Stay with me for a few minutes and I will do my best to transport you to a day I spent at a fascinating Medieval Festival at Volterra in beautiful Tuscany, Italy.

I am staying with friends, not for the first time, at their remote farm, Podera S. Barbara in a tranquil and remote montagna area Ancaiano, Sovicille, thirty kilometres or so west of Siena.

Less than a kilometre across the valley from the farm, tucked away and hidden by a clusters of oak, chestnut, quercus faginea and ilex trees lies the pretty hamlet of Simignano, the original site for the city of Siena. That was until the planners or city fathers, whoever they were, uncovered a flaw in their plan. The location for their dream city lacked a vital element that every city needs, a sustainable water supply. And so the dream moved on.

Today Simignano remains as it was then, a cluster of ancient houses arranged round a tranquil village square and lots of trees.

On approaching there, along a tree lined track on a warm Tuscan evening, something I have done often, the first thing to reach your ears is the distant murmur of human voices, a chatter, rising to a non threatening, welcoming, cacophony of language, interspersed by laughter and music, as a fiddle or two, supported by the occasional burst of an accordion, transports the conversation to a different plane at a different pace.

A tranquil, magical corner of this world.

None of that however is getting us any closer to the subject of this short bulletin. The walled, mountaintop town of Volterra. An ancient settlement dating back to medieval times, pre eighth century BC, with connections to the Etruscans and Romans, the latter calling it, Volaterrea.

For the public planners amongst you, it is a third-level administrative area of Italy, a commune (comune). Coming below regions and provinces . The comune also carries the title, ‘city’.

So, one Sunday in late August, a few years back, I found myself on the road to Volterra. Intent on enjoying the annual Medieval Festival that commemorates what the city may have looked like in AD 1398.

The journey, by car, took me many miles along torturous twisting, turning country roads. It was a bonus however when I detoured through the Berignone Forest Nature Reserve, a beautiful place. After that diversion, I rejoined the main, SR68, road, passing through Castel San Gimignano and onward to my destination, Volterra, some 1742 feet above sea level.

I am in Italy, and I am not alone. The festival is obviously an important and popular day for local people and tourists alike. Volterra is thronging and finding a parking place was a bit tricky until a helpful officer of the Provincial Police helped out.

After forking out the princely sum of nine Euros, I entered Volterra.

In an instant I was transported back seven hundred years to AD 1398.

Even further back than the Time Travelling crew of The Star Ship, ‘Enterprise’ in The Voyage Home.

I wander the alleyways and squares, my head spinning backward and forward, trying to take it all in. I encounter peasants, crafts persons, people on stilts, noblemen and noble ladies, all bedecked in medieval costume and looking splendid.

The place is buzzing with community pride.

Then I hear a lot of noise and as I enter the main square, in front of what looked like the Municipal Buildings, I am intrigued, enthralled might describe it better, by a colourful spectacle. An extravaganza of waving, twirling and sometimes soaring flags. Large flags.

I spend some time watching before a helpful local, obviously entertained by my obvious bamboozlement, kindly, in broken English, which was much better than my ‘less than broken’ Italian, explained what was going on.

I seems I had stumbled onto an ancient and traditional competition between teams from different community areas of the city, contrada’s. The competition involves displaying their flag waving skills, with points being awarded for style, movement, speed and in particular, how high the flag can be thrown and cleanly caught.

One thing he made very plain, a flag touching the ground, is not good.

Each contrada has a different design on their flag, something that adds to the spectacle. It is an honour thing and the winning contrada will hold the bragging rights for a year.

Another example of contrada rivalry, also Tuscan in origin, is the Palio in Siena, which involves that city’s contradas competing in a rather spectacular horse race round the city square.

Volterra uses flag throwing and not horse racing. It was very entertaining nonetheless and I was really dazzled by the skills displayed. The knowledgeable onlookers and supporters, who thronged round the square, were definitely impressed and encouraged the participants with much cheering, jumping and hand clapping.

The only comparison that sprung into my mind was the flag throwing at the Orange Parades in Scotland. Perhaps not quite the same.

After watching for a spell, I headed out to take in the numerous street activities. The streets were packed with stalls, where various craftspersons demonstrated their skills. They also took every opportunity to catch the attention of onlookers in an attempt to sell their produce and crafts.

Volterra potter at work — author’s collection

There were jugglers, costumed people on long stilts, people being dragged through the streets and placed in stocks by gangs of rough looking males carrying a variety of weapons, including fearsome axes and whips.

Many of the men wore multi-coloured tights.

Maybe I should have hired a costume?

Medieval Volterra — author’s collection

In one square they had a medieval version of what looked like ‘line dancing’, or was it ‘Highland Dancing’? Like the latter it had a person calling out each move. I recall lots of sinistra, destra and centro, to which the heaving mass of people moved, bouncing to one side, then the other and occasionally to the front, accompanied by lute and flute music with lots of squeals and laughter.

It looked like seriously good fun.

Then I found the food. Mouth watering smells and sights. Lots of cheese stalls, mostly varieties of that local delicacy, pecorino. Delicious.

There was a bread stuffed with, to the best of my knowledge, ricotta. I think they said it was called necci, or was that a pasta, not sure. Whatever they called it, I couldn’t get enough of it.

And there was focaccine and medieval sweet treats. No idea what they were called but seriously tasty.

At one stall I asked if the dark bits in a pastry type knob were chocolate chips. Even the stall holder’s limited English was clear enough, as she scolded my ignorance.

Seems chocolate was not a delicacy in 1398, not by a long shot.

I took back many memories of that day. However, the smells of cheese and meats roasting had to be take top billing.

Having spent many years working in and with communities back home I was really impressed by the commitment of the local people and I assumed, the local authority, or the Volterra equivalent, to make the festival a success. ‘All in all’, it was a very successful day.

Another feature; at no time during a long day did I see one drunk person nor anything that even remotely looked threatening. I honestly can say, with some experience, one would struggle to attend such a large, well attended event in the UK, involving thousands of people, without some incident to spoil it. I saw six police officers during the whole day and they looked pretty laid back.

When next in Toscana give Volterra a whirl, you will enjoy it.

When I left to meander back to Podera S. Barbara the festivities were still in full swing.

On the way back I stopped in the delightful village of Pieve a Scuola, quite near where I was staying. I sat outside and sampled a little of the local vino rossi and chatted with some inhabitants from the village. They suggested I returned the forthcoming Friday evening as it was the start of their annual mushroom festival.

And I did just that.

But that is another story for another time.

Time Travel in Volterra

Stickleback Inspector

Rage on Sunday