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to desperation and we enlisted the help of a sympathetic Italian college student using the public phone next to ours. "Uno momento" and she will help us, just as soon as she finishes this one call.

I am sure she must have been reciting her master thesis to her best friend in Rome, laboriously critiquing each phrase, or possibly recounting each and every escapade of the past thrilling year at college. Ever the grateful travelers, we waited patiently for her Italian monologue to close. We watched as the sun drooped toward the horizon, bathing gold over the brick-red roofs. Finally, her call ended and off we went together in search of a room...any room. All completo. After exchanging apologetic shrugs and appreciative thank-yous, we parted ways, our earnest college student to her familiar and cozy abode, and we to the unknown of the night.

We resigned ourselves to this unbeckoned adventure and took stock of our surroundings. Luckily, we subscribe to the one-bag rule, so at least we did not have to drag around several unwieldy suitcases. Encumbered with one very full bag each was quite enough. As the gold of the sky slowly turned to ink, we wandered the narrow labyrinth of cobbled alleys, the ochre-hued stone walls echoing our whispered words. At least this fairy-tale village was car-free. Our meanderings eventually brought us to the heart of Siena - Il Campo - the main piazza where twice a year is the site of the world-famous Palio, a frenzied horse race and fierce competition between the nearby neighborhoods called "contrade." The Palio resurrects hundreds-of-years-old rivalries, pitting each contrada against the other for the honor to possess, parade, and flaunt the winning contrada's flag around Il Campo and through the pretzel-shaped streets. It was hard to imagine the crushing crowds shouting encouragement to the snorting and sweating horses as they strained for the finish line, their jockeys vying for primo position; this night it was nothing more than a grand piazza, a serene outdoor living room in the Italian autumnal night.

Tourists draped themselves around the gurgling Fountain of Joy decoratively situated at the top of the gently-sloping brick-covered expanse of the piazza. College students were sprinkled here and there, reposing on blankets, chatting animatedly, playing guitars softly. OK, we thought - this looks inviting. Somewhat calmed by the friendly faces, we decided to try to "waste" as much time as possible at a nearby trattoria. The Italian custom

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