Slow Travel in Torino

I've wanted to visit Torino, Italia, ever since I learned that the author Italo Calvino wandered its streets for a formative stretch of his life. Italo moved there to participate in its university culture, and secured a place at a progressive publishing company which was such a good fit that he was a long-time employee. The lyrical innovation of 'If on a winter's night a traveller' sparked much enthusiasm in my teens, 'Invisible Cities' was wildly creative, and 'Why read the classics' puts a new spin on our literary heritage. I wanted to understand the environment which nurtured such inventiveness. 

I first started crowdsourcing information on the city in 2008, but round about 2015 it made it onto a Lonely Planet 'Best in Travel' list, elevating its profile in the tourist industry irreversibly. I remained keen to visit but became apprehensive of too many other people having the same idea. Luckily, when I researched Italy thoroughly in 2023, this National Geographic article informed me that Torino could still pass for undertouristed (as of 2019, at any rate). A decision was made to incorporate it into this year's travels. 

It's no coincidence that I've linked to the above NatGeo article - it also praises Bolzano and Bologna, and while I didn't get around to the former, I did spend 6 nights in Bologna, right after those 7 nights in Torino. Sometimes a single text can be richly inspiring. 

I arrived in Torino just as its annual Chocolate Festival was commencing, and I have fond memories of drinking pistachio-flavoured hot chocolate, overlooking the piazza San Carlo, wondering how anything could taste so delicious. The silky, warm liquid was just the thing to soothe my throat, which had become a little tender in the late autumn chill. Classical melodies floated over the bustling space, a street musician adding romance to the elegant, cream facades. 

I never did see this most central of piazzas without chocolate stalls, side to side. They were universally white and imparted a glow of their own, thanks to the sunshine that persisted for much of my stay. Over those six full days of Torino I wandered back here often, carefully choosing which sweets I would buy, and which I would sample. Most delicious were the 200 grams of hazelnut praline (which was sliced out of a slab and set me back 5 euros), and a Cream Puff-like pastry filled with fluffy white chocolate. There may also have been cannoli, a dark chocolate made in Modica, (Sicilia,) almond cookies (only vaguely chocolate-related, but I'm not complaining) and candied fruit slices dipped in dark chocolate. 

My favourite experience in Torino was navigating Parco Valentino, which was large enough to contain a small but charming castle, garden complexes of dreamy gorgeousness (encompassing fountains, sculptures and squirrels), and an evocative recreation of a medieval village (whose high-contrast yet faded artworks make me happy to this day). I roamed the park for about four hours, spending some time standing by its river and feeling my spirits soar at the eye-catching reds, oranges, yellows and greens of giant trees on the other side. Little white canoes sped by, here and there, reflections ablaze in the water. Many well-dressed people shared the space with me, and this posed a challenge: I didn't know whether to admire the lush autumn foliage, the stylish outfits, or the elaborate hairstyles and make-up of the people on the feminine side of the spectrum. 

Italo Calvino may have been the original draw of the city, but once there, I found a high number of lucrative attractions which meant that he was relegated to the background. Some sights, like the Egyptian museum, were overtouristed, but mostly I felt that the traveller presence didn't interfere with my ability to enjoy the place. Relying on Google Maps and my own two feet, there was no need for public transport. Walking through an urban environment can be an ambiguous attraction, hard to pin down because street life is a highly variable thing... but it's my secret technique for garnering impressions, creating a mental map of the city, spotting colourful characters, watching suburbs morph/modify before my eyes, appreciating remarkable architecture which wouldn't be mentioned in official tourist guides, getting a sense of what makes for commercial success in an area, looking for patterns big and small, and overall trying to figure out make sense of it all.   

I understood there was a French influence in the light-coloured architecture, and perhaps even in the proud air of the people (though I am open to being wrong on the latter). I have to be honest: I found the local variety of patriarchy upsetting, as some people floated by with a pointed submissiveness, looking down, seemingly on the verge of apologising for their existence, while others still postured menacingly, comfortable in their machismo. Here and elsewhere in Italy, being a feminist means extra struggle (compared with Australia). At first this was a bit alienating, but the more I stayed, the more I was able to find compassion. 

Previously on my blog I brought up the practice of passeggiata, so I am sorry to report that I was only out in public at 6pm once... it gets dark early in late October, and I like the sense of safety I get from being home before that. The one evening I ventured out, I experienced another dimension to street life: Where the city had been lively before, it was now bubbling over with sheer vibrancy. The area around Piazza San Carlo thrummed with energy, as duos and small groups (there was rarely a solo person in the mix) bonded with an intensity which isn't as frequently found in the English-speaking countries. I envied the Italians their robust conversations, and the openness to emotional intimacy which was one of its foundations. Observing carefully between forkfuls of salad, I considered how the daily ritual of passeggiata might promote social skills, a degree of community spirit, a way of unburdening one's soul, maintaining connections with community members who may not be close friends but are nice anyway, deepening existing friendships, and being on one's feet.

Perhaps earlier, I was passing through a busy pedestrian street when a thoughtful person named Luigi put their Amnesty International sales pitch aside and asked me what I thought of the town. I complimented Palazzo Madama, a richly decorated palace I'd seen earlier, and recalled some of the nicer things about the city. Luigi had the look of someone who had alternative views, their ears being pierced and their hair being obviously styled. They also had the semi-detachment and slight resignation of someone with advanced intellect, but I didn't linger too long because their performance of gender was consistent with aspects of masculinity I find oppressive. From a sense of solidarity with progressives, however, I get the feeling that Torino is a good place to be left-leaning - compared to much of northern Italy, and also within the southern European context. It registered solidly on my 'Quirky Hair and Facial Piercings/Decorations Index'. 

On my second last day I had an interaction of a different kind - a local who looked (East) Asian listened as I asked a mixed business shop owner if he had paracetamol. The owner directed me to a pharmacy, and the Asian-Italian chimed in with instructions, but upon seeing that I was discouraged at the distance I would have to travel, they decided to part with some of the paracetamol in their own collection. This act of kindness caught me off guard and lit me up. Wanting the foil seals to stay intact, they asked the shop owner for scissors, then placed the resulting corner of the silver grid (a total of four tablets) into my palm. I thanked them enthusiastically, and when I emerged into the cold, windy air I felt insulated by the warmth generated by this experience. 

Reflecting upon altruism, and the abundance of ways in which I'd benefitted from it in the past, I was heartened to witness at least one person of colour in Torino remaining open to kindly exchanges with white strangers. May they be loved.