High life
Sojourn in Siena
Taki
Having had the misfortune to spend the best part of June indoors — in a courtroom to be exact — and next to some extremely unpleasant people, I decided to give myself a holiday in the land where Shakespeare may have travelled to in order to avoid the dreaded plague of 1592-93. (It doesn't take an A.L. Rowse to figure out that, soon after, Bill wrote his five Italian- based plays, which leads A.L. Taki to believe that Shakespeare went to northern Italy, rather than Stratford as English chauvinists insist.) I chose to go further south, however, as the Carter-Rucks and Hartleys of this world are far more conta- gious. (My God, I can still hear the nasal, droning voice of Mr Hartley putting every- one to sleep, saying what a ghastly man I am, and all because I went to Eton and he did not.)
And how right I was. There is no more beautiful spot in Europe than Siena and its environs, made even more attractive be- cause the RWT (rich white trash) of the jet set have still to discover it. (I thought I saw a catamite near Arezzo, but upon closer inspection it turned out to be an optical illusion.) My first stop was to be Turin, where the employer of the second-best football player in the world lives, and whom I needed to see for some advice regarding yet another legal matter. But once again my laziness proved expensive. I did not ring first, so when I arrived I was informed that Gianni Agnelli was in New York for the Statue of Liberty celebra- tions. So I left immediately and headed for Genoa and the Columbus Hotel.
The Columbus Hotel is a great one. Rococo, with enormous rooms, good ser- vice and closets one can even come out of. I was with a friend, and upon arriving I asked reception for a large double room with letto matrimoniale. My friend ob- jected in her broken Italian, and what was worse she objected in front of the porters who began to laugh despite my discomfort. After a while we settled on a double with twin beds, but the damage had been done. I was furious with my companion, as well as the giggling porters, so I proceeded to go into a sulk and actually drank the whole mini-bar that was in our room.
In the morning, I was still up and feeling very ill. We had been expected for dinner in Siena the previous evening, so we had to make tracks, as they say in California which meant the companion did the driving
while I slept. That proved to be our undoing. The companion was a good driver but the worst navigator since Odysseus. After Leghorn, where I had a coffee, and Pisa, where I had another coffee, my next refreshment was in . . . Bologna. Which meant we were further away from Siena than when we started. So we had another fight, ana being a girl she cried, and I had to do the driving from then on. Three hours later we were in Siena, and enjoying a rather late lunch with our host and hostess. (Moral of the story: never trust a driver who refuses to share a letto matrimo- Male the night before.)
What 1 loved about Siena was obviously the beauty of it, but also the cheery and talkative nature of its people. Even more I liked the sporting spirit of the Palio, the absence of all material interest in winning, since victory only brings a symbolic prize — the Palio — which is a painted banner. Having watched Wimbledon and the World Cup the previous weeks, believe me, the Palio was certainly a joy to behold.
As was the treasure-filled Renaissance villa I stayed in. My host is a brilliant writer and was an MP and minister. Unlike most politicians, however, he had normal tastes and a zest for life, so now he chooses to live in that most civilised place. His is the most elegant and beautiful house of the region. My four days there passed as if they were four hours. I plan to return very soon.
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