords, pages, banner carriers, horses, and they paraded around the race track, stopping occasionally for the flagbearers to do a routine of flag waving and throwing high into the air. We got to recognize most of the flags and colours of the contrade: the Tower, the Panther, the Shell, the Wolf, the Dragon, the Forest, the Goose, and all of the others. It was a step back to Renaissance ceremony. There were fanfares, men in tights, page-boy cuts (sadly they were only wigs), and at long last (we had been crammed into the Campo for over 2 hours) the ship pulled by oxen with the city fathers, also in Renaissance garb. The crowds waved their flags and scarves as the ship passed. Finally the ship stopped in front of the archway to the Pallazo, the noble lords got out, and a city worker in grey coveralls drove the ship off.

A quiet fell over the Campo, incredible that such a huge crowd could be so silent. A man on a balcony called out the names of the Contrade, the order to line up. The horses fell into place. One, Bucca (the Caterpillar) wouldn’t settle so they were all walked around before being lined up again. There was the book of a cannon and then they were off.

The next minute or so was a blur. I lifted Rowan to see better. We got glimpses of the horses, with and without riders as the rounded the far corner and came towards us, each time fewer in contention. A green and yellow rider seemed to be out in front. Another lap and then another boom, the crowd spilling onto the course. “That was it?!” asked our Northern Irish neighbor. “We crammed in here for hours just for that?” The whole race had only lasted just over a minute. None of us knew for sure who had won. Then the horses and riders and flagbearers lined up. The Palio banner was passed down from the balcony, and they all paraded around again. This time Oca, the Goose, with its green and yellow flag, was out in front. Apparently they had won.

It was an experience. Now we can say we’ve seen the Palio, been part of the mass from all around the globe that was there on that day to watch Oca win the race. Was it worth it? I think so. The energy was incredible, the site beautiful; I got to share something with my daughter, meet good people from all over, and be transported back 600 years. I just wish I had bought an Oca scarf instead of Selva, the Forest, as they hadn’t even qualified. Maybe next year.