ALL ROADS LEAD TO ROME
As the train rhythmically moved along the tracks I leaned against the window, relaxed from the wine, and stared out at the beautiful Italian countryside passing by. The sun was beginning to set casting a lovely hue onto the terracotta colored roofs of several farmhouses sporadically standing among rows and rows of vineyards just turning green with the onset of spring. We were passing through the Tuscany region, which is famous for producing Chianti wine and the Renaissance men of Florence. At one point we came out of a tunnel that cut through a small mountain when I saw a beautiful city atop a lush green hill seemingly wrapped with vineyards bearing grapes destined to one day fill bottles of the Gods’ nectar. A stonewall, the color of golden sienna, surrounded the city of stone houses and churches of the same color.
Months later I would visit Siena to revel in its annual festival, famous around the world- Il Palio. Each year in July, horses and jockeys raced around the town’s main square, Piazza del Campo, in an intense rivalry between the families of Siena for seven days for nothing more than bragging rights for the rest of the year. Each night, after a long day of races, large tables would be set out on the steep streets within the walled city and feasts of pasta, meats, breads, and cheeses were served in an atmosphere of wonderment. I was never sure if the family with whom I was celebrating had won or lost that day, as everyone seemed to be in very festive moods. On one such evening, I had participated in a few too many toasts, no doubt at a winning family’s table, and fell off my chair (there goes the ugly American again). A kind-hearted jockey still dressed in his colorful family colors helped me to my feet, but not before I noticed that the chairs and tables were built with the legs shorter on the upslope side of the hill than the legs on the downslope side (the streets were indeed very steep). I excitedly pointed out my discovery to my newfound jockey-friend who, making light of my ignorance, shared it with the rest of the table. All laughed heartily, including myself, as we toasted the engineers of Siena long into the night. I don’t know how those jockeys were able to ride the next day- I had the mother of all headaches.
Staring at the picturesque city and listening to the consistent rhythm of the train chugging along, I wondered if someone from Crayola had once sat in my place staring out of the window marveling at the beauty of the city of Siena as it passed, thereby coming up with a name for that particular crayon. Sgt Hook out.
Eternal City of Rome
The Roman Conductor
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This post is filed under: La Vita Dolce & Reconstructed
