The Palio "It is total war," says Robert Pappei, capitano of the Civetta or Owl contrada (a subdivision of a city). "It is a battle in the square between our district and the others." Pappei speaks of the Palio, a bare-back horse race with an 800-year-old history that is held twice a year around the town square of Siena.
On July 2nd and August 16th the city explodes as ten of the cities neighbourhoods or contrada each field a horse to run for the coveted Palio - a banner dedicated to the Virgin Mary and painted each year by a respected artist. Each ward or contrada is named after an animal or object, such as the Eagle or Shell. Each, as Palio historian Alessandro Falasi asserts, "Has its own flag, seat of government, constitution and geographical boundaries and the Palio is the public arena where the identity of each and every contrada is displayed." "The Sienese belongs first to his contrada and secondly to the city," explains Pappei. "It is where we were born, where we played, drank it is all."
Opposing contrada exist right next to each other: on one side of the street live The Giraffe, and on the other, The Caterpillar, and huge enmities occur. "Don't talk to me about the Porcupine," says Marco, a Lupa (or She Wolf) contradaioli who still lives in the centre. "They are not only evil, they are also stupid." The finest honour is to win the sacred Palio, but the failure of your enemy is a coveted alternative.
Stories abound of Sienese expatriates moving back to their neighbourhood just for the birth of their children (whereupon their respective banner is placed under the bed), so that the offspring might be baptised in their own chapel and enjoy contrada membership. "Marriages between different contrada can cause huge problems,'' says Rita Ceccarelli of the Nicchio (Shell) contrada, "There was one famous incident where a man dragged his pregnant wife into his contrada. Normally the daughter will follow the mother and the son the father, but just to avoid arguments most couples, if not of the same contrada, will divide and go back to their parents just for the three or four days of the Palio. It is easier that way."
If a member embarrasses their contrada they are ostracised (which accounts for Siena's amazingly low crime rate) and if unemployed the district will look after him financially. "I remember recently a young woman's husband died in a car crash and she was left with a child and no income," says Ceccarelli. "So her contrada paid her rent and bills until she could get back on her feet." Indeed the contrada is like one big family, sometimes as big as 8,000 people, all of whom contribute money for its upkeep. The contrada owns and rents out property, runs events and has its own bar and lottery the profits of which all go to the contrada's coffers.
All through the year the capitano's conspire to win the race, striking deals where huge amounts of cash change hands with other contrada to acquire the right jockey or to obstruct the efforts of their enemy. "We are democratically elected by the contrada members and it is our job to choose the jockey and distribute the funds in order to win," explains Pappei. "We are like generals and we do what we can to win." This "distribution of funds" together with complex bribery and negotiations continues right up until the race, as each contrada tries to achieve the best possible result; even the jockey has a fund at his disposal to suborn fellow riders as they wait at the starting line. Recently a jockey representing the Porcupine was caught accepting a bribe not to win, and contrada members beat him within an inch of his life and broke his leg. Subsequently, for the first time ever the police got involved. But more importantly the Porcupine was banned for the next five Palios.
As the race beckons, the whole city breaks into a fever. Gangs of drummers roam the streets well into the early hours, accompanied by gangs of girls singing the Palio anthem. Like a cup final, News Year's Eve and a thousand weddings all rolled into one, the day of the Palio is absolute mayhem as each contrada march their horses through the city streets, hearts in their mouths, literally crying with anticipation. For two hours the crowd stands as Turtle, Porcupine, Eagle and the rest all strut around Il Campo (the town square and race track). Their chosen adherents dress in medieval costumes and throw their respective flags high up into the air, while drummers deliver a profoundly warlike tattoo. Finally, after many false starts and even more near coronaries, they're off and fifty thousand hopefuls leap, scream, shout, gesticulate, swear and cry. The race itself lasts just 90 seconds as the horses bound around the track bashing into each other and falling as the jockeys hit each other with whips made from the stretched penis of a calf. The contradaioli seize the Palio itself and triumphantly march the horse to the cathedral where it is blessed. What follows is remarkable. Old women fall to the ground and give thanks, men weep, the poor embrace the rich, and left wing kiss right wing in an exhibition of joy that could only be compared to the liberation of Italy in World War 2. The winning celebrations go on for weeks.
"I cannot even begin to describe what winning is like. It is like nothing else in the world," says Egidio Macacci, the 93-year-old consigliore for Civetta or Owl contrada, who have not won in 25 years. "For us the Palio is everything. It is our life. It is our heart."
An astounding spectacle that incites a passion that dwarves that of any other sporting event in the world, the Palio really has to be seen to be believed.
The Palio takes place twice yearly on the 2nd July and the 16th August. Tickets for the bleachers are available from the following link or else brave the 10,000 people and the summer heat in the centre of Il Campo
Text by Chris Sullivan
