Siena, Italy

My posts are completely out of order at this point. Here are the places I’ve visited in order: Reykjavik, Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Istanbul, Athens, Barcelona, Vienna, Salzburg, Munich, Interlaken, Bern, Milan, Venice, Florence and Siena.

I had my heart set on a Tuscan Christmas. Ribollita, roasted chestnuts , chianti and panettone within the rolling green hills of Tuscany. Too much Under the Tuscan Sun under my skin. My vision is solidified when I sit down at The Kitchen community dinner next to two couples who spent Christmas in Siena the previous year.

I am not the most religious of people. Mass is an experience full of cultural traditions that I never seemed to get the hang of as a child or young adult.

“Left or right? Right or left? What is Katie doing? LEFT OR RIGHT?”

I would inwardly panic as I crawled closer to receiving Communion and struggled to remember which hand went under which hand.

Then there was the Mass where the Priest asked for a silent Peace Be With You. In which I loudly told everyone Peace Be With You in my best Elaine outdoor voice.

Or maybe the time I took Communion with my Mom at Notre Dame, and she told me to never tell anyone what happened. In respect of her Catholic upbringing, I won’t tell that story here.

But I will tell you my Mom told me and my sister not to tell her relatives that we don’t go to Mass regularly at one family reunion. I suspect they caught on pretty quickly. Not sure what would give it away.

But I am downright giddy for midnight Mass in Italian on Christmas Eve at the Duomo.

At the onset of Mass, a buzzard rings as if to announce: It’s Catholic Time!

I think I actually inherited my father’s sense of proprietary because I am shocked to see the altar boys wearing jeans and sneakers under their robes. What is this world coming to? Children, the night before the birth of Baby Jesus we wear dress shoes, which is the equivalent of modern day incense and myrrh. In fact, most of the female congregation is decked in jeans and boots. Baby Jesus weeps for you! Never you mind my own Mass attendance or the fact that my hotel desk clerk shook her head when I asked if my dress was appropriate indicating that short sleeves were a no go. At least I didn’t live Tweet mass Dennis Crowley style (I might have had the Duomo had free WiFi).

The Mass is beautiful despite not understanding most (any) of what is said. I do recognize the word Christ, which is pronounced Cristo as in the Count of Monte Cristo. And a lovely Italian version of Holy Night and Silent Night. And just like that, Mass is over.

Afterward, the whole congregation seems to be heading the opposite direction of me. I go with the flow hoping this is the moment the whole town gathers round the large village Christmas tree, gathers hands and sings Holy Night. But no go. The entire congregation just appears to live in the opposite direction of my hotel.

I spend nearly the majority of Christmas exploring Siena, which is fairy tale beautiful. Minus the part where the whole town seems averse to holding hands and singing Christmas carols around the Christmas tree.

Tagged as: Christmas, Italy, Siena