Sunday Feb 17: The War of Oranges
On Sunday I woke up and hustled over to the buses. There were two big groups of people: The ones who wanted to go back to Florence, and the ones who wanted to make the long drive up to Ivrea to participate in the Orange Throwing Festival. I hate to admit this, but the bus to Florence looked a little tempting since I was so tired and the trip to Ivrea entailed about 10 hours of driving. But when would I ever get to see something like this?
The ride was a long one, but I got some good sleep. Ivrea is a beautiful medieval town north of Torino. After paying our 5 euro to get into the town for the festival, we walked up the beautiful narrow streets towards the battlefield. Flags bearing the symbols of different districts within the town were hanging from the windows and we saw a few horse drawn carriages full of people with medieval-style helmets and lots of padding. The carts they were in were decorated with pictures and symbols. We arrived in the main orange throwing piazza, which was filled with people wearing the uniforms of their districts. There were tons of crates full of oranges on the side.
And then the first wagon came in! What basically happened during the festival was that a cart full of people would come in and circle the piazza, throwing oranges at the people and getting drilled thousands upon thousands of times by balls of citric deliciousness. I think the basic point of it is to commemorate when the people rebelled and overthrew a tyrannous king. We were playing the role of the townsfolk, and the people in the carts were the old government.
When the carts would come through, I often took cover because it pretty much just rained oranges. As soon as they passed, I’d bounce up and wing my stack of oranges as hard as I could. There was one point where I was in the zone and could hit anything. I remember launching one and drilling one of the cart guys in the helmet and then seeing the exploding orange ricochet straight up about 20 feet.
Of course, when you’re dishing out the pain, you have to be able to take it as well. I got hit once square in the forehead, probably not from someone in a wagon but from a stray orange thrown from someone below. Those ones were the most dangerous because they were coming in hot. I took another one right in the eye and a few others in the chest.
The overall scene was hard to explain. It was quite an incredible sight though. Just a blur of people and oranges. So many oranges flying everywhere. It was pure chaos and I loved it. I think a few of the locals got upset because some of us took a few oranges from the crates instead of off the ground, and they were yelling that we hadn’t paid. I wanted to explain to them that we actually had already paid, but I didn’t know how to say Marshall Plan in Italian.
When the battle came to a close, the streets were filled with crushed oranges. My clothes were filthy, my hair saturated with orange juice, my shoes beyond the point of return. My arm was sore and my head was ringing a little bit. But my heart was still pumping with adrenaline, something I hadn’t felt in quite some time. The Ivrea Orange Throwing Festival was incredible.
The ride was a long one, but I got some good sleep. Ivrea is a beautiful medieval town north of Torino. After paying our 5 euro to get into the town for the festival, we walked up the beautiful narrow streets towards the battlefield. Flags bearing the symbols of different districts within the town were hanging from the windows and we saw a few horse drawn carriages full of people with medieval-style helmets and lots of padding. The carts they were in were decorated with pictures and symbols. We arrived in the main orange throwing piazza, which was filled with people wearing the uniforms of their districts. There were tons of crates full of oranges on the side.
And then the first wagon came in! What basically happened during the festival was that a cart full of people would come in and circle the piazza, throwing oranges at the people and getting drilled thousands upon thousands of times by balls of citric deliciousness. I think the basic point of it is to commemorate when the people rebelled and overthrew a tyrannous king. We were playing the role of the townsfolk, and the people in the carts were the old government.
When the carts would come through, I often took cover because it pretty much just rained oranges. As soon as they passed, I’d bounce up and wing my stack of oranges as hard as I could. There was one point where I was in the zone and could hit anything. I remember launching one and drilling one of the cart guys in the helmet and then seeing the exploding orange ricochet straight up about 20 feet.
Of course, when you’re dishing out the pain, you have to be able to take it as well. I got hit once square in the forehead, probably not from someone in a wagon but from a stray orange thrown from someone below. Those ones were the most dangerous because they were coming in hot. I took another one right in the eye and a few others in the chest.
The overall scene was hard to explain. It was quite an incredible sight though. Just a blur of people and oranges. So many oranges flying everywhere. It was pure chaos and I loved it. I think a few of the locals got upset because some of us took a few oranges from the crates instead of off the ground, and they were yelling that we hadn’t paid. I wanted to explain to them that we actually had already paid, but I didn’t know how to say Marshall Plan in Italian.
When the battle came to a close, the streets were filled with crushed oranges. My clothes were filthy, my hair saturated with orange juice, my shoes beyond the point of return. My arm was sore and my head was ringing a little bit. But my heart was still pumping with adrenaline, something I hadn’t felt in quite some time. The Ivrea Orange Throwing Festival was incredible.
posted by Daniel T at 3:14 PM
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