Italy in seventy seconds

by Kristina Kecman (Serbia)

Making a local connection Italy

”And those 70 seconds were absolutely worth it!”. Those were the last words I’d heard on the Italian ground. After that the plane took of from the Fiumicino airport. I had just spent eight hours making my way from Siena to Rome which is never a piece of cake in Italy. So, you could imagine how elated I was when the man sitting next to me decided to strike up a conversation. He was a fashionable-looking man, about seventy years old, with perfectly coiffed yet messy hair and a suite that looked fancy, but extremely comfortable. Everything about him proved my premise that he was Italian, from his style to the way he moved his hands while talking. As he begun his story I tried to politely stop him from getting too much into detail, but I guess my Italian wasn’t good enough. I usually enjoy meeting new people, especially while travelling, but that day I was in a particularly bad mood. After all, I was leaving one of the most beautiful countries in the world to go back to the orderliness of everyday life at home, so I believe my grumpiness was justified. The man was on his way back home to Germany, after having spent five days in the medieval town of Siena, his hometown. During this time he attended the famous Palio. I was also among the people who had just witnessed this dramatic battle that hasn’t changed much since the XXVII century. I knew that Palio was a horse race, held twice a year, with each of seventeen contradas, of which Siena consists, participating with its own horse and competing for its name, symbol and pride. For me attending this event was circumstantial, since I was studying at a language school there for the summer. Of course, I am not saying it wasn’t a great experience, and a nice way to get one step closer to knowing the Italian culture. It was a fairly amusing experience, even though I didn’t see much considering I was standing among seven hundred people on a hot summer day. The man explained that he hasn’t been to the Palio since his ninth year, which is when he moved to Germany. Never the less, he always remembered it as the most important event of the year, each season eagerly watching it on TV, hoping for his contrada to win. This was the first year his schedule and finances allowed him to see it in person one more time. “Italians are extremely passionate people,” he told me as if I hadn’t already came to that realization myself, “and Palio is one of those moments when our passion really takes over. It is a matter of pride for us, you know. I will never forget my fathers reaction the last time we were at the race. As our horse was approaching the finish line, having already passed everybody else, his face lit up. I was just a child back then so I couldn’t understand the severity o the whole thing, I was simply happy to see my father so excited. This year I experienced similar emotions, only difference was that this time those emotions were provoked by a defeat.” At that moment, being more interested in the story than I’ve expected, I really felt the graveness of it. I was already thinking of all the Italian words I know that could comfort him, when he continued with a smile. “I didn’t expect us to win the race anyway since I knew that our horse was weaker than the others. For me it was only about being the part of the whole thing. I gladly joined the people around me when they started crying and screaming with disappointment, but I wasn’t sharing their emotions. I was simply happy to feel Italian again. It was kind of terrifying going back to Siena after all this time, with most of people I used to know being either squandered around the world, or long gone. It took a lot of courage. And those seventy seconds were absolutely worth it!”