The hug of Siena

Tuscany is known for the medieval architecture and nostalgic ambience of its towns: a rosary of charming settlements amidst the valleys, displaying with pride bygone glories that have been diligently translated today into elegance and sophistication. Their circular fortifications, knotted around the towns like ribbons, have become hallmarks of prestige, defining a tangible – and, yet, intangible – boundary between past and present.

Among this cluster of towns, Siena – once upon a time, Florence’s mighty rival – stands out with its beauty and cultural background. During its golden era, the city was equal in size to Paris and a considerable player in Medieval Europe, but the 14th-century Black Death left it crippled, reducing it, to this day, to a minor provincial community.

A few years ago, while on an Easter road trip through Tuscany, we stopped there for a brief exploration and dining, and although the city resembles in many aspects the other Tuscan villages, it holds a soft spot in my memories for it owns a treasure, unique and priceless: the Piazza del Campo (also called “Il Campo”).

When approaching the city from afar, it is mainly the Duomo, on top of the hill, and two towers – the bell tower and the Torre del Mangia – that prevail, protruding boastfully above the rest of the urban skyline. Beyond the city walls, all roads slope downwards, unavoidably gravitating towards Il Campo, where the heart of Siena has been beating for centuries.

The famous piazza represents the convergence point of the three hilltop settlements that eventually combined into one town and, as such, conveys a message of harmony and unity that echoes to this day. Its shape – a fishtail design, otherwise perceived as the pleats of Virgin Mary’s cloak – can be best observed from the top of Torre del Mangia, Siena’s tallest building. From there, the ten lines that sprout out of Fonte Gaia, opening like a fan and forming nine segments that represent the city’s historic governors, are easily discernible. A town born from the amalgamation of several independent forces had to demonstrate solidarity, unanimity and integrity. As such, even the architecture of the buildings surrounding the central piazza was not haphazard but, instead, follow by design specific rules to reinforce the sense of order and unity that the square was destined to emanate.

I walked towards Fonte Gaia, effortlessly carried forward by the flow of the crowds and the slope of the land. I was in a hurry, as I wanted to squeeze a few minutes out of our tight agenda to climb the steep steps of Torre del Mangia and enjoy the view from above while the rest of my friends proceeded with our dinner arrangements. However, as soon as I stood by the fountain, gazing towards the piazza and the radial lines paved on the ground ahead, time seemed to pause, for the energy of the square was so mesmerising, even hypnotising, that all other activities became inconsequential and unnecessary. There I was, at ground zero (the lower point of the city), a tiny pearl in an oyster, surrounded by a structure that felt like a hug: a physical and, yet, a symbolic embrace of human affinity. The indiscernible chatter of the tourists faded into white noise and, as life kept unfolding in slow motion, timeless and unfaltering, all past centuries consolidated momentarily into oneness.

The hug of Siena remains to this day one of my most beloved memories from Italy, especially at a time when our physical hugs have become an unexpected luxury, and two years of restricted physical contact weighs on our shoulders. And yet, as I contemplate how that inanimate structure derives life and affection from the deepest pleats of humanity, I feel confident that, in the void in which we currently float, we will find the courage to create new points of connections, gravitating, once again, towards unity, integrity, and harmony.

Photo credits: © Konstantina Sakellariou