25 September 2001

Siena

Siena was not burnt by the sun today. It was rather somber under a cloudy sky, rather devoid of the Siena-ness, I'm afraid, that I have read about and seen in pictures, the Siena-ness that has attracted so many tourists, so many writers, so many photographers. Today I saw beautiful architecture, a charming, charming walled city, and a lot of tourists. Where is the soul of Siena? Where are the Sienese?

Are they the post card hawkers? The ticket takers at the Duomo? The women painting ceramics? The men running the street cleaner, the restauranteurs, the young men running the Internet cafe? At the farms by the A1 autostrada tending their fields in overalls and boots?

Still, there is much to see, much to impress. The duomo (church) is all inlaid marble on the floor, all starry starry night on the vaulted, arched ceilings. We are here for the art, perhaps, not for the soul.

Ceiling detail of the duomo.

Carla King, Lisa Alpine, Lauren Cuthbert, Cathy Miller, Alison Wright in the main square.

Yet the soul comes from oneself, doesn't it? I wonder where mine was as I walked with Danielle and her beau Jim, and Lisa and Alison to a charming sandwich shop on a narrow cobblestoned street where a man sliced meat from the hairy leg of a wild boar and laid it in thin slices on my sandwich. The others ordered, everyone in slow, confusing Italian, while a chic Italian in dark glasses sighed deep sighs and drummed her long fingers against her svelte waist.

The sandwich man handed us plastic cups of red wine and we left with our packets to walk the short distance to the stairs of the Duomo where we spread out our picnic and watched the constant stream of tourists come by... an Italian man carrying his young daughter up the long flight of marble stairs, a kiss for each step. A Scandanvian couple lugging their baby's stroller, Americans wearing T-shirts and baseball caps, two Frenchwomen clacking by in red high-heeled sandals.

It was the highlight of my day... well, the Duomo was truly a spectacle with its inlaid marble floors, its paintings, the starry arched ceilings.

I understand that Siena is a university town, and perhaps it also harbors art schools, expensive ones given by local artists. Danielle's boyfriend Jim is taking Italian classes here. He says that it is an entirely different town in the morning and at night. At about 10:00in the morning huge busses of tourists based in Firenze arrive. They leave before dusk, and then there is peace again in Venice.