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Published: October 31st 2006
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Sienna's Town Hall
Prominently sits at the Plazzo del Campo with its ditinct tower that can be seen for miles around. Florence - Siena (Bus)
2-3 September Its un-salted bread is a fitting metaphor for Tuscany. The appearance and the texture of this area, like that of bread, is universally recognisable because this region has been superfluously described in any number of newspaper travel sections, magazines or the glut of “a day of my life in Tuscan …” (insert cliché here - eg: sun; rusticos; olive groves; chianti vineyards), that are crammed into the travel writing shelves of bookstores the world over.
Immediately upon biting into a piece of Tuscan bread, I noticed something was amiss. The bread, at first, seemed rather bland. After searching for the explanation to what was missing, the absent ingredient was, in fact, salt. After a feud with their neighbours in Pisa, the coastal city cut the salt supply to the Tuscan area and so they baked their bread without salt … and have done so ever since.
There are many aspects of Tuscan life that can also be described as “… and have done so ever since”. This entire area is steeped in tradition as it resisted the industrialisation, which spread factories across farmlands in other areas of Italy after WWII. Although,
as we sit on the bus, travelling south from Florence into the heart of Tuscany, I am admittedly a little under-whelmed by the scenery passing by me - especially considering the evocative narratives proffered by every travel writer to have ever traversed Tuscany.
Although, just as the un-salted bread provides a foundation and texture to showcase the purity of delicate flavours from the fruity olive oil soaked into it, the regions cheeses sliced to lay across it or the tapenades spread atop of it - I will learn with time that, like its un-salted bread, Tuscany’s landscape provides the foundation and framework on which unique traditions have been built that give this area its unique flavour.
Our accommodation inside the old city walls has its own kitchen and a balcony that overlooks the rooftops of the weathered buildings perched on this hill. We wander the twisting and narrow lanes that do not see the usual traffic flow. Only mopeds and short, stubby buses shuttle through some streets causing us to quickly spot a doorway to tuck ourselves into as they zoom by. After standing at the espresso bar eating crisp brioche and sipping our freshly extracted caffeine hit,
topped with frothy crema, we wander into the Piazza del Campo. It is nearing the time of Palio - a horse race that is run twice each year with 9 of the 17 contrade (districts of Siena) participating on a rotating basis. This begun in the 16th century and has been run ever since with fierce intra-contrade rivalries and some dubiously sponsored alliances formed throughout the entire history of these races. Membership of a contrade is a matter of birth and the loyalty to your contrade’s success is a binding to your community for life.
Each contrade has their own shield and mascots such as: dragon; panther; eagle; turtle; snail. We watched as the lupa (she-wolf) members made their way through the streets dressed in traditional medieval costume of black and orange - the colours of their quartier. The drumming troops and flag bearers compete with other contrade for parade honours by demonstrating their commitment to the contrade and their dedication to its success.
From the colour and the noise from near the piazza, we wander into the quieter pantera quartier to find Nonna Gina’s Osteria where we sit for pranzo (lunch) consisting of anti-pasti of sliced cured
meats with marinated vegetables and primi piati of delicately flavoured pasta. We are already too full for secondi piati and in keeping with the Italian’s concern for our digestion, a bottle of grappa and amaretto (almond liqu are swiftly deposited on our table. We walk back toward our accommodation on Via del Paridiso, stopping at the small but well stocked supermarket to buy ingredients for a light dinner an a bottle of Chianti from the large selection of locally produced wines.
Sitting on the balcony eating bread with tapenades, stuffed olives and marinated artichokes - the bottle of Chianti almost drained - I find myself overwhelmed by the attractive beauty of this area. The summer Tuscan colour palate is made up of recently harvested fields, parched by the sun: golden yellow through to all shades of brown, framed with the lines of the muted teal green from the olive tree’s leaves. The rooftops of Siena are burnt red and as the sun sets behind the hills; the sky turns to deep blue before it finally darkens to night. The memories will cause me to dream of the time when I will return here once again … and possibly write a book about the experience.
T
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