The day wakes you gently, and you awake smiling because today you are off to Volterra! In the heart of Tuscany, Italy, Volterra is a small town most famous for its production of Alabastro (alabaster) stone.

You drive, through the famed rolling hills, on the autostrada with the equally famed crazy Italian drivers. You pass the turn off for San Gimigniano, driving through the surrounding town below. Your car winds you around bends as you roller-coaster along the scenic country roads. Your windows down, the wind in your hair is perfumed with the scents of spring flowers blooming, wildly, in the fields you pass.

Driving through Italy, seeing the beautiful countryside, the greenery, the little hill-top towns perched atop mountains, castles honoring the history of this land, you are free of all problems. This is freedom. This is happiness.

Soon, you are in Volterra, in the province of Pisa. With just over 11,000 inhabitants, this town is small yet amazingly historical. Having been an important Etruscan centre in ancient times, centuries later Florence repeatedly challenged Volterra to gain control of the town. Eventually, the Medici family took over.

Today, the town has a relaxed atmosphere. The sunshine casts shadows into the piazza, falling between the trees and the ancient buildings that create the winding narrow streets.  

You wander into the Piazza dei Priori, where you see a restaurant with tables spilling out into the square. Perusing the menu, you are approached by a friendly waiter who charms you into dining here. Spying the ornate interior, you decide to eat inside. You are lead to a table, and take a seat. The menu tempts you with a range of seafood and game. Being close enough to the coast here, and still surrounded by the forests famous for their game, you have the best of both worlds.

This is the Etruria Restaurant, coined the ‘temple of Volterra Gastronomy’. Surrounded on the outside by medieval towers and palaces, the interior awes you with the geometric design of the painted arched ceiling and smiling faces peer at you from the photo frames on the wall.

Your companion chooses meat dishes, so you opt for the seafood, allowing you to taste both options. Your gnocchi with a creamy salmon sauce is so delicious, as is your friend’s pasta with a ragù meat sauce. For main, you sample your friend’s stinco (pork shin), the meat just falls off the bone and is so flavoursome, like no pork dish you have ever tasted. You are presented with a huge serving of calamari and prawns, so generous in its proportion you barely even make a dint before you can eat no more. Or maybe just one or two more tastes…

After lunch, you head out into the piazza, cooled by the shadows cast by the amazing buildings in its surrounds. You wander the narrow streets, overhearing the jovial conversations of the townspeople laughing together, out for a relaxing afternoon walk. You head up a narrow street to the Parco Acheologico. Wandering through the park, whose grass fields roll up and down like waves of the ocean, the grounds are dotted with couples and families lazing on the green, sprawled out to take in the sun.

You do a loop of the park, listening to the cheery chirp of singing birds in the trees. Their song makes tangible your own contentment as you wander along.

Exiting the park, you head down a winding laneway, surrounded on both sides by an ancient brick wall that guides you out of the park. You wander along the town’s narrow cobblestone streets and eventually find yourselves in the Piazza XX Settembre. A statue of an archangel stands guard over the locals who gather on the piazza’s edge to look out over the spectacular view.

In this piazza, you spy the Museo della Tortura - a torture museum! You enter, seeing first of all a chair covered in nasty-looking nails. Traps and cages and instruments of torture line the walls with little plaques intricately detailing the use. Some are accompanied by paintings graphically clarifying the purpose of these ancient devices. You wince in sympathy for the people who experienced first hand the use of these items. You and your friend grip each others hands as you look at a guillotine.

Fortunately the museum is small and it is not long before you are out in the warm and cleansing sun. Exiting the torture museum, you laugh to yourself about the pertinence of Volterra being mentioned in the book Hannibal by Thomas Harris, and as a setting for Stephenie Meyer’s vampire thriller, New Moon.

Alas, there are no vampires out today and you are free to explore more of this quaint city.

You continue on your strolling, aimlessly wandering the streets before walking out into a piazza where you hear a chorus of masculine cheers and boos. Approaching a bar, you hear the commentary of a football match being broadcast from within a bar. Men crowd around, straining to hear. Standing back from the crowd, it is great to watch as hands go up in spirited joy at a positive result. The men clap each other on the back and teenagers cheer loudly as they wave large flags in the air in celebration.

As the crowd disperses, you wander into a giant alabaster store. The alabaster production here dates back to Etruscan times. The relatively soft stone (1.5 to 3 on the Mohs hardness scale) lends itself to design of curved lamp shades, small jewellery boxes inlaid with semi-precious gemstones, ornaments, and a range of other items that serve only to beautify.

Exiting the store, you walk towards the a wall that offers stunning views over the countryside. The landscape is breathtaking, with ancient brick buildings leading down the side of a hill like stairs into the valley below.

As with most things in life, you cannot quite capture on film the feelings, the beauty, the experience of being here, but you try.

You wander back into the maze of streets, walking up and down the streets, stopping for a coffee, and convinced by the display of gelato into having an ice-cream that is very near to the most delicious gelato of your life.  

Licking away contentedly, you wander on and on, up a steep street that leads you through to a small market - only 6 or 7 stands, and then out of the city walls and to your car.

Whilst you could definitely stay here longer, the promise of the drive ahead eases any sadness you may have for leaving. The bluesy Italian music of Fred Buscaglione serenades you on your journey home, the sunset salutes you and you head back through the hills.

The Palio della Stella, which takes place each year in Tuscany’s small town of Bagno a Ripoli, forms part of a day filled with community events on the second Sunday of September.  

Bagno a Ripoli divides itself into quarters to form teams that compete against each other in various sports, games and activities - each of which is inspired by history, with origins that date back to Medieval and Renaissance times. Townspeople gather to watch a series of traditional gala events such as the egg and spoon race, tug of war, sack races, and the like, to ascertain which of the town’s quarters - Contrada Alfiere, Contrada Cavallo, Contrada Mulino and Contrada Torre - will ultimately win.

The crowd moves from one arena to the next to watch the action - from the town’s central park to the streets and back as runners speed by with carts in La Corsa con i Barrocci, where one of the locals is placed into a cart that is then furiously pushed along the streets by a runner hurling towards the finish line. Each cart and its contents weighs over 110 kilos, and therefore requires the runners to be fast and strong.

There is La Corsa con i Cherchi, where runners course the streets with a wheel kept in motion with a wooden stick, as locals scream out in support for their team. Enthusiasm does not wane for the running of the relay.

As the street races conclude, the townsfolk slowly wander to the edges of the town’s grassed arena, seating themselves on the sloped grassed sides to watch as the biggest and strongest of the town’s men heave and grunt as they partake in the tug of war. The losing team crumble to the ground as the winners trip backwards with the force of their win.

At the end of each event, the spectators and fellow participants belonging to the winning quarter cheer and punch fists of victory into the air, the others, smiling also, pat their backs in a show of friendly support. Everyone is happy and relaxed, laughing and cheering.

Whilst the Sunday sun slowly softens in the sky, representatives from each Contrada form the Renaissance costume parade. Again, comprising of four groups, who are each led in to the arena by a marching band in Renaissance costume, each group attempts to out-do the others in terms of costuming, music, and choreography. The four groups, in a mass of velvet and lace costuming, thick tights, braided hair and swords, gather in the centre of the arena.

The crowd watches, all the whilst chatting amongst themselves, as they sit around the arena divided into large groups reflecting their relevant alliance with each Contrada.

All of a sudden, the crowd quietens as a group of young locals, in Renaissance costumes of tights and puffed-sleeve silk shirts in geographic patterns, gather in the centre of the arena. It is clear that the tall fair-haired boy is the star of the show. Flags are twirled, each of the flag throwers jumping and spinning and rolling, all the while throwing flags high up into the air and being caught in increasingly spectacular ways. The crowd oohs and ahhs at each turn.

For the grand finale, one of the group lays on the ground as each bounds over the top. Then a second person lays next to him and is leaped over by the others. Then the third, fourth and so on until there is an impossibly long line of trusting bodies laying in a row for the blond boy to jump over. Everyone watches with baited breath - will he make it or will he land thuddingly on the ribs of one of his friends?

Drums roll, the crowd is silent, and he runs, flag in hand billowing in the rush of his running speed. He leaps, he soars. He lands… centimetres past the last of his team. The crowd cheers wildly, whistling and applauding. The boy nonchalantly bows, as the others raise from their posts. Forming a long line, they all bow and then leave the field.

Now the anticipation of the crowd is at its peak. Just moments away from the reason people are gathered here. The Palio della Stella!

4 men appear on horseback, each regal in his Renaissance costume. Cantering around the edges of the track that circumferences the arena, they practice their run.

A gold star is placed on a hook overhanging the finishing line. The crowd cheers and claps as each horseman is introduced. Four gorgeous local girls in long gowns of rich velvet, their hair plaited and twirled in royal form, stand on podiums near the finish line.

As the tension and anticipation of the crowd is just about at breaking point. And now… GO! One horseman and his beast races around the track, building up frenetic speed. Sword in hand, he approaches the finish line overhung by the gold star. His sword is outstretched at the last moment and he spears the star through the centre, the force tearing it from its perch.

The crowd roars at his triumph, as he casually canters over to one of the damsels. Presenting the star to her on his sword, she regally reaches to remove it, kissing him elegantly on the cheek.

Next up is the second horseman. Will he get the star to present to his lady? The horse beats the track in heavy gallops that are heard over the silenced crowd. And yes, he gets the star - and his kiss.

The next two repeat the process, each spearing the star, each presenting it to their waiting lady.

For the next round, the star is slightly smaller. Each rider rings the track, attempts to spear the star. Only 3 succeed. Only 3 ladies are presented with a star.

The final round, the star is minuscule. How is it possible? But each horseman has his turn, 2 succeed, 2 do not. There is the elimination round. The crowd is tense. Which local boy will do good?

Drums roll, the crowd cheers, the horse sets off, its rider cool in his saddle as he leans in, stretching forth the sword and easily piercing the golden sword. Oh the tension!

The next horseman repeats the exercise, just as easily spearing the star. A second elimination round is called for.

Parts of the crowd are on their feet, heads in hand as the riders ring the track, reach for the star with the seemingly improbably small centre. It is pierced by only one rider and the crowd goes wild. His lady kisses him on the lips as she is presented with the winning star, and the crowd cheers on.

After some time, the crowd disperses to get pizza and pasta and famously good antipasti from the outdoor restaurant set up for the festival.

Next is the final spectacular of the evening - fireworks! In a second field, empty but for people of all ages seated on the cool grass, their heads turned to the heavens as pyrotechnic stars burst their vibrant colours into the black sky.

What a marvelous thing, that in this world of technology and deadlines, of computers and fast food, it is here in a small town in Italy where a Renaissance festival entertains a tiny town. Where this group of human beings gathers, as they have for centuries, to enjoy such a simple and traditional festival, and finally, relaxes to the spectacular sight of bright lights flowering in the night sky.