Saying good-bye.

Concetta, our roommate who just recently went home for August break had her mom here for almost a week. (All of Italy pretty much shuts down for the month of August. Lucky, eh?)

Thursday night, we had to say good-bye. Naturally, it was in the kitchen, where most connections seem to be made in Italy.

She was our Italian Mom. There's nothing she didn't do for us- cooked, cleaned, talked, shared.

When they left, they put notes on some olives, cookies, yogurt and crackers, telling us to eat them. (She was very concerned we weren't eating everything we should.)

Friday morning, we had to say goodbye to Marta, our friend at the market. Because of the Palio, the Friday produce market won't happen again until the end of August. I knew it was too good to last.

I don't like to say good-bye, but I'd rather that than never having met them. In the words of Shakespeare, "Parting is such sweet sorrow".

Elucidation.

While writing in the Piazza di San Francesco, a piazza I recently accidently discovered in my search for heaven (aka a teeny little store filled with hundreds of types of pens and paper), I got to thinking about the people of Italy.

The people here are like their churches. While 98% of the population are Roman Catholic, I've yet to see people going to church on Sunday mornings when the bells are echoing throughout the city, calling the people. They seem to overlook their faith as easily as one forgets to look up and notice the numerous churches that Siena is saturated with.

This is one of my favorite churches. It pops out of the brick and stone, surprising me every time.

Each contrada has their own church, which makes at least 17 within the city walls. However, we mustn't forget the larger basilicas and cathedrals of: Santa Maria dei Servi, San Giuseppe, San Agostino, San Martino, San Domenico, San Giorgio and San Francesco.

"Romeo, Romeo, where art thou Romeo?" This balcony was just so quaint it deserved a picture.

There's so much unique architecture in Siena.

The gardens inside of San Francesco.

La Basilica di San Francesco. Built in 1228, it was originally a Romanesque building that was partially destroyed by a fire in 1655 and then reconstructed under the Gothic style.

Piazza di San Francesco.

The ever present window gazer.

Regarding above photograph: I have, upon multiple occasions, watched numerous amounts of tourists talk a picture of the view through the archway on the left, and not even glance at the window. I find it interesting how much people don't notice.

"He does it with more grace, but I do it more natural."

There's so much commotion, yet everything feels calm. It's natural, here, to have such a diversity of people sharing the same space.

Pizza del Campo, meaning field, is the gathering spot of Siena. It is the first place in the city with water, pumped to the Fonte Gaia in 1419. It's where, in Etruscan times, the three hillside neighborhoods that later joined to form Siena, would meet. It was a market. It was and still is the main gathering spot for inhabitants and visitors.

The little girl frantically chasing yet another pigeon down the slope of the piazza, those awkward teenagers sharing a pizza, the tourists spending exorbitant amounts of money on mediocre Italiano food, the frazzled waiters trying to please the customers and of course, those ever exuberant Oca Contrada members, still reveling in their not-so-recent Palio victory. Wait, how do you know they're from Oca (Goose)?

Oh, right. That's how.

The city pulses with a natural rhythm. The street performer in front of Monte dei Paschi, a bank built in 1472, lit by orange and green neon lights feels... natural.

To satiate your curiosity: this is the bank that developed the mortgage. And the concept of a salary. In Roman times, Siena was one of the main stops for travelers on their way to Rome, and thus the city where travelers would go to exchange their money. This was done on tables set up along the street. Thus, banca, meaning bench or table, is the word that the English bank is derived from. Neat, eh?

The Fortezza Medicea echoes with talented strains of jazz mingled with the voices of the thousands of individuals who fought, rejoiced, celebrated and grieved in this immense structure since it's construction in 1561.

The Medici family also built fortresses in Arezzo, Cortona, Grosseto, San Martino, Siena, Piombino, Poggio Imperiale, Volterra and Firenze.

Siena is a place that helps you find yourself. Much like these poor sheep who are becoming shockingly aware of their impending fate.

"They told me Aunt Fritzy went to the happy farm in the country! You don't mean to say those things hanging around Pinocchio's neck are...? Oh dear..."

Our laughter rings out into the emptying street at the absurdities of the city. People meander by, each absorbed in their own thoughts. They are oblivious to their connection with everyone else, all the people sharing that same moment in time, in that same space; oblivious to the celebrations, trends, languages, wars, governments, diseases and renovations that have grasped and released this city for centuries, that this enveloping moment will pass like all the others.

There's nothing these ungraceful cobblestones haven't seen- they support the life of the city. Natural they certainly are.

Discoveries.

"Ruppemi l'alto sono ne la testa

un greve truono, sì chi'io mi riscossi

come persona ch'è per forza desta;

e l'occhio riposato intorno mossi,

dritto levato, e fiso riguardi

per conoscer lo loco dov'io fossi"

-Dante

"Broke the deep lethargy within my heart,

A heavy thunder, so that I upstarted,

Like to a person who by force is wakened;

And found about I moved my rested eyes,

Uprisen erect, and steadfastly I gazed,

To recognise the place wherein I was."

-Dante

Così tanti fiori!

Non c'è niente di meglio nella questa vita che caminare in un campo di fiori.

A day without words.

It's those little connections in life.

I have bangs. They make me happy.

Like my new sandals. And the raw milk I got for 1 euro at the market. And this little ally way with its bridge of plants.

This is my happy place. There's fresh milk. Fresh fruit. Fresh vegetables. Fresh cheese. Fresh bread. All made in little paese around Siena.

I've even made some friends.

Marta makes some incredible contucci. She has a farm in Arezzo, and her daughter is expecting a baby. She makes all types of jams. Onion, raspberry, pepper, pear, you name it. She's generous and loves talking to us. She even gave us extra contucci after we bought what we wanted. She smiles and hugs us. I can't wait to go back next week.

This is Gino's cheese shop. He's the cheese man. I want him to teach me all about cheese. He's quirky, and so funny. His shop is only open for the morning though, so up until now I haven't been able to go much. Luckily, I'm going to be working at night from now on. Hello, cheese.

I love this sign he put up: it roughly translates into: "the love we dedicate to this plant is the same that we give to our clients". Maybe I could fit one of those rolls of cheese into my suitcase...

In a city of stone, it's a glorious thing to find a secluded, reading friendly patch of grass. Especially when the view is this good. There's nothing I love better than flopping down on my stomach and reveling in a world of words.

What other bizarre things have I eaten? Well, let me tell you about this one time at work. It had been a long day, and I am famished. What delightfully delicious thing am I going get to try today, I wonder? I excitedly sit down to a giant plate of pasta, full of juicy red tomatoes, onions and:

Herring eggs. They stuck to my tongue and made me gag. And they tasted like old fish. Raw sausage was better, in every single way: words I never thought I'd utter. Needless to say, I made Federicho's day happy when he received another portion of pasta.

Una cena con la Oca contrada.

A few of us had the opportunity to go to a dinner with the Oca contrada.

Oca is goose, as you can see by my lovely bread crumb creation. Hansel and Gretel would be proud.

A lady in our branch is a member of Oca. Oca is the contrada that won the palio last month, and Sorella Ferri has seen thirteen wins in her life. THIRTEEN. Folks, this is a lot. Some contrade haven't won once in the past... fifty years. Every time they win the palio, they have a dinner for every palio they've ever won. Sixty-four, for Oca. Some dinners are more fancy, some less so. Ours was tiny. It was fascinating watching the people interact. The men were gentlemen, bringing us our food. We had pasta with tomatoes, bread and this delightful piece of meat.

That one bite never ended up in my stomach. If I knew what this was called I'd add it to my list of first-timers in Italy. Alas, it's a mystery to me.

There were, at one point, some coveted zucchini. However, they met their demise when they cascaded onto the floor. It was a sad moment in the night. I recovered quickly, however, when I discovered the tiramisu. There were little pieces of heaven inside, aka peaches. Who would've thought?

I'm so lucky that I'm getting to witness a field study project in action. It's been incredibly insightful for me, and I've learned so much, both about doing a field study and about people in general.

While talking about the significance of the contrade, Sorella Felli said, "secondo me, le contrade sono la salvezza per i giovani". According to me, the contrade are the salvation for the young generation.

Beautiful, isn't it?