75 Seconds In Siena

“Move over so my short wife can see the track,” the cranky Italian husband demands.

The locals are tired, but who could blame them. Siena spends all year preparing for this event. Of the 17 districts only 10 get to compete for the silk banner (Il Palio), and the festival leading up to this horse race has lasted several days.

We have been in Siena’s Piazza del Campo since about 1.30 p.m. but others, we hear, arrived at as early as 9 a.m. to reserve their spot in the now scorching heat. The souvenir scarves we bought displaying the emblems of the competing districts are now wrapped gypsy style around our heads in lieu of sunhats. Thankfully there are a few of us, so we take turns going for a walk to stand in the shade of the nearby stables.

But the hottest summer in 500 years starts to take its toll on the weary tourists and locals now packed into the piazza. We watch as people are carried away on stretchers by the medics. Arguments break out around us over who was standing where. “Hey don't tell me what to do you are in Italia, my country now,” another local complains.

At 4 p.m. the entrances are closed and we are locked inside, sun still blazing, and packed in as one large sweaty mob of thousands. It’s then that you ask yourself whether you needed to use the bathroom, but a departure now would mean not getting back in. To distract us from the heat, the longest parade of flag throwers and drummers in traditional costumes we have ever seen makes their way around the arena. We take turns at squatting down to get out of the direct sun.

The horses finally emerge from the stables, at 7 p.m. The arena erupts. But it’s another 50 minutes before the race caller is happy with the line up. Another delay while a horse is taken back to the stable is then followed by 3 false starts. But, on what should have been a 4th false start, they begin racing. Dirt is kicked in our faces on each of the 3 laps, as having arrived 7 hours earlier meant we were lucky enough to be on the rails. Screaming in excitement with cameras held high in the air we take mystery shots in all directions. It lasts 75 spectacular seconds. The Bruco district, with the caterpillar emblem, wins. Rioting Italians ram through us and onto the track chasing after their beloved Palio.

Fatigued, thirsty, faces flushed and voices hoarse. Possibly suffering symptoms of dehydration, we diagnose ourselves with a clear case of unforgettable exhilaration.