The Palio di Siena: an unparalleled, extraordinary spectacle of passion, rivalry and adrenaline. A long standing tradition and a truly unique piece of equestrian culture from Italy.
The Palio, held twice yearly in the city of Siena, Italy, is a famous historic horse race that has been held since the 1300’s and on the same track as today since the 1700’s, but it to describe it simply as a horse race seems unjust. What the Palio represents and the history attached carries far greater weight; for centuries, the 17 contradas of Sienna, which are divisions of the city, take turns to represented each by a jockey and a horse in the 10 runner race, twice yearly, on 2 July and 16 August. Fearless jockeys race bareback around the centre of the square, tackling hair pin bends with walls padded with mattresses to soften inevitable blows in the three lap race, or perhaps it could be described as more of a fight; only one rule is present - do not interfere with another mans reins.. So hitting your rivals with a whip made from a cured distended bulls penis is part of the tactics to win. Horses are blessed in churches beforehand, the winner celebrated within a cathedral. A riderless horse can still win. The Palio is like no other - an untouched sporting event much the same as it was 800 years ago.
Contradas are like an extended family, fiercely loyal, and extremely patriotic with fierce rivalries dating back generations. The pressure on the jockeys to perform for their Contrada is paramount and failure to do so has severe consequences. Contradas don’t win money, only the jockeys, yet I heard one contrada had up to 2 million to spend on ensuring they win. The race is lawless and violent from the starting line. Jockeys on less promising horses are intent on compromising their rival contradas horses, attempting to sabotage their star. Bribery is rife, as people bid against the ‘Rincorsa’, the last drawn in the line up, who is a rider, set back from the start and whose take off triggers the start of the race, signified then by the earth shaking boom of a cannon. Others on horses deemed with more of a chance will try to pay other jockeys for room either side of them on the starting line. This grappling and jostling and purposeful delaying of the start by twisting and turning their horses into one another can go on for up to an hour. The race is like something out of Gladiator - rude, obnoxious, aggressive. Crowds taunt, cheer and bully their fellow Sienese, jockeys and horses alike.
In the week of the Palio, the town is utterly alive, each Contrada chanting their songs, parading through the streets. Jesters and armoured men wave flags; it is a scene that ought to seem almost comical, the ridiculousness of the wigs and outfits, yet the seriousness of everyone participating and the meaning behind it means that you feel as though you are being transported back in time and that you are experiencing something truly significant. It isn’t dress up, it isn’t reenactment, it is the same as it has always been, a tradition that has continued and acted, not reenacted. This feels very much a private event, belonging entirely to the Sienese, belonging to them only, not even Italy.
Once the race is off, the flurry of brightly coloured outfits flash past, the tremors and vibrations of thundering hooves pass through the layer of clay laid down on top of the cobbles and through to you, making you feel as though you are physically participating in the chaos. If you’ve managed to get a positioning within the centre of the course, which is free and as I did for the trials in the days leading up to the main event, viewpoint is limited but being amongst a 60,000 strong crowd of unbridled, or perhaps I should say unsaddled, pure Italian passion is an incredible feeling. Passion of the likes that cannot be seen in Britain, overshadowing the enthusiasm of even the World Cup within football fans.
I was incredibly fortunate to secure tickets from the top of one of the three towers thanks to Selvaggia Pianetti, who had remarkably made it all the way to the trials but suffered an injury during a fall which stopped her from competing in the final race. Having experienced the Palio, I cannot express how much I admire her bravery and skill, as a woman in this incredibly male dominated show, to have gotten so far. During the race I noticed men and women do not sit next to each other, and during the parades around town it was the men who led followed by the women, clear segregation. However all walks of Sienese life participated, from the young lad in his Adidas shorts and flip flops, to the characteristically classy old lady, dolled up to the nines in her pearls and Gucci loafers - they wear the flag of the same Contrada, and are united seemingly until death.
Each horse, held in religious veneration, carries a flag on it’s back and with it the hopes and dreams, pride and almost sanity of thousands of people on it’s back. The simplistic nature of a horse race; one being faster than another, rises above all other matters and issues of modern life. It is unapologetically authentic, not catering for contemporary views on animal welfare, health and safety or gender equality. It is the same as it always has been, and will be defended and run as it is to it’s dying breath. This is both troubling and refreshing and has a style of conduct that simply doesn’t exist anymore in Britain. Not a protestor was to be seen, a brave person you would have to be to contest the Sienese!
Peering down from the tower was as though you were a bird circling overhead, detached from the excitement and commotion. The horses and riders looked like tiny delicate figurines form your childhood, a play set below. Sadly, they turned out to be just as delicate, as during the race the unmistakable head bobbing of a horse with a broken leg was obviously visible. Bodies are tossed like decorated rag dolls on the corners. Then suddenly, within 90 seconds, the race is over and the crowds pour into the track, celebration for the winner going wild. Flags are waved, songs are chanted, spirits are ecstatic. The beating of drums echoed through the streets for the duration of the Palio and the winning song of the Contrada is sung deep into the night.
I have never been so enchanted, captivated or immersed in something as I have during those 90 seconds. I was left feeling unsettled by the seeming expendability of the horses as the drive to win is all consuming, but overwhelmed by the togetherness, passion and sense of community within the city. Apparently within the communities there is no homelessness or unemployment because everyone looks out for each other. The Palio isn’t just a week, is present during the whole year, it is what the city revolves around.
Brutal, thuggish, bizarre but beautiful, I will never forget my experience at the Palio.
My account of the Palio was a last minute flight with little planning and what I have learned was through researching online, talking to locals and my own experience of the event. To learn more about the Palio in depth I highly recommend watching the 2015 documentary on Amazon. You may also recognise the Palio from it’s fleeting appearance in the James Bond movie Quantum of Solace!