Florence to Siena

Alex:

The bike ride through Tuscany to Siena was our roughest yet, but definitely the most beautiful. We started the day going practically straight up--the steepest terrain we've encountered--and ended up having to occasionally walk our bikes up dirt roads through mountain olive groves. 

It was just one of those days where we climbed for 5 or 6 hours and were descending or on level ground for maybe one. 

The countryside made it all worth it. The variety of the terrain and textures of the landscape are unmatched. Thick hedges framed fieldstone farmhouses and parallel rows of vines swept down the hillsides like lines on a topographic map. But the wide variety even extended to the trees. My favorite is the slim and solitary Cypress, which has a rich, dark green color, and stands like a somber sentries to mark the boundaries between farms. 

There is another tree whose name I do not know which always rises head and shoulders above its companions in a copse of trees, awkwardly standing out on the horizon like a mossy parasol.

One of the best moments of the day for me was reaching the top of a particularly high hill to find a whole forest of dark Cyprus trees--more than I'd ever seen before--conspiring together like a murder of crows. So strange did it seem to see these lonely creatures in congress together that it felt like I had stumbled upon an alien forest, or a forlorn company of spearmen-- frozen in tight ranks for battle, but overgrown with foliage now, a thousand years after turning to stone. 

All this ran through my head as we plunged down the mountain, past that slumbering wilderness, to the vertiginous slopes that gave out on the valleys below and--far beyond in the distance-- the city of Siena. For the next hour and a half, it did not leave our sight for more than a few minutes. We could catch glimpses of it through gaps in the foliage as the mountain cast us deeper and deeper down into the valley, banished, as it were, for our Icarian folly.

All the way down we rode, carried freely by gravity until the effort of pedaling became little more than an eccentric hobby-- kind of like homemade paper-- quaint but redundant. 

Practically flying and drenched in the cool air whipping around us, we exuberantly rolled into the Siena campsite, albeit 3 hours after Anton. The people at the reception were expecting us, and indicated on a map of the campground which site Anton had chosen--the most far flung and obscure corner of the whole site. It seemed our journey wasn't over after all.


Kenneth:

Siena is an incredible city, filled with the soul that Florence lacks. We walked the 3km or so to the city center and in the process walked straight through old city gates, complete with statues of she-wolves, the mascot, if you will, of the city. Guys, don't mess with the she-wolf; trust me on this.

We continued climbing up towards the center, passing through small alleys adorned with the flags of Siena's 17 families.

Alex:

Each of the families historically controls one of the city neighborhoods and have their own schools, churches and civil society. The territories are marked off by sigils and banners at street intersections. 

We spent the day strolling around the city with Anton and visited Siena's central square which is the culmination point for the city's iconic, yearly, bareback horserace.