A Fling in Florence

Sienna

I had desperately needed a getaway. I couldn't be here anymore, not after— well, all of it. The kismet timing of discovering an Italian first cousin made it feel like I was being encouraged to escape.

My uncle, we learned, had a brief fling with a woman from Bologna during his family's vacation when he turned 18. What came from that fling, Vincenzo, was now my age and living in Florence with his mother. When my uncle finally introduced us to my long lost cousin, Vincenzo wished to meet some of his family in person.

I jumped at the opportunity to spend 3 weeks in Italy with newfound family. I could forget about the rest of the world.

When Vincenzo met me at the airport, something between us immediately clicked. It was as if we had grown up together our whole lives, as if we had already sat through Christmas dinners at the kids' table, made cringeworthy home videos, or made up our own choreography to popular songs. We instantly fell into step, our lives having been oddly parallel despite the distance and ignorance of each other's existence.

When I first arrived in Florence, Vincenzo insisted that he take me all over the city, touring the piazzas and eating gelato, gossiping about members of our family he had yet to meet. We spent hours in the Uffizi Gallery, admiring renaissance art. After two days, I felt like Vin had dragged me to every corner of Florence without a break. His mother Pia's cooking didn't help, she was constantly feeding me, serving me pollo alla fiorentino, crostini de fagato, baccala, pasta e fagioli; literally any recipe she could remember, she promptly stuffed into my mouth. By my second night, I was sure I'd seen more of Florence than my own hometown and feeling 10 pounds heavier.

"Alzarsi, Bella!" Vincenzo was trying to wake me up for another day of chaos.

"No, Vin, please I need to sleep!"

"Ah, ah, ah, up! It is the feast of St John the Baptist, it is the most exciting day of the year!"

"Diavolo," I smirked at Vincenzo as I struggled to rise from the bed. I had learned some Italian before coming so I wouldn't be too out of my element.

"Piantagrane," Vin countered back. "Come, you must get ready so I can tell you about the greatest sport in the world."

*************************************************************

As Vincenzo pulled me through the bustling crowd in the square, he tried to prepare me for what I was about to witness.

"It's like soccer, rugby, and boxing all rolled into one. There are almost no rules, and it is very brutal. But the celebrations are unlike anywhere else, piantagrane."

"What are the rules?" I was still confused.

"There are very few. If you are taken to the ground, you must stay there until a point is scored. If a team misses a shot, their opponent gets half a point. There is honor in this game, and there is no targeting or cheap shots allowed. But you can do pretty much anything else— it can get very violent. There are a few others but those are the main rules."

The atmosphere of the city was electric. Clearly the feast day of John the Baptist, their patron saint, was a day you couldn't miss in Florence. The marching bands, costumed attendees, and pageantry were a marvel. The sport Vincenzo was describing to me sounded horrendous, however, and I wasn't sure how that exactly fit into the celebration.

I watched a dressed up cow get marched through the street, and looked to Vincenzo with a wary look.

"Spiacente, I forgot! The cow is tradition, too. The calciante's play for glory now, but winners used to be gifted a cow. Most of the players tonight will go home with a cow tonight anyway, am I right, Sienna?" Vincenzo made subtle gestures at the women surrounding us, throwing themselves at the gladiator-like men now walking the street.