The Palio di Siena

Oh Italy, I heart thee. It is rather like when Carrie knows the lady who has a scrunchy in her hair is not from New York; if you see someone in Italy who is not stylish they simply are NOT Italian. (I am actually surprised those sporting bumbags and trainers got through passport control.)

But the purpose of our trip was not to swoon at the stylish people, but to be there for Il Palio, the infamous bareback horse race. The race may only last 90 seconds but the build up, traditions and ceremonies surrounding Il Palio, which originated in the 14th century, dominate Siena for several days.

The main square - Piazza del Campo - is transformed into a race track: the cobbles are covered with dirt to make a loop around the square. Seventeen Contrade (districts which operate as mini states) take part in this prestigious event.

Colourful flags hang from buildings to mark contrade, scarves in contrade colours are proudly worn, horses are paraded through the narrow streets like prized processions, practice runs are done, and street parties are held.

On the morning of the race, each horse is blessed in its local church. The jockey in all his finery, a team representing the contrada (in brightly coloured medieval outfits) and the horse enter a small church. There is complete silence; the mood is serious and intense. (We watched as a tourist was nearly lynched for using a flash as he took a photo, which could have spooked the horse.)

The horse is in this tiny church.

The horse is carefully taken away, then the service breaks into loud singing and chanting; they could have been football supporters.

The finale of the blessing is two men performing a dance with large flags. The flags are swirled, thrown high into the air and jumped over - all in time to the rhythmic banging of a drum.

It was a privilege to witness the blessing; it felt like we were intruding on a private affair. As with most of the events we saw related to Il Palio, tourists are tolerated rather than embraced. It is like being at a hotel when there is a wedding: you are welcome to watch from a distance and wish the happy couple well, but if you were to try to sit at the top table you would be met with hostility.

When each contrada has completed its blessing they come together, performing their ceremonies for local dignitaries; culminating in a procession around the track.

Then after days of ceremonial build up ‘the’ moment arrives. The square is full to the brim and an eerie silence spreads through the crowd. Jockeys (in what look like brightly coloured pyjamas) sit on bareback horses trying to keep the horses still for the start. The race is three laps and over in less than two minutes. It is fast and dangerous; it is not uncommon for jockeys to fall.

The elation of the victorious contrada can be heard echoing around the town. The winning jockey is the hero, lifted into the air and passed around the throng of supporters. Then it is back into the church to celebrate and there is more football style crowd behaviour (which looks odd in a place of worship).

Of course, rumours are rife of mafia control - including horse doping, bribery and kidnapping - but I guess you have to be sitting at the top table to know about those things.

And more pictures:

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'Our' district was called Pantera (Panther) and even had animal print fur trim on their outfits.

Taking a well deserved break from watching men on horses, enjoying a local Aperol Spritz. (Bitter orange and rhubarb liqueur with prosecco!)