As the sun slowly rises over Piazza Arnaldo in Brescia, Italy’s “centro storico”, and the town starts to awaken, the gentle sounds of shopkeepers setting up their cafes and the warbling of the occasional songbird are replaced by the slow rumbling of period automobiles making their way to the starting post on Viale Venezia. The throaty sounds of these vintage Ferraris, Maseratis, and Bugattis winding through the cobblestone streets signals the beginning of what has come to be known as Italy’s most famous auto race, “The Mille Miglia”.
The early days of this historic race date back to pre-war Europe. Back in the day, this was an exhilarating event fraught with danger and vehicles piloted by the best of the best racers of their time. Names like Stirling Moss and countless others climbed into the cockpits beside their navigators and drove through the cobblestone streets of Italy at mad speeds in the quest to win the coveted cup. Residents of every small town and village between Brescia in the north and Rome in the south would line the streets to cheer on these noble road warriors as they tirelessly raced through the Italian countryside.
It was a joyous occasion for Italy for most of its career – but the race came to an abrupt end when a Ferrari piloted by Alfonso de Portago blew a tire on a road hazard and crashed, killing the occupants of the car and nine spectators including five children and dozens of injured spectators. The horrific accident just a few kilometres from the finish line compelled the authorities to cancel the event for the foreseeable future.
Fast forward to 1977. Italy and its officials elected to resurrect the historic race. Not as a true race but one with significant guard rails and safety nets to ensure the events of 1957 were not to be repeated. The Mille Miglia rose out of the ashes and became a vintage auto “Rallye”, more of a time trial and navigation exercise, where the affluent gentry of Europe and international elite would convene with their magnificent four-wheeled chariots.
Walking through the streets of my hometown, Brescia, I noticed there was a spirit of joy. Banners were everywhere. Piazza Vittoria was festooned with bright-coloured banners where the inspection paddock had recently been set up, the shopkeepers all had Mille Miglia flags in their windows and sported an endless array of branded paraphernalia for sale. It’s an odd yet exhilarating sight to see the magical transformation of this peaceful historic city into an emporium of hundreds of vintage autos.
Every corner of “Centro” seems to have a vintage car parked where tourists are mesmerised by the magnificence of these well-maintained roadsters. Automobiles must have been made before 1957 to compete. Parts and accessories must be original from the period. The Mille Miglia staff scrutinises every detail of every car before it enters the race and is awarded its race number, providing it passage to the event. Every piazza in the evenings preceding the race has a selection of vintage vehicles on display for evening strollers and café patrons to gaze over and pose beside to have their pictures taken. Parties seem to be the norm pre-race as everyone, including drivers, prepares to celebrate the noble event. Noticeably absent are the mechanics who work tirelessly through the night, maintaining and preparing their owner’s steeds for the arduous journey ahead.
Remarkable people from all walks of life arrive from around the globe to partake in the race. It’s a complex and an expensive process to enter. The entry application manual, from my recollection, is more than 50 pages long. The criteria for entry are strict, the waiting list is absurdly long, and the price of admission (12,500 euros per vehicle) is amplified by the cost of the vehicles themselves, transportation, maintenance crew, food and lodging, and sundry other items. If you don’t have 100,000 euros of spare change in your pocket and tremendous patience, you’d best relegate yourself to the streets and towns of Italy as an excited spectator (which is an essential part of the sport). This writer chooses the latter with a fine glass of Franciacorta sparkling wine or a robust glass of Barolo to observe the madness as endless cars quickly parade through the streets.
I have always encountered exciting people who share my passion for the event at every Mille Miglia I have attended. Over the years Jay Leno, Daniel Day-Lewis, Adrien Brody, Paloma Picasso and other celebrities have been part of the starting line-up of vehicles. I indeed often make new friends there, celebrities in their own right. I had a chance meeting this year with a new resident of Brescia and Internationally acclaimed New York photographer, E.A.Kahane (Elizabeth), who was introduced to me by my dear friend Maggie Carvalho. Elizabeth is high octane and loveable. A fire lights in her eye when she talks about her craft: she was in Brescia to exhibit some of the fabulous art that she captured in last year’s race and to collaborate with the race officials to photograph and produce a new exhibit focusing on the mechanics and team behind the scenes.
It’s a story that had to be told. These are marvelous hard-working people with wonderful stories. I’m thrilled and honoured to provide a window to the behind-the-scenes of the unsung heroes of the race. – E.A. Kahane
Like all true artists, she has an innate ability to see what others often miss. E.A. Kahane records fabulous images with her camera as her tool. Still, her heart, soul, and imagination are the collective lenses that provide the pathway to capture the experience in front of her.
And so, back to the race. Dozens of vehicles from over thirty countries around the world wind their way through Italy, bringing us all a little closer to a simpler time with simpler joys. It’s an emotional experience with its endless parade of well-preserved vintage four-wheeled artefacts breezing by. Hand polished spoked wheels, leather side bags oiled to perfection, ornate hood ornaments, magical headlights, and beautifully painted side boards. And of course, driven by a list of business, political and entertainment elite dressed in period finery to add authenticity to the spectacle.
As the race progressed, I sat with my dear friend Lars in Piazza Loggia, indulging again in yet another glass of fine red, which is clearly an essential component of the race. I sat there beaming as the colourful ribbon of vehicles threaded its way around the square en route to its seemingly endless journey at the start of the four-day event. Maybe one day I’ll have the chance to ride shotgun with one of these spectacular chariots and imbed myself in another element of Italian history, experience and culture.
Who won you might ask? To me, it’s immaterial. The Mille Miglia is about stepping back in time and celebrating the greatness of this place and its people. It’s about seeing the joy of wide-eyed children as the antique motorised fashion show drifts by. It’s about observing these men and women and their magnificent machines defy an overcontrolled world, burn fuel, and make throaty noise with their road engines, maybe just one last time. It’s about watching an older man hang out of his window and cheer on the road gladiators as a slightly faded Italian flag proudly flies from his balcony in the afternoon’s calm breeze. It’s about the kindness of an older woman approaching a racing team whose car had broken down and offering them to come into her home for a homemade pasta dinner to warm up from the driving rain of the day. It’s about the couple falling in love over a fine Brunello and taking their photo with a 1930 Bugatti as the backdrop. It’s about seeing my beautiful town of Brescia, which suffered so badly as the pandemic’s epicentre, come back to life as it once was. It’s about simply being a celebration of my home away from home and just another element of what makes Italy so exciting and joyous for me and why I may never leave.
As the sun sets on the race’s final day and the final mechanically-challenged vehicle limps across the finish line on Viale Venezia, long after the winners take to the podium, a strange quiet overtakes the town. Shopkeepers begin to close their storefronts; light laughter is heard as a group of children play a pick-up soccer game in the local park, families convene around their dining room tables, stories are told, and hugs are exchanged. Kindness is in the air.
Another race has come and gone, with its participants taking memories of a foregone era and a better appreciation of this wonderful country I have come to know as home. – VV
Photo credits: 1000 Miglia website & Thomas Pigeon
