YDYtravelers: Unexpected Italian poetry reading at 10 AM leads to a jam packed, falling in love with Torino kind of day

Up early (well, vacation early) and out the door at 10 was a good start to this Saturday. I was solo for this first foray into our new home city. First step was to pick up our museum passes at the tourist center in Piazza Castello. As soon as I left our apartment, I was asked by a group of Italian adults, who appeared quite giddy for the early hour, if I’d seen a statue that they had printed on a laminated sheet of paper. I realized pretty quickly that they were on a scavenger hunt, which was weird and awesome. I wasn’t able to help them (I did see the statue maybe 30 minutes later, alas) but the incident was a pretty good indicator of the kind of day that was about to unfold. Not five minutes after this, still on my way to the tourism office, I happened upon a book fair. And not some small, block-sized thing. Book stalls went for a long stretch of both sides of a pedestrian street, all sheltered under Torino’s classic covered walkways. I, of course, had to take a detour to check out this new surprise. I was tempted by many books but kept my composure and just browsed. No more hauling around huge, heavy baggage for me (did I mention that I had to ship another box home on our last day in Lyon? Things are just getting out of control). Half way down my meander through the fair, I walked right into an Italian poetry reading. Suddenly, I was audience, clapping along with all of the others after each poet read. I’ve got a bit of Italian under my belt, so I understood perhaps 50 percent of what was being said - not 50 percent in a row, though - so none of the poetry made too much sense to me. But, the reading of the words was beautiful, as the Italian language needs nothing other than to be itself to be poetry.

After a long detour, I recalculated and continued my mission to find the tourist center. Then instead I discovered yet another distraction. In the Piazza Castello, there’s this amazing monument to World War One. I had to spend time checking that out and taking many a picture. And THEN, I became distracted yet again, this time by several unbelievably elegant cafes in the square. Torino is famous for its cafe culture. Apparently, there’s a lot of Parisian influence in the city (don’t remember why - Google it if you’d like more) and one of the outcomes of this is a rich pastry, chocolate, coffee and fancy little table culture. This city has so much to offer. Where are the hordes of tourists? Don’t tell anyone about Torino. It’s our little secret.

Finally, after asking two people (one using my rudimentary Italian) I found the office, procured the passes, and headed back to the apartment to fetch the rest of the crew. Not long afterwards, we were all walking back in the same direction I’d just come from, on a mission to sit in a fancy cafe and have fancy food brought to our table by bowtied waiters. So that’s what we did. I chose the Barlatti and Milano (since 1858!) cafe because of the reviews I’d found in our guide book. It didn’t disappoint. Okay, well at first it did because we showed up around 11:30 and they were out of many of the pastries offered. But we found several that were still in stock and oh my, good eating was had by all. Also, let’s talk about our drinks. George had this hot chocolate that was so thick, and just the right amount of sweetness, and I was jealous. Instead, Mom and I had the Torino-famed (and invented, I think) thing called Bicerin. It’s this drink that has hot chocolate at the bottom, coffee in the center and cream on top and it’s a revelation. Why do we not drink this in the U.S.? I know, it sounds like a mocha. BUT IT’S NOT. Just trust me on this. Or, buy yourself a plane ticket and come try some yourself. Pastries were beautiful and tasty, made with all kinds off goodness like creams, merengues, chocolates, berries, marmalades (all the lades, really) and more. All of this happened in a ridiculously ornate (in a good way) cafe that made us feel like we were in a Renoir painting.

We left cafe heaven and toured the square, which I’d seen that morning. George was feeling tired and so I left mom with directions to find the Shroud of Turin while I took the boy home. Unfortunately when I got back I learned that the church was closed for lunch. Instead, we headed over to the Royal Palace of Savoy, Torino’s gob-jawing royal residence. It is actually several museums plus the rooms of the royal palace, and since it was already afternoon, Mom and I decided to tour only the rooms de royal. And they were, well, palatial. I think I have permanent eye injury from the endless amount of shiny gold surfaces that we encountered. (This reminds me of a quick Alex story - when he was a small, fearful child, he told me that he never wanted us to own anything shiny, because burglars only stole shiny things and he wanted to keep us safe from being robbed. Awww) Anyway, we toured room after room of opulence, trying to keep our mouths off the floor. Maybe my next product after the Portuguese Sweat Towel (TM) assortment should be a harness for the mouths of overwhelmed palace tourists. I’ll call it the GobJawStopper (TM). I think the highlight for both of us was the armory room, where were were treated to a large array of armor (in an armory??!!??) worn by soldiers on horseback. Horses also wore armor, and really, I think they pulled it off better than the men. It was a feast for the eyes, a sight for sore ones, eye candy.

Before palacing, Mom and I took a break in these red comfy chairs that were in the sculpture and painting section of the museum. Honestly, I don’t even have the energy to detail the wonders held within these walls, but I do want to mention that we sat in those chairs for about a half hour, having one of those good talks that only come about at times like these. We were tired, ready to get away from the noise of the city (I swear, Torino is a loud city - even the clinking of glasses seems louder here), and trying to muscle our way through the rest of this epic journey. And so somehow a lovely talk unfolded in the two red chairs, easy and not special in any way, other than the happiness we felt being right there with one another. Times like these are the memories that stick.

After the palace, the musuem, its garden, a second try at the shroud (success!) and another visit to a cafe, this time for much needed old fashioned coffee, we fetched George for some dinner. Except that we forgot that we’re in Italy, where it’s really uncouth to eat before, say 7 PM, so when we tried to have dinner we were dismissed. Instead we walked around some of the pedestrian streets until it was Italian dinner time and then settled in at an outdoor spot with traditional cuisine. It did not disappoint. Wine and Gnocchi and bread with olive oil and steak for Geo and ambiance for miles wrapped up our evening. I was able to practice more Italian too. It’s been an exceptional day, one filled with surprise poetry readings and new favorite drinks (bicerin!). How can Torino do one better tomorrow? We’ll see!