Palio della Balestra

Approaching week three here in Sansepolcro, I am settled in and beginning to feel at home. One thing that hastened my endearment to the town was being able to attend and participate in Palio della Balestra, a festival held every year in September. “Balestra” means “crossbow,” and the Palio is an ancient competition, dating back to at least 1594, if not earlier. There have been various events taking place since last weekend, finally climaxing Sunday at the crossbow tournament with our Umbrian archrivals, the town of Gubbio.


Balestra week began last Saturday. In the morning there was a market with many Renaissance-garbed people selling goods such as handmade paper and handspun yarn, pastries, flower wreaths, and other things. That evening, there was a long processional through the town and into the main piazza, or town square. All of the Meredith students were invited to participate in it, a very special honor that I was extremely excited for. That evening we met in the street dressed in our pretty pink, teal, red, cream, green, and navy medieval gowns. We paraded through the streets and into the piazza, taking our front row seats. It was a lovely evening and included performances by a fire juggler, dancers, a vocalist, people on stilts, and also Sansepolcro’s famous flag wavers. By the end of the evening, I was a bit cold and tired of sitting up straight like a Renaissance lady, but also thrilled that I, an American student, had the opportunity to experience being in a local Italian festival like this.

On Wednesday Balestra continued with a crossbow competition between Sansepolcran teams. Most Italian cities have several gates; one faces Florence, and another faces Rome. It was these two sides of the city—Porta Romana and Porta Fiorentina—that competed against each other for the chance to represent Sansepolcro in the big Palio against Gubbio. We cheered for Porta Fiorentina but, sadly, lost. That night, men in colorful tights and ladies in long flowy gowns and donut-shaped headdresses marched through the city, playing drums loudly and singing “Porta Romana! Porta Romana!” Then on Saturday evening there was another event, mainly featuring the flag wavers. Several of us were asked to dress up for it again, and so we wore primavera dresses and flowers. This time it was rather disappointing because we walked around the piazza and walked right back out, and were not able to see the performance.

However, any disappointments from Saturday night were forgotten on Sunday, when we were able to watch the Palio between Sansepolcro and Gubbio from our stadium seats in the afternoon daylight. Lines and lines of women walked in wearing elegant dresses and their hair in strange yet beautiful concoctions. Men wearing brightly colored caped tunics and tights marched in, too. Some were playing drums or horns, others were flag wavers, and others were part of the crossbow teams. There were many, many more people than I expected to see, both participating in the Palio and watching it. The piazza was completely filled with crossbow shooters, medieval damsels, drummers, trumpeters, and flag wavers. The seats surrounding it were also full, and there was quite a crowd of people pressed up against the barriers in the streets, trying their best to sneak a peek.


Before any crossbow shooting began, the flag wavers came out and performed the same routines I missed seeing Saturday night. It is truly a treat to watch them. Not only can they twirl their flags around in perfect synchronization, but they also throw them in the air and to other people, and always manage to catch them in perfect timing. Sometimes they stand in a circular formation and throw their flags to the person across from them, so the flags crisscross in the air. There were some routines involving dozens of people, and also some solos. At one point one man was twirling and juggling three flags simultaneously, using his hands, arms, feet, and legs. At first the flag twirling seemed strange to me, because in America no man would be caught dead prancing around in hot pink and bright green tights, twirling a flag around his head. Here, however, it is a cherished tradition, one that boys begin when they are very young, and continue until they are parents and even grandparents. In the Palio there was a small boy—I later learned he was four years old—who stood proudly in the square and twirled a solo. It ended with him throwing his flag gallantly into the air, but not quite managing to catch it. He was precious.


After the flag wavers finished, then came the part we were all waiting for—the crossbow shooting. The first man approached the stand, rested his crossbow on it and eyed the target. He fired, sending his arrow swooshing through the air and hitting the target with a thwap. It was almost perfectly centered and the crowd cheered. Man, after man, after man proceeded to follow suit until the target was so full of arrows there was no more room on it. I thought they were finished, or at least would get a new target, but no—they continued firing for at least fifteen more minutes. Finally, when the target was so full arrows were falling out and it looked like a bouquet, they stopped. Several official-looking people took away the target and, in a mysterious process that no one seemed to understand, judged who the winner was. After a lengthy wait, the target was brought back out, this time with a single arrow in the center. Much to our delight, Sansepolcro was the victor! As the audience clapped passionately and the Sansepolcran team members congratulated each other, I began to feel pride that this was my home, albeit a temporary one.