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The girls are both super into riding bikes now. This brings me great joy. (at Columbia, Missouri) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bn6bR2iHwSl/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=iz77z2royu3q

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Day 35, part 2: Fishy kisses At the restaurant we ate at that night, Paolino, Colleen got an entire fish--head, tail, and all. Maybe our brains were just baked from hours in the hot sun, but we dared the girls to kiss the fish. On the lips. Essie just. Couldn’t. Do it. Then it was Camille’s turn, and after much courage and a *considerable* amount of egging on by her parents, she kissed that fish. On the lips. Inspired but daunted, Essie tried another round. To no avail. Camille - 1, Essie - 0 We made such fools of ourselves at this lovely seaside restaurant in Italy. It was worth it. More than worth it...it was great. After, we strolled the boardwalk area and took in a street performance by breakdancers. They were actually terrific. They did that thing where they kind of scammed all of us parents into giving our kids a euro or two “donate” as they passed around a hat. But hey man, you guys are out here hustling, so here ya go. Show us what you got. #andiamocolaneri (at Follonica, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bn6aJGmnWJl/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1186xccimugt9

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Day 35: More beach! We basically tried to recreate the previous day, but with more forethought and less stumbling around and lucking into lovely things. Spoiler: Success! The villa we stayed at actually is part owner of a private stretch of beach, so we got a ride there. We didn’t have chairs, but we had a big ‘ol umbrella, and the whole thing was just...great. Like yesterday, we played and frolicked and swam. We built sand things, aided in our efforts by the bucket, shovel, and toys we bought from a wandering beach vendor. (Colleen talked him down from 10 Euro to 7.) #EssieHerself and I went off on a little daddy/daughter adventure, striking out for a rocky outcropping down the beach. On the other side, we found a different type of beach--rocky and man-made--and we swam out to the buoys. We touched them because we were champs. She was nervous about it but ginned up enough courage to let me take her out there. Certain parties may or may not have peed in the water. With the afternoon waning, we gathered ourselves up, got a ride back to the villa, showered, dressed, and headed back into town for dinner. Our host, Mario, recommended Paolino, and it didn’t disappoint. Hardly anyone else was there, but the food was spot on. The owner kept trying to upsell us by saying, “My wife….” followed by some dish that she hand made that we simply had to try. He was right about the seafood salad, though. MmmmmmMm. One of Colleen’s dishes was an entire fish. She dared the girls to kiss it on the lips. Hilarity ensured. Camille eventually did it. (That is SO Camille. She has a history of successfully completing food dares.) Es couldn’t bring herself to do it. We embarrassed ourselves in front of the whole place but did not care. The whole episode lasted something like 20 minutes. We hit up the same gelato place this night as we did last night, because hey why not! Filippo was once again our driver, because he is the best, and we love him. #andiamocolaneri (at Follonica, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bn6Xo7PnSrJ/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=fllbcwevk18e

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Day 34, part 2: Getting To The Beach Getting to the actual beach was trickier than it sounds. We didn't know where *exactly* to go, and Follonica has a massively long shoreline. Most of the beaches are “private,” which is to say “you can use them for a fee and hey you can have a chair and an umbrella if you give me that juicy kidney you’re hardly even using.” Plus, all of the chairs at all of the hotel and restaurant and beach-business locations are bought for the season. It's kind of a neat idea, but it sucks if you're in from out of town and just want to chill on the sand for a few hours. We eventually found a beach-business (it exists only to offer chairs and such, no other biz attached) with a young proprietor who both spoke good English and let us rent a couple chairs for the day. 28 Euro...worth it. (I liked this fellow. He looked like DJT Jr, complete with the slicked-back hair, but he was kind and curious and hated DJT Sr.) It was a little crowded, but...just marvelous. The sand was pristine. The water clear enough that you could see your feet in chest-high water. The isles of Elba, Monte Cristo, and others dotted the horizon. The mountains to the South framed in the crescent-shaped bay. #andiamocolaneri (at Follonica, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/BnTqnG3HWVo/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=17xhtb3qhq1fd

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Day 34, part 3: Burnt But Blessed At the beach,we played hard. Some of us napped hard. We soaked up the water and salt and sun, and Colleen and I kept meeting eyes and silently reminding each other that it's insane that we're here, that we're doing this. We also got way sunburnt. Oops. The stuff we were using apparently didn’t hold up against the salt water and Etruscan sun. On the walk to our restaurant, we stumbled across kid heaven: a whole playground of bounce houses and blow-up slides! The 6 Euro per kid was *well worth it*. Well. Worth. It. For dinner, we treated ourselves to seaside seafood at Sottomarino. It’s what you might call a classy joint. We sat on the veranda, overlooking the water. It was already pretty late--after 8pm--and the kids were juuuuust on the edge. And of course they hate seafood, so they were fidgety, but they held on, ate their pasta blanco, and let us enjoy the best meal we had this whole trip. Fresh seafood + pasta + Italy + Tyrrhenian Sea + sunset = heaven. We of course squeezed in some late-night gelato. While we waited for our taxi back to the villa (Filippo rides again!), we giggled while Camille requested a beat (provided by yours truly) and danced along the wide brick walkway, in front of God and everybody. #andiamocolaneri (at Follonica, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/BnTq0K_HLnZ/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=q06id0dt8zs5

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Day 34, part 1: The Beach We didn’t go very far once we left #Siena, but the contrast between the medieval city and the beach town of Follonica could hardly be more pronounced. It felt like we both time-traveled and, uh...travel-traveled. Which I suppose technically we did in both cases, but...sorry, this is a stupid paragraph. We got off the bus in Follonica kind of in the middle-ish of the town. There were lots of tourists, but this is a vacation spot for Italians, so we were some of the only foreigners around. After futzing about for a while, we called a cab. (The vehicle? Another Beast, like the one I drove in Napoli!) Our Airbnb doesn’t have an address (?!), but our patient driver Filippo got us there eventually. It was a villa. On a farm. Where they make their own wine and olive oil. We had to cool our heels while they readied our room. Despite all we’d done so far, it was only around 11am. Fortunately there's a pool, so we discreetly got the girls changed and let them frolic for a long while. Eventually I was able to don a suit and join them. Finally, we got into our amazing villa. We relaxed. For a bit. And then it was andiamo Colaneri, time for the beach! ...which was trickier than it sounds. More in a bit. #andiamocolaneri (at Follonica, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/BnTqBDbnnIu/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=c13do4da2zks

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Day 33, part 2: Climbing the Torre Del Mangia One of the two highest points in Siena is the Torre del Mangia, aka the Tower of Mangia. It stands guard over the Piazza del Campo in the heart of the old city, keeping time with its clock and hearkening back to 700 years ago when its bell told the city what was when. Hundreds of years ago, there were many such towers in Siena, but in a not-so-subtle reverse phallic gesture, Florentine invaders toppled all but one. Ascending the tower’s some 300 steps is a must-do before you leave Siena, but we Colaneri managed to burn through 5 weeks and hadn’t yet bothered to tackle it. I was determined not to miss this, and I convinced #EssieHerself to come with me on this adventure. Those 300-ish steps are supposed to be intimidating, but we’d been climbing up and down 60+ steps to our flat every day, schlepping children and strollers and groceries, so facing an extra couple hundo stairs, unburdened by anything but my camera, did not seem daunting in the slightest. In any case, we were in top stair-climbing shape. Es was in full adventure mode, letting her brain explore and ask and pontificate and say “WHOA, Daddy check this out!”. These have always been my favorite times with her, ever since I was home with her when she was a toddler. With hours at a time to kill, we would just...go somewhere, with no agenda, and explore. The view from the top is what you’d expect it to be. You can see the entire city in 360 degrees, and miles (err, kilometers) beyond. The bell sits right there in the center of the loggia. If you feel rascally, you can easily climb up and touch it. Es and I soaked it in, taking turns pointing out landmarks, including the church next to our flat. We took our selfies and, uh, us-ies (?), and I shot my panoramas. Nice people took decent photos of us together. It was nearly evening, and the light was getting softer and warmer. It was time to head back down. Of course, we bumped into Haley on the steps on the way. This jaunt felt like the end of our Siena, and it was a hell of a way to cap it off. Ciao, Siena. Grazie, grazie, grazie. #andiamocolaneri   (at Siena, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/BnRJcVvnQBH/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=f8x53kxo8ow9

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More shots of the #BoatPalio. Including the stacked chairs post-contrada dinner next to the fountain. #andiamocolaneri (at Siena, Italy)

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Day 33: Packing up It's so odd to suddenly be done with Siena. After so many adventures and so much time here, it...it doesn't feel like home, but it feels safe and familiar. And that's something. But today is it. In the morning, we're off to Follonica for some beach time before we return home. (HOME home, that is.) And of course it's bittersweet. We're all a little ready for our normal life (my constantly aching back says I need my bed in the worst way, for example), but we'll miss Siena badly. And not just the city...we had friends here! Our American buddies made our time in Siena 100 point better (“100 point” is in our family lexicon now, thanks to Camille), and we'll miss them most of all, methinks. Young Henry planned a party for our last day (and did it days in advance). We will meet at Fontebranda. We will race handmade boats. We will eat and/or drink. Yes...YES. Awesome idea Henry! The kids had made a ton of little boats out of corks (hmmm how did they get *so many* of those) & toothpicks & paper & bits of junk. Some were plain & built for “speed”. Others had elaborate sails. They all floated admirably. #EssieHerself made one with a working anchor. It did poorly in the race, obviously, but it was a great little bit of engineering. They even made flags for each contrada, so it was a sort-of Palio. A boat Palio. A representation of something that is already a metaphor for something else. I don't remember who won, but the kids were happy, & we parents were duly impressed with their ship-building & banner-making. We snacked & drank a bit while the kiddos milked as much playtime as they could out of the afternoon. We all said goodbyes and stay-in-touches (which actually means something in the social media era). Everyone was a little sad but hid it well. Ciao bell...bellas? What's the plural? I'm still terrible at Italian… After some rest and a jaunt up the Torre del Mangia with Es, we capped the day. Dinner with Haley, shooting glowing trinkets into the air on the Campo, and last gelato. Then the requisite frantic-ish packing and fitful night of sleep that always precedes an early morning wake-up call. 6:30am approached...time to go.

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Day 32: PALIO!, Part 4: The Celebration The winning horse is escorted to a specific church (Girafa’s church, poor guys). I found a sunburnt @haleyk310 , and we followed a jubilant contrada-load of Dragos to the church. The horse and jockey entered, and were blessed for the second time that day. We dared not try to push in, lest we steal this moment from a longsuffering Drago. We stood to the side and took some photos and grinned. We were happy for Vittoria. Happy for this merry crowd. The sun was gone now. We realized that we hadn’t eaten in hours, so we found a restaurant down a quiet viccolo. The waiter apologized because the only table they had was a two-topper outside, on the street, underneath the lights. (What is with these people, I would have paid 20 euro just to sit there.) I don’t remember what we ate. But Dragos--mostly men in their 20s--kept marching past the cross streets, down the way from us. Chanting and singing and stomping. One gaggle has the actual Palio, which is the banner they make for every race. It’s technically the only prize you win when you’re victorious, but of course, that’s not what it’s about. Even later, we trudged back to our respective flats. Five flights up, I found @colleenc0801 waiting for me with a glass of wine. “How was the Palio?! Tell me everything.” And so I did, while Drago chanting floated down the streets all night long. Our last night in Siena. #andiamocolaneri (at Siena, Italy)

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Day 32: PALIO!, Part 3b: The Race The Drago contingent was storming the racetrack in front of me, and others streamed to other mounted jockeys in anger--for losing, for cheating, for whatever. Suddenly a panicked woman in her 60s pushed to the protective fence where I was standing. She was shouting at/to the guards doing crowd control. There was such desperation in her eyes that I instinctively began scanning the crowd nearby to see the cause of her anguish. The guard simply helped her over the barrier. She sprinted to the Drago jockey and piled on, screaming for joy. Then an old man tried to do the same. Another old timer said something to the first guy, who whipped around with a raised fist and some very intense Italian scream-shouting. He hopped over, too. At about this time, I was smiling and in awe, and then I saw the big fight break out maybe 30-40 away. There were dozens of men, grabbing at each other, flailing, punching. It looked like 50 serpents writhing. I saw a man grab a youngster, maybe 13 years old, by the back of his shirt and literally throw him away from this mob. At first I thought he was hurting the boy, but after seeing him scold the kid, I realized it was probably his dad or a family member preventing him from getting his brains punched in. This was all very entertaining until the angry pile shifted and began moving towards me, like a hurricane storm system on a radar slowly spinning inland. I was going to get pinched between the wall of the fountain, the barrier on the track, and 50 punching arms. I slide out through the crowd the only way I could and regrouped. #andiamocolaneri (at Siena, Italy)

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Day 32: PALIO!, Part 3a: The Race At long last, the horses and their jockeys prance into the Campo. Cheers erupt. They form a sort of line, and an announcer slowly (SO SLOWLY) and quietly announces each horses’ place on the starting block. (Siena is a UNESCO city. Can someone on the board buy them a f#@&#* PA system that works?!) I have no idea what the announcer is saying, but the agonizing groans and wild-eyed cheers of various groups standing there in the Campo tell me that I severely underestimated the passion of the Sienese when it comes to the Palio. After the horses’ places are announced, they line up. The last horse is the one that actually starts the race. When that jockey suddenly takes off on it, then and only then can the whole field take off. There’s no starting pistol. The problem is that THERE IS NO TIME LIMIT on how long that jockey can dink around, waiting to take off. The hesitation is political and complex and dynamic. This particular race, the Snail rider didn’t like where the rival Tortuca rider was positioned. The two contrade are bitter enemies, and Snail didn’t want to give Tortuca any sort of advantage. And so befitting the name, the Snail jockey delayed the race while these shenanigans endured. For one hour. And twenty minutes. Help me. I’m dying. I’m--OH CRAP THEY’RE OFF. Picture 10 horses thundering past you, just a few feet away. Feel that. Hear it. Man it was cool. The crowd is screaming. One of the jockeys bites it hard at that pesky second turn. Then another, and another. Three laps went by both fast and slow, but in the end, one stood alone. Drago. Our friend Vittoria’s contrada. The horse whose blessing we attended. He won. #andiamocolaneri (at Siena, Italy)

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Day 32: PALIO!, Part 2: Standing. Then Some More Standing. One cannot *just* show up to the Palio. There’s a window of time in which you can get in there before they close off all the entrances and exits to the #PiazzaDelCampo, and if you’re late, you’re SOL my friend. I showed up a few minutes before they started shutting the gates. Initially I was going to locate and hang with the Mizzou crowd, but they inexplicably chose a spot where the sun would pummel them for the next few hours. Pass. Instead, I located our new pals from Emory University and let the dropping sun quickly cast a cooling shadow over me. Choosing a spot to watch the Palio requires forethought and strategy. Because not only do you need to get a good vantage point for the horsies, you have to be ready to evade a massive fistfight or group trampling. Did I not mention any of that before? People under age 12 are not even allowed on the Campo for the race, because violence usually erupts a little. #foreshadowing I chose a northern location, close to the side of the fountain, where I could both see the start fairly well but was close to a water source and was protected on one side from crowd seismology. A sort of wavebreaker. This proved to be a good decision, but was almost a dangerous one. #foreshadowing Once positioned...you wait. And wait. And wait. Also, the parade from earlier in the day entered the Campo. @haleyk310 describes this as the world’s longest and slowest parade, and I can enthusiastically confirm the accuracy of that statement at this time. It is spectacular...for like 10 minutes...and then it is pure agony. They have marchers represent the dissolved contrade of old (there was like 50 of them at one point in history), and you wish they wouldn’t because OMG is it even possible to walk that slowly? How do you not just fall over? A couple of hours expired while I idly chatted with nearby buddies. I looked a hundred yards to my left and watched the Mizzou crew bake. And waited for the race. It was worth it. #foreshadowing #andiamocolaneri @colleenc0801 (at Siena, Italy)

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Day 32, PALIO!, Part 1c: Horse Blessings and Marching Another round of pics from the parade and blessing. #andiamocolaneri @colleenc0801 (at Siena, Italy)

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Day 32: PALIO!, Part 1b: Horse Blessings and Marching Then the horse was led away, up the street. The herd followed, marching all the way to Duomo. It was getting crowded. And harder to dodge the suited contrada paraders. They seemed to be multiplying. Colorful, thick, crushed velvet nudged us aside from all angles. Finally, after reaching the Duomo, we realized it was because ALL of the marching contrade were converged on that very spot to being The Parade. At this point the afternoon was wearing on us all, and given that I was to be standing for hours to see the actual Palio, not to mention this very parade, a little later that evening. So I bailed, ditching the missus and our sweaty, red-faced children and tried to find a way back to our flat. It was harder that you might think. Siena’s streets are don’t have sidewalks or crosswalks or medians or signals or anything. It’s just about 20 feet of stone pavers from building to building. That 20 feet was filled with paraders. Factor in that these old streets are laid out like so much spaghetti, and that half the tour was in the parade, and that the other half of the town plus all the tourists were watching the parade, it was nigh impossible to get anywhere. But eventually I did, and I also reached a hat store. I was unable to non-destructively transport my adventure hat across the Atlantic, so I had been without one for weeks. I was going to be standing under the hot hot sun for a few more hours. I needed an adventure hat of some kind that would shade my face a bit. I made a quick decision to buy a duckbill cap. (Reasons: Eminently portable. Can be transported non-destructively in luggage. Provides a modicum of face-shade. I like it. And I don’t care what anyone thinks, I like it.) I also bought a cold beer and a cold Coke and a cold water, and I slammed them all down in the darkness of our closed-window flat. I do not recall the order of consumption. But all felt great. Properly hydrated/caffeinated/boozed, I left the flat and set out for the Campo. It’s Palio time. #andiamocolaneri @colleenc0801 (at Siena, Italy)

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Day 32: PALIO!, Part 1a: Horse Blessings and Marching But first...there’s a WHOLE LOT OF STUFF that happens in little ‘ol Siena on Palio day. Each contrada that’s racing gets dressed up in Medieval attire and gets together somewhere in their neighborhood. They parade, and get their horse blessed, and--man oh man. One of the people who works for the group that runs the international program that Mizzou was a part of, Vittoria, is from the Drago (Dragon) contrada. She graciously invited the Mizzou group to come along for Drago’s shindig for the day. This is how much of a small town Siena is: We met Vittoria at the Drago gathering in the morning. While she was briefing us, her mom popped out of the apartment building. They exchanged a quick hug. “My mom lives here,” chuckled Vittoria. But we weren’t meeting at her mom’s flat; it was just adjacent to the contrada’s gathering place. The Drago folks drummed and twirled flags there for a while before they started marching. There was a fellow in full armor. FULL. ARMOR. SWORD. METAL. THE WHOLE KIT. It was like 90 degrees, and this guy was in a metal suit, slowly cooking. Each contrada had an armored person in their parade. Each one we saw was sweating extremely profusely. “It is a great honor,” someone told me. “Is it though,” I squinted. The Drago contrada was on the move. I had no idea where we were actually going, but Colleen and I had exactly two missions: Follow the herd and do not lose the children. Both of those things proved difficult. We marched through the heat to the Drago contrada church where their Palio horse was hanging out. (Read that sentence again.) They walked the horse out to a jostling, gawking crowd that had a few too many tourists. A circle formed around the horse, who looked extremely nonplussed to be there. A priest incanted a blessing over the horse in either Latin or Italian, but in any case it was all Greek to me. [pause for laughter and applause] #andiamocolaneri @colleenc0801 (at Siena, Italy)

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Day 32: PALIO! Today is the big day. The running of the Palio! Since we first learned that we’d be going to Siena, I’ve been looking forward to this. Friends who have seen it before proclaim its greatness. It’s a horse race, in the middle of this little city, and you can stand right. Freaking. There. I decided, much against character, that I wouldn’t bring my camera with me. I wanted to simply experience the race and everything around it without thinking about trying to get a good shot. The race lasts like 90 seconds, which IMHO isn’t enough time to both soak it in and get just the right angles with the right light, etc. Also, I heard that the crowd situation on the #PiazzaDelCampo, which is the center of the racetrack, can get hairy, and I didn’t want to have to worry for my physical safety while protecting a dumb camera. And so I went in armed with only my phone. And I left it in my pocket during the race itself. I do not regret this. For a couple of reasons. But first...there’s a WHOLE LOT OF STUFF that happens in little ‘ol Siena on Palio day. Which I present now, in four parts. Stay tuned. Also I love this pic of #EssieHerself because she looks like she did when she was tiny. #andiamocolaneri (at Siena, Italy)