Monday morning reflections: rain-soaked streets and upcoming goodbyes
The light patter of rain against my window woke me earlier than planned this morning. I pulled back the curtains to see Siena's terracotta rooftops glistening under a gray November sky. There's something melancholic yet beautiful about medieval cities in the rain – the cobblestones shine, the tourists thin out, and the buildings take on deeper, richer hues.
It's my fourth day in Siena, and tomorrow I'll be moving on. Part of me wishes I could stay longer. This city has revealed itself slowly, like a shy friend who only shares their best stories once they trust you. But I've learned to respect the rhythm of this journey – a few days here, a few days there. Just enough time to glimpse the essence of a place before the restlessness returns.
After a quick breakfast at my hotel (the coffee was decent, though not exceptional), I ventured out with my umbrella. The forecast showed the rain might ease up around noon, with temperatures climbing to 18°C this afternoon. Despite the yellow thunderstorm warning in effect until tomorrow, the morning shower seemed gentle enough.
I had planned to visit some of the smaller villages outside Siena today, but the weather made me reconsider. Instead, I decided to use these final hours to wander the city one more time, focusing on the corners I hadn't yet explored.
The Piazza del Campo was practically empty at 8:30 this morning – such a contrast to the bustling square I'd seen over the weekend. I stood for a while, watching the rain create ripples in puddles formed between the bricks of the famous shell-shaped piazza. A lone street sweeper worked methodically, nodding as I passed. I arrived at the cathedral just as it opened at 10:00, grateful to step inside and escape a sudden downpour.
The interior was even more impressive than I had anticipated – the striped marble columns, the intricate floor mosaics, the Piccolomini Library with its vibrant frescoes. I spent almost an hour inside, moving slowly from one masterpiece to another. Being a Monday morning in November, there were only a handful of other visitors. This allowed for a quiet, unhurried appreciation that would have been impossible during peak season.
I found myself thinking about Paolo, the leather artisan I met yesterday. His workshop was closed today (a small sign in the window indicated he's only open Thursday through Sunday during winter months), but the bookmark he gave me now serves as my constant companion, marking my place in the travel journal I've been keeping.
As I write this from a small café near my hotel, I'm watching the weather shift – patches of blue sky appearing between clouds, just as predicted. The rain has stopped, and I'm contemplating how to spend my final afternoon in Siena. Perhaps I'll climb the Torre del Mangia after all, if the weather holds. The 400 steps might be worth it for one final view of this remarkable city and the Tuscan landscape beyond.
Tomorrow brings a new destination. My bus departs at 12:24, giving me one last morning here. I've already mentally prepared my checklist – pack tonight, download any necessary maps, check out by 10:00, arrive at the bus station by 12:00.
But for now, I'm savoring these quiet moments. The café owner just brought me a second espresso without my asking, and through the window, I can see the sun beginning to illuminate the wet streets. There's something bittersweet about these final hours in a place you've come to appreciate. Every observation feels more meaningful, every interaction more precious.
Siena has taught me something about the value of slow observation, of appreciating a city's rhythm rather than rushing through its attractions. As I prepare to move on, I carry not just memories of spectacular sights, but of quiet moments – early mornings in empty piazzas, conversations with local artisans, the particular sound of rain on ancient stone.
417 days remaining on this journey. Sometimes that feels like forever, other times like hardly enough to scratch the surface of all there is to see. But perhaps that's the point – not to see everything, but to truly see what's in front of you.
Posted: Monday, November 17, 2025, 10:40 AM