Stone upon stone: an Italian sojourn: Firebox shades of Siena

We wake up every day here and feel we live in the centre of a painting: it is just so beautiful, everywhere. Today, we drove over the green clothed hills of our painting to dabble and daub in variations of 'burnt' Siena: the red to brown firebox shades of this small city to the west of us.

We parked close to Il Campo, and walked out on to Siena's amazing circular plaza, trying to remember where we had accessed it the first time we visited, years ago; though it has hardly changed.

The sun logo at the top of City Hall is the symbol of Saint Bernadino, who, when times were bad, long ago, would draw crowds from the warring city neighbourhoods, the contradas, into the campo and preach words of peace until they hugged and made up with a bacio di pace, a kiss of peace.

This is now the town 'square' though it once was the marketplace in a field outside the town walls. But, as power shifted, so did the city and now the campo is a happening place, where the seventeen Siena contradas, meet twice a year for the famous Palio: the horse race: between the top ten favourite horses chosen for the event. With all seventeen contradas cheering from the centre of the campo.

The winner is the horse: rider or not. The first across the line, third time around the square, takes home the 'palio', a banner of the Virgin Mary which is displayed and enthused over until the next race day.

The iron rings on the city buildings are for tethering horses; above them are fixtures for flag. Opposite the City Hall is the decorative Fonte Gaia, or Fountain of Joy which brought fresh water from the surrounding hills right into the heart of the city so the local contrada folk could meet here, in neutral territory, as they pulled their water from the well.

Though fresh water has not always saved Siena. The Black Death which swept Europe in the 1300s saw more than a third of Siena's population succumb to the plague: after that, the city lost a lot of its attitude and aggression with its warring neighbours, and has never quite recovered.

Having lost the keys of the city to Perugia, and then to Florence, Siena, despite being on the important traffic route between France cities and Rome settled down to watch the wars around them play out.

As we walked the lanes lined with tall buildings in the back of Il Campo, we noticed plaques, high above the street signs, identifying the different city neighbourhoods that still operate today. And, like soccer fans, contradas, whether they be from the wild boar of the forest contrada, or the fierce eagle of the sky contrada, proudly sport their own colours in scarves and fan gear that can be purchased in local neighbourhood stores.

Palaces dot lanes. The Chigi-Saracini Palazzo shows what much of the city would have looked like in its heyday around the middle of the 14th century. With its exquisitely painted loggia bearing sculptures of the wealthy patriarchs in the family, and the picturesque well in the middle of the courtyard, this reveals how many of the city's wealthy nobles once lived.

Though, in this case, the family died out and with no heirs the last owner left the palazzo to fund a musical academy. And that must be having some success, as today Siena is crawling with busloads of international student visitors, choristers from all over the world exploring and gathering in little groups, singing for joy. Reverberating off the Duoma walls and through the narrow canyon lanes edged with tall buildings music rippled over the centro storico.

Siena was made for music. And for shopping and window dressing.

The city was also built for siege. One very conspicuous tall tower of a townhouse from the medieval period had only one entrance, we noticed: high above street attack level, with a pull up ladder for access and security in times of trouble. What a way to live.

We came next to the Duomo and its exterior is like an intricately iced birthday cake. It is amazing in its detail of spiked stone and grim gargoyles topped with spun sugar confection in stone work, all topped with gold. You could stand for hours working it all out. To one side it has a black and white striped marble tower with the stripes getting narrower in the top section making it appear even longer than it is already.

Columns either side of the Duomo show the city's symbols, the she-wolves, suckling the abandoned twins, Romulus and Remus, who the tale goes, grew up to found Rome. The Sienese believe that the son of Remus rode north from Rome on a beautiful black horse and thence founded the city that he named after himself: Senio -- which later became, Siena.

So amazing was the cathedral and its contents that pilgrims came from distant parts in droves. The building opposite the Duomo, Santa Maria della Scala, was used to house the pilgrims, while its network of cellars carved from tufa, are now given over to a museum.

We spent ages inside the Duomo, but you could literally spend days here. There are treasures in every alcove, altar and crypt. It is one of the most densely extravagant cathedrals we have ever visited. And so interesting, with its zebra-striped colonnades, its floor mosaics, is glorious dome, and exquisitely painted ceiling pieces.

Even though this is our second trip to Siena we feel we have covered only a small portion of the tales the city tells. Trying to imagine how a city in Australia of around fifty thousand might ever display this much history and wealth is just mind-boggling. I doubt it could ever happen.

The first time we visited Siena, years ago, we bought panforte, took it home to our villa south of Florence and tried to buy more in our village, and in just about every village between there and Florence every time we left the villa. We were not successful. We were told then, years and years ago, that the only place you could buy panforte was in Siena. We began, then, to understand the regionality of food.

But Siena's panforte has outgrown its town. We can now buy it many places overseas. Today, in Sienna, we bought some more. This version is like a wedge of hard cake, filled with fruit, spices and honey. It is brutal to finely slice. Our dentist back home will not love us for eating big chunks of it.

It has been around since medieval days. One tale says it was the obligatory offering servants and visitors had to make to the nuns at the Abbey of Montecelso in Sienna, in the thirteenth century. Soon, though, the clergy, nobles and the wealthy, who could afford the expensive spices to make it, were addicted.

As are we.