My Palio weekend turned out to be one of the most fascinating experiences of the entire summer!
The important thing to note, right off the bat, is that nothing comparable exists in North America. There are die-hard sports fans, sure, but attaching your team’s flag to your car or painting your face is kid stuff compared to these tifosi. Italians have achieved near perfection with coffee (so I’m told), pasta and the sports car; so too their devotion to their soccer team or in this case, horse and jockey, is unsurpassable.
Within minutes of arriving at the Siena bus terminal on Friday, August 13th I knew I was in for something special. I could hear them before I saw them: drums, and a swarm of roving youth, adults who were maybe their parents, their little brothers and sisters, and a few stylish grandmothers – all belting out an old Sienese melody basically about how great their contrada was and how it was going to whoop all the others’ butts.
There are seventeen such contrade, or neighbourhoods, within Siena’s medieval walls. Each is represented by a pair of colours and an animal (Snail, Goose, Giraffe etc.) or an element of nature (Seashell, Wave, Forest etc.). Stroll around Siena during the Palio (if you can) and there is never a question as to which neighbourhood you’re in; each is festooned with special lights, banners and flags. Each one also has its own water fountain. But most importantly there are the people, many of whom would not be caught dead without their identifying fazzoletto (handkerchief). And, because they are Italian, the fazzoletto is colour-coordinated with whatever else they’re wearing.
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I need to underscore here how very, very important the contrada is. The same families have lived in these neighbourhoods for generation upon generation; look them up on church records and you’ll find them going back to the Middle Ages. Babies born in Siena receive not one, but two baptisms: one at the local church, and one at the neighbourhood fountain. [There is some controversy now, in this modern time, about the appropriate contrada for a child born to parents from two different ones. Some say that if it is a girl, she should be baptised at her mother’s fountain; while others say the father’s contrada line should be continued no matter what.] Each group also has one sworn enemy. They celebrate their enemy’s loss just as enthusiastically as they do their own win (to lose in this race is to come in second).
As you can imagine, the air crackles with energy the four days before the Palio. Not only are seventeen contrada groups constantly drumming, singing and parading through the streets, there are the nightly neighbourhood dinners, the trash-talking, and of course the wheeling and dealing going on behind the scenes. (Secret payoffs, bribery, maybe some doping...there is not much that is not allowed.)
Actually, for some groups it’s trash-photoshopping: one plastered their enemy’s walls with fake movie posters featuring their captain in films about idiots or losers or both. There’s also the spray-painting of your symbols in your enemy’s neighbourhood.
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| "all we can do is cry" |
The cena, or dinner, is a big party every night. Each neighbourhood has its own communal kitchen as well as enough tables and chairs to seat dozens. Food is cooked by the local chefs and served by the members to the members. Course after course continues until late, accompanied always by wine. The next bottle up or down the table is fair game whenever yours runs dry (as long as you can wrest it from the hands and somewhat good-natured protests of your neighbours).
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(With Sarah Loose and new friends: lucky to get invited to a Chiocciola (Snail) contrada dinner. We're grinning because the delicious food that was on the table is in our bellies...)
The day of the Palio feels like Christmas Eve. Shops are open until the early afternoon but no one can concentrate on anything but what’s about to happen that night. The Campo (main square) becomes crammed with people hours before the race and police actually seal the entrances once it reaches capacity.
Those not in the Campo will probably be found in their contrade, assembling into huge processions that will follow their jockey and rider first inside their tiny neighbourhood church, where both are blessed by the priest, and then on to the square.
Where the average North American prefers a tall cup of coffee, a newspaper and a leisurely hour to finish them, the typical Italian has his morning shot standing up at the bar before jetting off to work. The preference here seems to be for short and intense and the Palio is no different: it is a scant 90 seconds long! But man, is there a lot packed into that minute and a half. The hopes and fears of all the years (or at least all the years since the last win) meet, no, explode in an emotional nuclear fission that peaks with the first horse to break the rope. As if tear ducts were fused to the finish line, instantly the sobs are released – not from the losers, but from the winning neighbourhood. Like long-lost brothers meeting after decades of separation, grown men embrace each other with tears cascading down their cheeks. Women howl collectively. Teenage boys ricochet off each other with ferocious back slaps and little boys fight over the honour of waving the jumbo flags.
This delirious crowd triumphantly hoists their jockey to their shoulders, then lurches and stumbles alongside their horse to the Duomo. Also part of the procession is the actual Palio, an intricate hand-painted silk banner that will hang in their church for a whole year. At the Duomo, the priest has been on standby for this moment when the crowd, the horse and the jockey arrive. He officially proclaims the winner of the Palio but of course is barely heard above his jubilant congregation. (When questioned by an incredulous tourist, “But you take the horse inside too?”, one Sienese man responded, “You don’t?”)
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Naturally there is a LOT of money involved in this twice-yearly spectacle. Seats in the bleachers of the Campo run from €180-350 ($250-500 CAD), but that’s nothing compared to the money raised at those neighbourhood cene (which often start around sixty euros a head and can go much higher). That fundraising is chiefly for the cash reserves needed to broker secret deals with other neighbourhoods and, of course, pay your jockey, if he wins. These professional riders command at least €8,000 ($12,000) and, for the experienced, can be as high as €80,000 ($113,000) -- if they win. (Even for a beginning jockey that’s approximately €88 per second.)
Is it dangerous? Yes! The jockeys ride bareback, as they have for centuries. The track is narrow, with a treacherous turn, and many a horse or rider has been injured (as for deaths, no one I talked to was willing to say).
But it is unlikely that this four-hundred-year-old tradition will end any time soon. The Palio represents the evolution of the life of a human being. And for the Sienese, it is life.
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What Shouldn’t Tourists Do During the Days of the Palio? (ilpalio.org)
For the Sienese, the days of the Palio are days of celebrating, but also of great tension. For this reason in certain situations it is good to be careful. In particular:
- Under no circumstances should you go near the horses.
- Do not disturb the contrada members during moments of great tension, for example, during the time they accompany the horse to the trials, during the minutes before the race or after the race if they are disillusioned or angry.
- In Piazza del Campo, do not put children on your shoulders the day of the Palio: that can block the view of the others (in general, it is not advisable to bring small children in the Piazza, due to the crowds).
- Do not make sarcastic comments regarding the tension of the contrada members before the start of the race, do not protest or complain instantly if it takes a long time for the start of the race to take place.
- If the contrada members ask you to move or get away from a certain area, do as they request.
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