I just encountered the most culturally powerful moment of my time in Italy. It left such an impression on me that I feel compelled to share it with you. Unfortunately, I left my camera at home…so here goes my attempt at descriptive writing:
Set up in front of the Basilica of Santa Croce were bleachers surrounding a temporary arena. My classmate, Grace, told me that there is a special event tonight: a sporting match with prisoners who fight one another….without any rules. Apparently, her roommate went to last year’s event and saw one of the prisoner’s eyeballs pop out. After a few hours of studying at the café, I had forgotten about tonight’s event…but on my walk home I heard a slow drumbeat coming from the other side of town. The closer I walked to my apartment, the louder the rhythmic drums became. As I approached Piazza Della Repubblica, there was a large gathering of people watching a parade of men walking to the slow beat of the drums. Men of all ages, but who seemed serious, almost solemn. My mind was focused on maneuvering through the crowd to get home, but when I entered the piazza I realized that this parade was something quite unique. Hundreds and hundreds of men (thousands, probably) were marching to that slow drumbeat, which was still in the distance…but getting louder every second. They were dressed in ancient looking costumes with bright colors, stripes, tights, feathers galore, knickers, billowy sleeves, helmets or puffy hats, sashes, emblems, frilly collars, leather belts, and boots or buckled shoes. Oh, and sometimes swords.
Then the gladiators appeared…and I got the goose bumps. A group of 40 or so men, all in matching athletic outfits, walked past me (some within an arm’s distance!). These were some of the strongest, fiercest men I’ve ever seen in my life. Their presence and energy were overwhelmingly powerful. Some were definitely disheveled, but many others were glistening, chiseled, statue-like figures (with tattoos) who had me in a trance. They walked to that slow beat of the drums….stood as tall as physically possible…and did not crack one single grin. Until…the woman next to me ran up to one of the men, hugged him, and handed him (his?) baby. Which made me cry.
Three more groups of prisoners proceeded, each “team” in different colored uniforms. Then came the drummers (finally!)...hundreds of them. In the distance I saw flags flying up into the air – way above the crowd, which turned out to be propelled by the most masculine flag throwers in the world. Picture baton throwing, but with flags that occassionally look like they will land in the crowd. (Turns out, this is an important practice in Italy that dates back to Medieval Times.) OK, are you ready for the parade's finale? Eight people dressed in black hooded robes, carting an antique gurney. I'm hoping they were just symbolic.
*******It has been about fours hours since I wrote the above entry. Turns out, 1) The men are not prisoners....they're atheletes. 2) They are playing football (with minimal rules). 3) It's doubtful that an eyeball popped out last year. 4) This blog entry should be renamed "Perception of Prisoners in the Piazza"...because perception is a funny, funny thing.
Here's a link if you want to check out more info and pictures of Calcio Storico Fiorentino.
