Siena – Part 4: Final Parade

You made it! This is it—the final part of the series. Congratulations, and thanks for reading.

I had two days left, and at that point, I thought: “Well, I’ve seen most of the city, tried enough food, tasted enough wine, talked to locals a couple of times.” But was I satisfied? I couldn’t help but answer no. Not yet. I wanted to go out and get a taste of the nightlife—to see how the city changed when people gathered after dark instead of heading home.

Coincidentally, it was Friday.

Most of my day was uneventful. I strolled around town, visiting places outside the historic center. Mostly, I was just killing time—sitting here and there, enjoying a cup of coffee, then gelato, and so on. I knew my time in this small but beautiful town was almost up, so I took the opportunity to walk around and memorize—to bring that feeling with me when I went home.

Fond memories of this place—its sights and its people—had become part of my experience. And since it was my first time traveling solo, everything felt much stronger.

Night was approaching fast. It was time to pick a place to start, get something to eat, and get ready. I had a few recommended spots marked on my map and chose one near the main square. I arrived around 19:00—not realizing at the time that this was too early. I ordered a wooden board of salami and cheese, served with olives and bread, along with a glass of red wine—the last one I would have in Siena.

For a moment, I started doubting my decision. Was there even a nightlife here? Maybe this was a quiet town where all the fun happened behind closed doors—only among family and friends. Had I miscalculated? Should I have researched more?

But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

It started with a distant chatter, then bursts of laughter rising from beyond the walls of the wine bar where I was dining.

It was time to take a look.

I must have been too absorbed in my thoughts—or maybe I’d spent too much time texting my friends—because when I stepped outside, it was mayhem. Groups of people stood around everywhere. Drinking wine, beer, and cocktails, waiting for friends and family to join, some in deep conversation, others just enjoying the night. I smiled. All the anxious thoughts vanished. I made my way straight to Piazza del Campo, which I suspected would be the main stage of the city’s nightlife.

And I was right.

All the restaurants and bars were packed—overflowing with visitors. But rather than staying inside, people grabbed their drinks in plastic cups and took them out to the square. I watched them for a while and then followed their lead. I sat near the Fonte Gaia, a beautiful stone fountain. And that’s when the night truly began.

A man carrying a guitar in one hand and a beer in the other sat down next to me. His name was Hermano. He was a traveler from Naples making his way across Italy by playing music and picking up odd jobs at venues when gigs weren’t available. He started tuning his guitar, humming simple melodies.

Before long, another guy joined us—Gigi. This cigarette-smoking and beer-drinking French-Algerian completed our trio.

We played, sang, and talked before heading to the bar where Hermano had performed the night before—a place serving beers from all over the world. I ordered a dark beer with a bitter, coffee-like aftertaste.

The streets of Siena that night were more alive than I had ever seen them, even during the daytime tourist rush. I loved it. If you couldn’t find a seat inside, you just took your drink outside or sat on a curb like everyone else.

And then it happened.

The reason for the massive crowds that night—the mix of young and old, locals and visitors—suddenly became clear.

First came the drums.

Then, the rhythmic stomping of feet against the cobblestone streets.

And then I saw them—a procession.

Leading the way was a man carrying a flag with the sigil of one of the Contradas. I got lucky—it was a parade. We watched, entranced by the music and probably slightly drunk at that point as they moved slowly, carrying flags and instruments with pride. The procession marched in the direction of Piazza del Campo. We did not follow. Once the procession passed, we went back to our drinks.

The night continued, filled with music, dancing, and conversations. Siena is a university town, and that night, and the entire local student population was there. It was a true festival experience, and I was part of it.

The next day was my final full day before heading home.

I woke up, fought off the festival-induced exhaustion with a hearty breakfast and a cappuccino, and set out for one last walk through the city. Then, it started to rain. It mirrored how I felt—bittersweet. But rather than thinking about leaving the place behind, I chose to see it differently:

“I can take a piece of this place and keep it with me—deep in my heart and memory. I’ll bring it home and make my world a little bigger.”

And with that thought, I stopped feeling bad about leaving. In fact, I started craving my own bed and the familiar corners of my neighborhood.

My bus wasn’t leaving until 14:00 the next day, so I had time to kill. Too tired to go into the city again, I sat in the hotel lobby, waiting. Most visitors had already checked out, and I was the only guest left.

Then, Maria, one of the hotel owners—the woman who had greeted me when I first arrived—approached. It was precisely noon. She held a plate of homemade Lasagna in her hands and placed it in front of me. She smiled and said, “Enjoy.”

I was so surprised that I almost forgot to thank her.

But then, 20 minutes later, she returned with a second plate—this time, chicken and potatoes.

I nearly cried.

I thanked her.

And then, it was time to go.

During the ride home, I barely slept. I drifted in and out of my thoughts, replaying moments from the trip—reliving the sights, the sounds, the people. After nearly six days in Siena, I felt enriched. I also felt a little embarrassed—thinking about my past self who was too afraid. I promised myself that I would never again hesitate. I would never again be scared of going, trying, living, or learning.

And with that, my story here ends.

For anyone who has made it this far—thank you. I hope you enjoyed it, and maybe, just maybe, you feel inspired to take a leap, step beyond your bubble, and embrace the unknown.

Because trust me…

It’s worth it.