Place: Tuscany, Italy
Date: Sunday, 31st August 2003
The small, serene, hilltop town of Monteriggioni, set in the beautiful Chianti countryside around Siena, is a window through time that took me back, for a fleeting moment, to an age of knights, damsels and fierce battles.
My visit to Monteriggioni was one of those unplanned experiences that left me feeling lucky and exhilarated. During breakfast at the Tuscan Farmhouse where I was staying, I asked Fabrizio, the cook, for advice about my planned visit to Siena. He casually remarked that I should visit Monteriggioni if I had time, which was just a short drive beyond Siena. He assured me that it was worth a visit. I always followed Fabrizio’s advice, who Tuscan to the bone as he was, seemed to know all about those quaint little places that only get scant coverage in guidebooks.
After spending most of the day rambling along the streets of Siena amongst thousands of tourists, I headed northwards to Monteriggioni. It was around four in the evening when I drove the car into the dusty clearing that served as carpark. As I got out of the car, I could not help but gaze in wonder at the town. Dramatically perched upon a gently sloping hill, Monteriggioni kept a watchful eye over the surrounding countryside. Its proud walls were guarded at intervals by tall, solid, quadrangular towers. The belt of towers was like an enormous crown, placed on a gigantic head.
I left the car and walked up the path towards the summit. The warm September sun felt much more pleasant in the evening than earlier during the day. Panting a little from the exertion of the uphill walk, I approached the town from the southern side, to be greeted by the Porta Romea, which faced Siena. It was one of two arched Gothic gateways, each set through a tower and that provided access to the town. The old masonry was made of neatly cut rectangular stone slabs, which formed a collage of different sizes and different shades of greys and browns. I paused for a moment in front of the gate, musing upon the town’s past.
Monteriggioni, or ‘Mons Rigionis,’ as it was called, was built around 1214 when the Podesta’ of Siena ordered a fortress to be constructed. Its task was to defend the northern frontier of the Sienese lands from the aggressive Florentines. It was situated close to the Via Francigena, an important medieval route that formed part of a road network, linking Rome to the rest of Europe. It was the way that led travellers and pilgrims, who crossed the Alps, to Rome and further to Jerusalem.
As the Middle Ages progressed, Siena and Florence became deadly enemies and fought each other in endless wars for supremacy in the region. Monteriggioni was the sight of many skirmishes. In August 1554, its captain Giovannino Zeti, treacherously handed over the fort to the Florentines to ensure his own safety. Zeti played an important part in the destruction of Siena’s defence system, which eventually led to its downfall.
Date: Sunday, 31st August 2003
The small, serene, hilltop town of Monteriggioni, set in the beautiful Chianti countryside around Siena, is a window through time that took me back, for a fleeting moment, to an age of knights, damsels and fierce battles.
My visit to Monteriggioni was one of those unplanned experiences that left me feeling lucky and exhilarated. During breakfast at the Tuscan Farmhouse where I was staying, I asked Fabrizio, the cook, for advice about my planned visit to Siena. He casually remarked that I should visit Monteriggioni if I had time, which was just a short drive beyond Siena. He assured me that it was worth a visit. I always followed Fabrizio’s advice, who Tuscan to the bone as he was, seemed to know all about those quaint little places that only get scant coverage in guidebooks.
After spending most of the day rambling along the streets of Siena amongst thousands of tourists, I headed northwards to Monteriggioni. It was around four in the evening when I drove the car into the dusty clearing that served as carpark. As I got out of the car, I could not help but gaze in wonder at the town. Dramatically perched upon a gently sloping hill, Monteriggioni kept a watchful eye over the surrounding countryside. Its proud walls were guarded at intervals by tall, solid, quadrangular towers. The belt of towers was like an enormous crown, placed on a gigantic head.
I left the car and walked up the path towards the summit. The warm September sun felt much more pleasant in the evening than earlier during the day. Panting a little from the exertion of the uphill walk, I approached the town from the southern side, to be greeted by the Porta Romea, which faced Siena. It was one of two arched Gothic gateways, each set through a tower and that provided access to the town. The old masonry was made of neatly cut rectangular stone slabs, which formed a collage of different sizes and different shades of greys and browns. I paused for a moment in front of the gate, musing upon the town’s past.
Monteriggioni, or ‘Mons Rigionis,’ as it was called, was built around 1214 when the Podesta’ of Siena ordered a fortress to be constructed. Its task was to defend the northern frontier of the Sienese lands from the aggressive Florentines. It was situated close to the Via Francigena, an important medieval route that formed part of a road network, linking Rome to the rest of Europe. It was the way that led travellers and pilgrims, who crossed the Alps, to Rome and further to Jerusalem.
As the Middle Ages progressed, Siena and Florence became deadly enemies and fought each other in endless wars for supremacy in the region. Monteriggioni was the sight of many skirmishes. In August 1554, its captain Giovannino Zeti, treacherously handed over the fort to the Florentines to ensure his own safety. Zeti played an important part in the destruction of Siena’s defence system, which eventually led to its downfall.
There are no medieval written records left of Monteriggioni, except one, the author of which is incidentally still quite well known! The town is mentioned in Dante’s Divina Commedia, wherein he describes the wall as ten metres high, with towers looming ten metres higher. No wonder that he compared giants to the tall towers of Mons Rigionis! Filled with these thoughts, I walked under the shade of the gate, musing upon the different people who had trodden on those well-worn cobbles in the middle ages: knights, merchants, priests, pilgrims, beggars and the like. The way led to a rectangular clearing, Piazza Roma. The tranquil atmosphere of the town immediately took me captive. There wasn’t the hustle and bustle of the more renowned towns like San Gimignano. There were a few tourists idling by the well at the further end of the piazza. Others were having a cappuccino at the Piazza cafés.
Old buildings, with the characteristic terracotta tile-covered, sloping roofs surrounded the square. Their green wooden shutters were shut, to fend off the sun’s heat. The only open one caught my attention. On closer inspection, I realised that it was made of aluminium. So, I pondered, modern technology had penetrated this quaint, little spot too! At least the owner had made sure that the modern material looked exactly like the traditional artefact.
Old buildings, with the characteristic terracotta tile-covered, sloping roofs surrounded the square. Their green wooden shutters were shut, to fend off the sun’s heat. The only open one caught my attention. On closer inspection, I realised that it was made of aluminium. So, I pondered, modern technology had penetrated this quaint, little spot too! At least the owner had made sure that the modern material looked exactly like the traditional artefact.
On one side of the Piazza Roma, I could see the church of Santa Maria Assunta. Humble in size, the church had a simple, dignified and harmonious façade, built from a collage of polychrome stone bricks that seemed to fit in with each other with jigsaw-puzzle perfection. The circular window on top of the arched doorway was an eye, through which the church gazed intently upon those who ventured through the Piazza. The small belfry at the back, with its small, suspended bronze bell, was the voice by which the church made itself heard to the inhabitants.
Walking past Santa Maria Assunta, it took me only a short while to cover the short distances run by the few streets in the town. Everywhere was peace, quiet and old houses full of charm. I retraced my steps to go out of the Porta Romea and walked around the town walls. The view was stunning. As I stood comfortably in the cuddling shadow of a tall cypress tree, the rich and varied countryside of the Chianti region engulfed my senses and left me in a pleasant trance.
From my lofty position, I could see the neatly ordered vineyards, with the vines standing like disciplined ranks of soldiers. Those were the same vines from which one of Italy’s most famous wines, Chianti, is produced. There were also countless olive groves, the fruits of which make one of the most celebrated and expensive olive oils of Tuscany - Chianti extra virgin olive oil. The countryside was an interesting and varied canvas, with hills, villas, woods, orchards and brown, cultivated fields blending together to produce a view worth seeing a thousand times over. I kept walking along the path hugging the town wall, which loomed menacing and reassuring at the same time, above me.
Walking past Santa Maria Assunta, it took me only a short while to cover the short distances run by the few streets in the town. Everywhere was peace, quiet and old houses full of charm. I retraced my steps to go out of the Porta Romea and walked around the town walls. The view was stunning. As I stood comfortably in the cuddling shadow of a tall cypress tree, the rich and varied countryside of the Chianti region engulfed my senses and left me in a pleasant trance.
From my lofty position, I could see the neatly ordered vineyards, with the vines standing like disciplined ranks of soldiers. Those were the same vines from which one of Italy’s most famous wines, Chianti, is produced. There were also countless olive groves, the fruits of which make one of the most celebrated and expensive olive oils of Tuscany - Chianti extra virgin olive oil. The countryside was an interesting and varied canvas, with hills, villas, woods, orchards and brown, cultivated fields blending together to produce a view worth seeing a thousand times over. I kept walking along the path hugging the town wall, which loomed menacing and reassuring at the same time, above me.
Each of the surrounding hills was crowned by some sort of building that had its own tale to tell. As I recalled the turbulent history of the region, I could almost feel the fear and anxiety of the townsfolk when they saw enemy armies marching in the distance, trampling heedlessly on cultivated land and leaving smoking ruins in their wake. I pictured those feelings soaring fever-high when the distant, menacing armies became less distant and more menacing as they closed in to attack the town. But these thoughts of war soon left me, overwhelmed by the pleasant feeling of being on holiday.
After savouring a refreshing ice cream in the garden terrace of a café in Piazza Roma, I left the town to walk back to the carpark. The view of my car was a bit of a let down for me as I had fantasised of riding back to the farmhouse upon a mighty destrier. But on second thoughts, considering my poor record at horse riding, I decided to be gentle with my poor backside and avoid six long hours of being jolted and tossed about on a hard, uncomfortable saddle!
I gazed for one last time to the crown and its jewels and then dumped myself onto the hugging comfort of the car seat. I drove away with many promises of returning, perhaps at a more convenient time, when the town’s medieval festival would be in full swing, during July.
After savouring a refreshing ice cream in the garden terrace of a café in Piazza Roma, I left the town to walk back to the carpark. The view of my car was a bit of a let down for me as I had fantasised of riding back to the farmhouse upon a mighty destrier. But on second thoughts, considering my poor record at horse riding, I decided to be gentle with my poor backside and avoid six long hours of being jolted and tossed about on a hard, uncomfortable saddle!
I gazed for one last time to the crown and its jewels and then dumped myself onto the hugging comfort of the car seat. I drove away with many promises of returning, perhaps at a more convenient time, when the town’s medieval festival would be in full swing, during July.