Siena

The train from Florence stopped in Siena a little while after lunchtime. On the street side of the railroad station were taxi cabs. We picked the nearest one, a small Citroen. The driver seemed to be asleep, but a rap on the window elicited signs of life. We asked if he was for hire, and he answered that he was. After we gave him the address, he just stood there. When  Claudette began to put her bag inside the cab he got quite upset at her action saying that he was supposed to do that. Our drive to the Alle Due Porte bed and breakfast was brisk. Like most of cities in Tuscany, Siena is in the hills. Our lodging was at the top of a narrow street. Many streets in Italy don't have sidewalks. There is a good reason for that; there is no space for sidewalks. There was just enough space to get the bags from the back of the cab to the Alle Due Porte entrance. The entry was locked, although the owner had assured us he would be there. What to do now? Since we could not get into our room, lunch seemed a good idea since we had had none.

Down the hill from our lodgings was a nice little restaurant.  We were tired and were carrying our bags, but the smile of a friendly waitress was very welcome and made us feel a bit better. I had the bread soup. It was delicious peasant fare. Sometimes the Italians can do magic with food. A glass of house wine helped digestion. Great lunch. After our meal it was a few hundred yards back up the  hill to the bed and breakfast. The owner had now made an appearance, and he  took care of checking us in and showing us to our room. It was a nice room with a queen size bed and a nice view of the street below. There were hand hewn beams overhead, and I'm certain it was a medieval building. Outside our door was a colorful breakfast area.

We wanted to see main piazza, Piazza del Campo, which according to the travel writer, Rick Steves, is called the best in all of Italy.  I entered the name of the piazza into the navigation app of my cellphone. Walking directions appeared instantly on the screen, and we were off. It was a short walk.  Downhill, of course. We passed a number of shops on the way as automobiles, trucks, and scooters sped by. I think that Italian vehicles operate only at full throttle or stopped.  One of the shops we passed was a shop selling "horror" memorabilia.  I am not a fan of that genre of film, but it was an interesting shop particularly the cage with the partially decomposed corpse. A quick walk through a shadowy alley and we were on the piazza.

Piazza del Campo is shaped like a huge sea shell.  The perimeter was filled with shops for two thirds of the way and the balance with government buildings and a clock tower. We began to walk across the piazza, which was about a quarter mile. There were quite a few people walking about and reclining on the piazza. It was rather interesting to see people lying on the inclined stone surface. Siena was founded around 900 B.C. Legend has it that the city was actually founded by a son of Remus, one of the wolf-suckled infants that founded Rome. I sat and did a few sketches, while Claudette sought the nearest gelato stand. We walked along enjoying our gelato and watching the people enjoying the afternoon. Near the center of the top of the piazza is an ornate rectangular fountain, Fonte Gaia. (The "Happy Fountain" was constructed in 1414-19.) Three sides of the Fonte Gaia have bas-relief carvings depicting Christian and secular iconography. The bubbling water made such a comforting sound and a drinking fountain for numerous pigeons. The three and four-year-olds provided great entertainment in their vain efforts to capture the numerous rats of the air. There were children chasing pigeons. Children chasing dogs. Children chasing children. Mommies chasing children. Just like in the park at home. As we walked the perimeter of the Palio di Siena you could almost hear the echo of hoofbeats. Races are held twice a year, and the riders of the ten horses ride bareback around the Campo three times in about three minutes. These events fill the Piazza del Campo with thousands of cheering fans.

As we continued our walk around the piazza people watching, the sound  of the ubiquitous accordion drifted through the garlic tinged air. Cooking was taking place in the nearby eateries.We left the piazza and slowly walked up Via Stalloreggi toward our bed and breakfast as night approached. 

Along the way we saw a woman enjoying a sandwich with a glass of wine in front of a butcher shop.  "Wouldn't it be nice to pick up some picnic goodies?" Claudette asked.

"Why not," I answered as we entered the shop.

Like most shops it was small and very crowded. It has been our custom to do some "picnicing" in our travels. Not only does it cut the costs of meals, but a restaurant is not necessary. We had also had a late lunch and weren't planning on a big dinner. There were quite a few customers in the shop, so we had to wait for service. The rotund butcher was very busy. There seemed to be a great selection of cheeses and sausages.  Prosciutto is the Italian version of cured ham. The Spaniards have jamon and we Americans have simply cured ham.  All use salt as the primary desiccant, or the method for removing moisture from the meat. One of the major differences in the curing process is that American cured hams are not washed after a few months in salt.  The Spaniards maintain that jamon comes from free range acorn-fed hogs of a certain breed.  The Italian and Spanish hams are extremely delicious and served uncooked. American salt cured hams should be cooked. Both Italian and Spanish hams are cut, i. e. sliced, with the grain, while the American hams are cut across the grain. Meat sliced across the grain is easier to chew. There was such a variety of  food in the shop that I could not resist the impulse to record an image for posterity's sake. However, before my cellphone could capture the image I heard,

"No photo! No photo!" in heavily accented English. It was the butcher from behind the counter, as he pointed to a small sign with an image of a camera with a diagonal line through it. And, he was pointing at it with an extremely sharp looking carving knife!  I obliged and asked why. To the best of my understanding, (My Italian leaves a lot to be desired.) my taking photographs was the equivalent of stealing trade secrets. Finally, it was our turn at the counter to select our purchases. As we were looking at the various meats and cheeses there was a crash from the outside of the shop. It seemed that the woman we had seen eating outside the shop had dropped her wineglass, and it had shattered on the stone pavement. She came into the shop holding only the stem of the glass mumbling what sounded like an apology in Italian. We decided that she had probably had too much wine by the way she navigated her way through the crowded shop. I fully expected an explosion of Italian from the butcher, but he merely shrugged. My wife and I finally decided on some sausage and two varieties of cheese before leaving the shop.

The next morning we were up early. As usual we had packed the night before and were waiting when breakfast was served. Breakfast was an hour later than we expected, but we found out later that there had been a time change, like the American Daylight Saving Time, and we had not reset out timepieces. Breakfast was great; one of the best, if not the best we had while in Italy. After breakfast our host called a cab for us, and we were on our way.