Siena. Nothing can describe the sameness of this place, the sense of tradition, even the color of the brick at every turn. I know all of the clichés, and in fact I know I am one: a forty year old, recently divorced American woman on her own, looking to find herself (or in my case, rebuild herself) in golden Tuscany. I know all of it, but I also know why they are all clichés. There is something healing here in the light, in the brick, in the traditions, in the sense of being an outsider because I am supposed to be. I like the idea that I’ve put myself here with a purpose instead of being left on the periphery by someone else’s choice. I may be a fairly classic Tuscan cliché (think Eat, Pray, Love), but I’m not here to fall in love with anyone but myself. I’ve got a lot of healing to do. Somehow it’s easier when I’m surrounded by the beauty of this place.
On the other hand, as I write I’m sitting in my three hundred year old kitchen, drinking prosecco and nibbling slightly overripe pecorino cheese, I’m also unintentionally listening to Italian karaoke drifting up from the contrada party in the park below. The current song is U2’s “One,” being performed by what sounds like a drunken Italian teenager with a cold. It used to be one of my favorite songs. But that’s another thing I love about Siena: the contradictions. Earlier tonight my walk home was interrupted by a procession from the Piazza San Francesco, where I live. It was sunset, and the entire town, with representatives from every contrada, was walking in a blessing for Il Palio. It took my breath away: priests, then men in medieval dress carrying the flags of their contradas followed by more priests, then the people - hundreds of them - praying together and singing. Nuns in their habits, children in robes, men I’ve seen arguing in the streets, the woman from the pizzaria, la ragazza from the cell phone store: everyone walking slowly together, knowing the prayers, knowing each other, (oh god, now they are singing “Yesterday”) and knowing they are home. Most of us will never experience anything like it. Strangely enough, that’s what I mean by the gift of being an outsider: I can be a part of these traditions by watching them, appreciating them, and then building my own life with a deep sense of place, of relationship, and of home. Even knowing the possibility of so much connection brings me hope. That’s why I’m here.
I swear I’m not exaggerating, but the current song sounds like it’s a dance track from the Italian equivalent of an Elvis Presley film. There’s a lesson in this too, somewhere, I’m sure of it.
So that’s my Thursday in Siena: Italian class until noon, a quick trip to the grocery store (where once again I forgot to weigh my fruit – but no one shook a banana at me this time), a long nap, check-in at the internet point, and what was supposed to be a short walk home “interrupted” by the procession to il duomo. Yes, sometimes I’m a little lonely with so many people kissing in the streets, but mostly I’m just happy to see it, I’m just happy to be here, and oh, la musica! La musica! Another experience I just can’t describe.
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