... and goon on pilgrimages ...
see also Fit the Second of the European pilgrimage - Pisa and the Cinque Terra
Fit the Third of the European pilgrimage - Barcelona and Gaudi
Fit the Fourth of the European pilgrimage - Santiago de Compostela
Fit the Fifth of the European pilgrimage - Northern Spain
Fit the Sixth of the European pilgrimage - Salamanca, Segovia, Madrid and home
We left Australia on 1 June 2004 and returned on 3 July. In between we visited Italy and Spain (with a one-day visit to Zurich). I have no intention of providing a chronological account of the trip, with reference to every sight and sound we saw but will present here (and in some future issues) a series of reflections on various topics, between a sort of annal (that would probably be 'journal', given time-frame) of the trip. Briefly, Cath and I spent 10 or so days in Italy before taking a train to Zurich to pick up Cath's mom, who'd spent those ten days on a Trafalgar bus trip through Switzerland, Austria, Bavaria and north Italy. Thence we flew to Barcelona for a few days, flew again to Santiago de Compostela for four days, picked up a car and drove along the north coast and south through Castilla to Madrid. We came home via London and Singapore.
A month was too short. We'd barely started to adjust to the different time zone when it was time to return home. Additionally, some stomach problems left me with what Cath described as a permanent scowl on my face - hence the title tune. The scowl was a symptom of less than perfect health, not an indicator of a lack of enjoyment. So much to see; so little time.
1 and 2 June - travel: We flew from Sydney to Hong Kong and thence to Roma. From Roma airport, a train to the city station and straight onto a train to Bologna (well a slight delay because the train was late) and to our Albergo just outside the 'walls' of the city, near the Porta San Vitale (which is all that remains of the 'wall' in that vicinity), as our first pilgrimage is to Bologna, the "food capital" of Italy
Fear of Flying
The problem with flying to Europe is not just that it's far away and that planes are uncomfortable (too many seats in too confined a space - the premium on economy, not comfort), it's that confinement to a single restricted space for 10-12 hours is too boring for words. So most people just don't mention it. Let me again emphasise how boring airflight now is! This can be ameliorated or exacerbated by the airline. Qantas, which we flew from Sydney to HK, had a cabin-wide entertainment system on the 767 in which we flew in economy. This means that we all shared the same movies. We were about 10 rows from the back of the plane. We could either watch the 'big screen' at the last cabin-divider (just visible above the seat line) or one of the smaller TV-like screens on the ceiling, just in front of us. The latter was easier except for the crick in the neck. Cathay (HK-Roma) has back-of-the-seat screens on which you can watch movies (selection of 6 or 7) or TV shows or play games. The trouble with these is that, when the person in front lowers their seat backwards, the screen is almost impossible to focus on. The trip to HK was extra boring because the movies went from bad to worst (Paycheck, Starsky and Hutch, Scooby Doo 2). The leg to Roma wasn't too bad as we got reasonable sleep in the middle of it and the movies were adequate (Miracle, The Big Bounce). If there were one Sf invention I'd love to see it's a matter transfer device of the sort in Larry Niven's universe, inter alia, where you could walk into a booth in Sydney and emerge in an identical booth in Roma. (If we had the time, sailing there would be an option but who has that amount of time?) Getting there is nowhere near half the fun. It's no fun at all.
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2 and 3 June and 6 June: Bologna. Adjusting to the new time zone and exploring a city which makes no real concessions to tourists, but is good because it is a university town and has great food markets in the centre. In addition to the Basilica named after the town's patron saint (Petronius), and the complex of churches and cloisters known as Santo Stephano, we visited an archaeological museum and a museum of mediaeval and renaissance life. The astronomical museum was closed. And we wandered hither and yon sussing out the life and times of the city.
Red City
Bologna is a strange mixture of the old and the older. Scattered around are the ruins of medieval Bologna. They call Bologna the "Red City", because of the 'color' of its recent politics as much as for the dominant color of its buildings. The town looks like someone has driven it through the Australian outback and not cleaned it properly afterwards. It has a patina of red/ochre outback dust, fading in parts, strong in others, so that there are gradations of redness from dull to bright, from almost brown to scarlet. Most of the streets of the 'old town' are colonnaded so that you are rarely exposed to the elements.
It is built around a double square, with Piazza Maggiore, surrounded on three and a half sides by palaces and a church, and Neptune Square coming off it. Piazza Maggiore seems to be the centre for Bolognan social contact and Neptune Square, around a huge fountain featuring the eponymous god, is where concerts and rallies are held.
Getting to be a habit
One of the really nice things about Italy turned out to be breakfast. The Italian habit is to visit the local coffee house for coffee and pastry. In Bologna we found the Antica Bologna which, despite its name, was anything but ancient. A beautiful modern building on the road from the Porta San Vitale towards the main square of the city, under one of the inevitable porticos, its glass-fronted counters were replete with a variety of pastries and cakes, such as would satisfy the sweetest of tooth. For a ridiculously low sum we could have a caffe (short black) and neopolitan (similar to a palmier, without the icing and with a great glaze) while standing at the counter. (Sitting at a table doubles or even trebles the cost.) I got into the habit of cappuccino in Italy (and a cafe doble con leche in Spain) because the additional milk spread the great coffee taste over a longer period. The coffee on the way to work (and the coffee or drink at a bar on the way home) is a habit for the Italians which we quickly adopted. Far more civilised than the polystyrene cup of coffee that Australian city workers appear to take to work each morning.
Yet another church
"Et une autre eglise". When I first travelled to Europe on a 42-day bus trip in 1976-77, that's how the smarties, with faux weariness, would note the appearance of yet another village as it hove into view, with its church prominent. Yet every church is different and tells its own story, either on the outside or the inside, or both as Cath and I learned from Malcolm Miller, an English eccentric resident in Chartres in 1988 (for all I know he may still be) on my second trip to Europe. He had made the local cathedral his special subject and each day he'd conduct the 'morning tour in English' and the 'afternoon tour in English'. ("This is the afternoon tour in English, join us", he'd enjoin those in the cathedral.) For whatever donations he got from accompanying tourists, he taught you to 'read' a church. (We did both tours the day we visited Chartres.) The design; the successive building phases; the external sculptures and friezes; the doors; the alleys, chapels and aisles of the church; the windows (and their glass); the decorations; the choir; the altar. All had their own message to pass on. The Basilica of St Petronio in Bologna's Piazza Maggiore is yet another unique church. (It is Bolgna's most prominent church because it is on the main square but it is not the city's cathedral, duomo in Italian.) The first story it provides is given by the fact that it's bottom third is marble-faced but the top two-thirds are bare brick. Started in the 1300s, the money ran out partway through the construction. Bologna has not since tried to complete the exterior. Inside it is a typically light and airy Gothic church, with a dozen chapels down the sides and an incredibly ornate altar. However it has its distinguishing touch: the Meridian Line. At noon each day the sun shines through a hole in the roof and illuminates a point along the line. The terminus, near the main western entrance, is where it hits on the December Solstice. This is depicted on the floor by a piece perpendicular to the Line, forming a cross. Further along the Line, towards the roof hole, the next crosspiece is where the light hits in mid January and mid November; the February/October and so on (I assume, as restoration being carried out on the northern aisle of the Basilica results in barriers which cut off the rest of the Line from our view). Each month was illustrated by it appropriate astrological symbol and the Roman-numerical day in the month when the light hit that spot. The astronomical clock has been operational for 350 years.
What about the workers?
What sort of museum of mediaeval (and renaissance) life deals with only two-thirds of the society? The two civic museums we saw in Bologna were set in beautiful buildings. The Archaeological Museum in what used to be the "Hospital for Death" (whether that was a morgue or a hospice I don't know). The Museum of Mediaeval and Renaissance Life is in a former palace, where parts of the old structure (and an even older Roman-era building underneath) have been exposed, although mostly it's whitewashed modern walls and ceilings. In a number of rooms the original ceilings has been preserved and some are frescoed, while others have studded decorations. Mediaeval society had three classes: the clergy, the gentry and the peasants (respectively, "I pray for all", "I fight for all", "I work for all"). But where were the peasants in the Bologna museum? Room after room of church bits: altars and altar pieces, sepulchres (particularly of monks from various monastic orders, but also some of fighters), illustrated psalters and song-books. Later there was of course a number of rooms devoted to the fighting classes: armor, swords and maces from the mediaeval period and a large number of exquisite early firearms (arquebuses etc), many designed like miniature cannons, and others with ornate writing and designs along their barrels. They, being different from the normal run of swords, maces and pikes, stood out, although neither of us was much interested in the martial side. But where were the workers of the Middle Ages ... and the merchants of the renaissance? No farm gear; not much to deal with artisans or guilds. Little to show the rise of the town as a centre of life, outside the church and the manor. There was one model of mediaeval Bologna in wood which was good but ... More busts of popes and bishops and of kings and lesser nobles, a large number of bronzes, many with mythic themes. And no workers!
The archaeological museum was particularly interesting for the Estruscan periods. Bologna was a centre for Etruria (major centre for pre-Roman civilisation in central Italy and the early dominators of Rome prior to its own rise to power before it was itself conquered by, and absorbed into, Rome). So there were bits and pieces from the Villanova periods (pre-Rome), from the Gallic occupation (c 400-200 BCE) and from the Greek and Roman domination. Fewer pieces from Rome itself or from Greece but a fairly good Egyptian Room, largely pieces from the tomb of Horemheb (XVIII-XVIIII dynasties) but also a survey of Egyptian history from Old Kingdom through to the Ptolemys. At least in this museum there were plenty of dishes, domestic items and so on to indicate how the society worked.
4 and 5 June - daytrips by train from Bologna to Ferrara (4/6) and Ravenna (5/6). The other advantage of Bologna was its centrality in Emilia-Romagna which allowed us to visit other centres. We chose the mediaeval city of Ferrara and the former capital of the Western Roman Empire, Ravenna, a pilgrimage to the mosaic capital of the western world.
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In the market
We went to Ferrara on a Friday because it was Market Day. But the market was more Paddington than Flemington or Victoria. And the worst of Paddo at that. The whole duomo square and the street perpendicular thereto were covered with stalls mainly selling clothes, towels and shoes. Some interesting enough but most the same as the next. Factory seconds? Cheap imports? Manufacturers with no shops? These and other questions remained unanswered even when we saw much the same fare for sale in stalls along the streets of La Spezia on Saturday morning a week later.
As for the rest of Ferrara: the whole was greater than the parts. It's a lovely, restful town with a good mediaeval centre. The problem is that there is nothing we saw which cried out for particular memory. The streets were quaint, the mediaeval walls worth a squizz and the castle OK but we mainly saw the town from the outside. The duomo was more interesting from outside than within and the one building we visited at length, the Este pleasure palace/hunting lodge near the eastern walls of the city, has retained only half of its original (and much remarked upon) frescoes of the calendar year. There used to be twelve separate sections, representing the months/zodiac, each with three sections which were, from top to bottom, a god or goddess portrayed in mediaeval garb and surrounded by an appropriate retinue; a series of symbols, astrological and mythical which were associated with that month; and a picture of local life showing the activities of the gentry and/or the peasantry occurring in that month. None of those remaining were outstanding and most were faded from whatever original brilliance of color they may have possessed.
There was just enough to suggest that, when first completed, the room might have been a wonder to behold and enough to hold the interest for some time as you worked through the symbols and implications. The building itself was hardly a masterpiece. The Palace of Diamonds, so called because of the diamond-shaped bricks which stud its exterior, was fair and we found another leaning campanile (there are two towers in Bologna, the last remaining of the plethora of towers that once dotted the city, and one of those is no longer square to the ground) on the walk back to the railway station.
Ferrara was not exactly disappointing but there was not enough there to make it a great day.
How green is the valley?
Taking a train through the Emilia-Romagna countryside reinforces how much of a food belt this area is. Acre after hectare under cultivation. Vines, trees, vegies, pulses, grains. All the way between Bologna and Ferrara and again between Bologna and Ravenna. Some interesting-looking towns - like Imola whose name resonates for different reasons which revheads would understand - but generally it's farms that dominate. The countryside is particularly green along the valleys through which the trains run. The fact that this is an area blessed by the weather gods is strengthened when you learn that for the last 500 or so years the Bolognans have been in the habit of carrying a statue of the Virgin from a nearby sanctuary to the town as a way of placating the gods - in order to get the rains to stop! So annual had this become that about 300 years ago they covered the 5 or so kilometers between the town and the sanctuary - almost all uphill - with a covered portico of 666 (!!!) arches to protect the procession.
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A collage of mosaics
Ravenna is much smaller than Ferrara and the old walls aren't as obvious but it is dominated by art from the fifth and sixth centuries CE, not by a castle or a duomo. In many ways it is too beautiful for words and its mosaics are the high point. But not the only highlight: there are a couple of small, simple buildings which indicate that the excesses of later church builders are not necessary to achieve beauty. Leaving aside the Basilica of San Vitale for the nonce, the mind comes back, again and again, to the Tomb of Galla Placidia, to the Arian Baptistery and to the Mausoleum of Theodoric. The first two have some mosaics, the last was originally decorated by painted walls, even though there is nothing of that now. But one cannot leave aside San Vitale because it was the undoubted highlight of the day, and the trip.
Ravenna was not a major mediaeval pilgrimage destination; in fact, for much of the Middle Ages it was a neglected place. But it was for me one of the two major 'pilgrimage' sites on the trip. We'd missed seeing it on the 1988 trip, yet it still exerted a major pull, both for its connections with the decaying Roman Empire and with the attempts by the Eastern Emperor Justinian to reunite the Roman Empire a couple of hundred years after the fall of Rome. Some background is necessary for those not versed in the history of the later Roman Empire. Ravenna was built originally on a series of islands on the Adriatic Coast, near a major Roman naval base. In the late fourth century CE, after the Roman Empire had been split in twain, with an Eastern Empire centred on Constantinople, and the barbarians had invaded Italy, threatening Rome, the capital of the western empire was moved to Ravenna, which was seen as more defensible, if not more desirable, surrounded by swamps and the sea. Hence it was the centre of some of the last building projects of the western Empire, and was further endowed by the 'barbarian' tribes after they had become Romanised and themselves occupied Ravenna as conquerors and the new rulers of Rome. Its final glory period, during the reign of Justinian and his Empress Theodora (perhaps two of the more maligned mediaeval characters, because history has until recently known them largely through the pages of their enemies, particularly Procopius' Secret History), Ravenna was further endowed with buildings and especially with some of the finest extant mosaics of the period. Thus you get the building programs of the early fifth century, under Roman and Visgothic rule (Galla Placidia's tomb and the Neonian Baptistery, among others), the later fifth century when Theodoric and the Ostrogoths ruled, including the Arian Baptistery and the eponymous tomb, and then the sixth century Byzantine buildings after Justinian's general Belisarius had taken Ravenna and was using it as the headquarters for his attempted conquest of Italy. There was in the fifteenth cen tury Renaissance a Venetian domination as well, which saw the building of the Piazza del Populo (the central square of the old town which was the site for a wedding on the morning we walked through) and a huge fort. Miraculously many of the early buildings have survived to create a town as museum.
But it remains also a town in which people live and work.
Knocked out
In his fantasy based on the Justinian Byzantine Empire, Sailing to Sarantium, Guy Gavriel Kay has a scene in which a western mosaicist, travelling east, encounters for the first time on the dome of a chapel roof, a vivid mosaic representation of the eastern image of the god. So overcome is he that he finds himself on his back being revived by his companions. I am not an artist who works in mosaic, but entering the Basilica of San Vitale I found myself metaphorically knocked out in an analogous manner. It was not just the quality and quantity of the mosaics that surround and surmount the apse, and not just how fresh and vibrant they remain, but the whole feel of the space. In its relative simplicity, the octagonal building, with its dome set within a separate octagonal structure above the main building, is a masterpiece of Byzantine style, adapted to elements of Roman design, almost unique given the small window of opportunity of the Byzantine occupation of parts of Italy, as Justinian's dream of a re-united Roman Empire was crumbling even before his death, and much more than just another eglise. Outside we were to see later Romanesque additions on the western end and a couple of flying buttresses which had been added to help maintain the building's simple internal structure.
But these external additions were not visible from the inside where, despite the presence of so many others, many of them not silent in their reaction, we drank in the differences from the usual Romanesque and Gothic (and later) churches and found a plethora of new and interesting bits and pieces. The church is octagonal on the outside but felt circular within. A series of columns supporting the smaller central structure of the dome created two areas, with an aisle around the outside of the columns and a central space within. Above the aisle on the western and southern sides were a series of recessed semi-circular galleries above the main floor and, in the east, also semi-circular, a recessed apse, separated from the main body of the Basilica by an arch, and rising almost to the level of the recessed galleries opposite. Above the central area within the columns, a dome with its Renaissance fresco. The columns with their Byzantine capitals and decorations drew the eye, but only for an instant, because, overwhelming all else, were the mosaics in the apse, on walls, on the vault on the apsal dome and on the arch which separates it from the body of the church.
Of course I was drawn to the two secular mosaics first: one of Justinian, surrounded by members of his court including his general Belisarius, with the contemporary archbishop of Ravenna included; the other of Theodora and the ladies of the court, including the general's aristocratic wife, Antonina. Ironically, given their historical reputation, courtesy of Procopius, as pagan sinners and debauchers, both the emperor and empress are shown with golden haloes.
Then the other mosaics. Along the apse's main arch are the twelve apostles, going down either side of the surmounting image of Jesus, shown as dark, bearded and foreboding, in the eastern style. On the side walls, next to the smaller mosaics of the Byzantine court, images from the Bible: on one side built around Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac, the other around Moses' receiving the commandments, and each augmented by other images of prophets, judges and other characters from Biblical tales. On the apse's bowl-shaped vault behind the altar are five figures: in the centre a beardless and light-skinned Jesus, in the western tradition, a precursor of the Italian Renaissance depictions of the Christ (images that influenced modern filmic images of the Rabbi, including the one in Mel Gibson's recent version of the Crucifixion story). On either side of the central figure are two angels and beside them, on the left St Vitale and on the right Eclesius, the bishop-builder of the Basilica, holding a model of the building (it is common to see in European churches either the patron saint or a church's builder depicted holding a model of the city or the church). Jesus is seen offering a martyr's crown to Vitale. Finally, looking up at the dome above the apse, there is yet another symbolic mosaic: in the centre a haloed lamb within a circle, supported by four angels and surrounded by four fields showing various animals, fish, plants and other aspects of creation.
In Chartres Cathedral there are so many stained-glass windows that your mind becomes almost overwhelmed by the experience and you can imagine the feelings of awe and transcendence that worshippers would have felt in more primitive times as the sun shone through, illuminating them whilst at prayer. A similar, if slightly different, effect is achieved by the artisans who decorated St Vitale. Standing there, as they would have in mediaeval times as the clerics carried through the service, the parishioners would have had so many stories before them to contemplate, whether the biblical stories on the side walls; the deeds and words of the apostles on the arch; the contrasting images of Jesus; the reminder of the sanctity of the saint whose relics were under the altar; the symbolism of the roof, with its reminder of the multiplicity of the creation; or the reinforcement of the power and the glory of their secular rulers. The recent restoration of these mosaics has brought to the viewer something of the power they would have exerted on the worshippers of earlier times but, in these more sceptical times, when the impact of the metaphysical world on the 'real' world is lessened, that impact cannot be as intense.
In all of the description above I have not talked about the tiled floors of the Basilica, itself a masterpiece of its art, with a variety of colors and patterns, more in the abstract than representing any particular story or person.
St Vitale was the first building we stepped inside of in Ravenna. I knew that there was so much more to see in the town but it was difficult to drag yourself out of the church. Cath was particularly reluctant to leave. In fact, after we had looked at the outside of the building and seen the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, a smaller building in the same precinct, she insisted on a reprise visit. Just to ensure that the images were firmly embedded. And because you couldn't but want to see them again just to make sure that Descartes' deceitful demon hadn't tricked you.
In the dark
The Mausoleum of Galla Placidia was apparently once a chapel attached to a larger church but is now a small cruciform structure lit solely by natural light; and very little of that filters through the yellowed translucent glass windows. Around the walls of the tomb are a series of mosaics which pre-date those of San Vitale. They are neither as bright nor as accomplished but are nonetheless impressive. We were 'lucky' to be in the tomb at the same time as a large group of senior high school students who were being lectured at, in heavily accented English, which helped us to an extent but provided too much information. One of the joys of the guideless tour is that you can fill in your own back-story. I have a smattering of social and economic history that enables me to understand some or all of the background and Cath is equally smattered in art history, so she can fill some of the crevices in my knowledge. In San Vitale we spent a lot of time 'reading' the church, imposing our own stories onto the extant decorations. With a guide, particularly a high school students' guide, there is a canonical version of the material that is imposed upon you. Despite that, I loved the oppressive, dark and decorated spaces of the tomb.
And even more mosaics
The other buildings we saw, after lunch, in Ravenna might have been a highlight in any other city but, after San Vitale and Galla Placidia, they were a little anti-climactic. With one exception: the 'wow' finish. There were two baptisteries, from slightly different eras but with very similar decorations. 
The Arian Baptistery is a octagonal building, the walls of which are (faded) red brick, with a ceiling mosaic depicting the baptism of the savior, surrounded by his apostles. It is the remains of a larger structure which does not survive.
It is incredibly similar to the earlier Neonian Baptistery, also an octagonal building, with a different ceiling mosaic depicting the baptism of the savior, surrounded by his apostles. However, rather than the plain brick of the Arian, this one has walls which are over-decorated - with glitter. paint and mosaics. Its huge central marble baptismal bath dominates the floor.
The Church of St Apollinare Nuovo is a Theodoric-era building with magnificent mosaics on the walls of the central aisle of the church's nave, above the columns that divide the nave into three aisles. On the left wall is a series of female saints leading up to the three Magi being presented to the new-born Jesus. On the right wall is a series of male saints leading up to a Jesus Redeemer seated on a throne. There are, nearer the door, on each side, images of Ravenna and of its palaces. 
The downside of the church is that the earlier apse was destroyed by an earthquake or whatever, and has been replaced by an over-the-top Renaissance glitterthon.
"Wow"
We had to walk a fair distance to get to Theodoric's Mausoleum on the north-eastern end of town, well outside the walls. This is a building unique in western Europe: a ten-sided lower floor with round niches within and a smaller, also ten-sided, upper level on top of which is a spherical monolithic vault. 
The whole is made with Istrian stone, largely cut in large square blocks. But the capping vault is a single piece 33 meters in circumference. Inside, on the upper level, is a huge porphyry bath which was Theo's sarcophagus. There are two possible stories here: either Theo so liked his bath that her asked to be buried in it or he had a sarcophagus made in the form of a Roman bath. I like the former version. The Mausoleum was a great way to finish our day in Ravenna, a contrast to the start in San Vitale. In San Vitale it was the decorations on the walls that made the building; at the tomb it was the building itself which was inspired.
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7 and 8 June - Siena. A pilgrimage to Tuscany seemed de rigeur and we chose Siena. By train from Bologna, via Florence, and then almost two days to see the town. Siena proved to be our favorite pilgrimage site on the tour. We spent a day and a half walking around the town, taking in civil and clerical sights, and filling in a number of interesting back-stories. We also found some very edible food, especially the dinner on the first night at di Sasso, with a great bottle of Chianti Classico, comfortable lodgings and a tourist-friendly town.
White-out
As we passed through Tuscany from Florence to Siena, Cath remarked on how, even in June, snow was visible on the slopes of the hills, even though they weren't that high. It took me only a little time to work out that the large white areas on the hills were not snow at all but the signs of the mining of the hills for the pure white marble of the area. This was reinforced by the town of Carrara through which we trained. Throughout the town were yard after yard filled with piles of dressed white marble, ready for shipping to all-over-the-world. It is said that Michelangelo used to pop down from Florence to Carrara to pick out the pieces of marble he wanted for his sculpture. After seeing the plethora of pure rock in the place, I can understand why he took the time to do so. And after seeing the duomos in Siena and Pisa, and even in parts of Liguria, you can see how influential the nearby supply of white and grey Carrara marble was to the cathedral builders of the area.
A Palio initiation
One of the first things we noticed about Siena, apart from the fact that it seems to be owned by one bank, the Monte dei Paschi di Siena, is the profusion of colorful bunting and decorations, of different hues in the various neighborhoods. These represent the 17 contrade (districts) of the city which compete twice annually, in July and August, in the Palio. This is a combination free-for-all and horse race around Il Campo, the main square of the town. Each contrada has its own organisation, with colors, a heraldic symbol, church and patron saint. It happened that the first such set of colors we ran into was red and white (the colors of our beloved Sydney Swans) and we were in the Imperial contrada of the Giraffe. The residents of Melbourne think they have some sort of hereditary tribal loyalty to their local football team - a connection that has become more tenuous as the suburbs have spread but the teams remain tied to their inner-city origins. Their loyalties are transitory when compared with the strength of the attachment Sienans feel for their contrada. Admittedly there was once a profusion of contrade, but now there are but 17. Although it was nearly a month before the first Palio of the year, the contrade were starting their competition by trying to outdo each other in the profligacy of their display of colors and loyalty. Even the street-lamps on the buldings were in team colors. La Giraffa seemed to be as more organised than any contrada and, having the right colors and being the neighborhood where we had our first great meal of the pilgrimage, we soon adopted them as our 'team'. And didn't they benefit from our support, La Giraffa coming through to win the 2 July Palio a few weeks later.
Red-hatted nutter
There is more to Siena than just another eglise, even though its horizontally black-and-white striped cathedral is worth noting, even if its excesses derogate from its beauty and awefulness. The interior matches the exterior, with black-and-white striped marble columns, a carved Pisano pulpit and series of inlaid marble graffiti floor decorations (50+ separate different 'stories'). 
Not to mention the hordes of tourists, and touring parties, making more noise than a Spinal Tap concert. The centre of Siena, both physically and spititually is Il Campo, the 'square' around which the Palio is run. The sqaure is in fact more of a semi-circle. The Palazzo Pubblico occupies one side and the semi-circle consists of public and private buildings uniformly four storeys high, and occupied by cafes and retail outlets at the ground level. The main central area is where people stand, crushed, for the Palio, and a course is defined between this area and the buildings. When we visited the first day we were in Siena, the restaurants were crowded with tables spilling well into the square, offering mediocre food at high prices.
But the patrons in the restaurants were being entertained by a street clown in a large red beret who would follow passers-by and taunt them, spray them with water, embarrass them and do everything else he could think of the entertain the seated gentry. And amusing it was, provided it wasn't your privates being measured with a ruler. Just as we had been impressed by the mosaics of San Vitale, so were we taken with the frescos (and a great set of choir seats) of the Palazzo Pubblico. Two frescoed rooms in particular stood out: the Sala de Mappamondo and Sala de Nove. The former is misnamed somewhat because the eponymopus map of the world no longer exists. What does exists are several great paintings, especially Martini's Maesta, depicting the Virgin and child surrounded by angels and saints, and a fading but masterful depiction of a battle outside the city's walls. We stared for quite some time at the golden tones and deep blues of the Maesta, which is an earlier combination of Gothic and Hellenistic styles. Even more fascinating, if not as well-executed, were the Allegory and the Effects of Good Government and of Bad Government, Lorenzetti's fourteenth century masterpeices in the Sala de Nove.
Some of the Effects of Bad Government do not survive but the images around the wall of what was the meeting room of the Council of Nine which ruled Siena are enough to fascinate the readers of walls. Some of the imagery is obvious but other references are more subtle or now outdated and there are many assertions of the benefits of the republican rule of the city.
The fifteenth century choir, carved and painted by Domenico di Niccolo, consists of 21 seats, of magnificent wood, with illustrations from the articles of the Creed on the back of each. From the upper gallery of the Palace we had a great view of the town and the nearby agricultural lands to the north.
Next issue: Our travellers go, via Pisa, to the Cinque Terra, a pilgrimage to the modern 'church' of national park and walking trail, before passing through Switzerland to pick up Cath's mum and head for Espana and Santiago de Compostela.
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First written: August 2004
see also Fit the Second of the European pilgrimage
Fit the Third of the European pilgrimage - Barcelona and Gaudi
Fit the Fourth of the European pilgrimage - Santiago de Compostela
Fit the Fifth of the European pilgrimage - Northern Spain
Fit the Sixth of the European pilgrimage - Salamanca, Segovia, Madrid and home
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