A Morning in Turin

I woke up hungry and without much hope that I would find a breakfast place open at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. My pessimism was not warranted. Urban northern Italy is not rural France, and although a city might be quite lifeless on the Lord’s Day, there are hustlers who work even then. After acquiring a croissant and an egg sandwich, which I had bought under the impression that the egg was a generous helping of cheese, I went to the Parco del Valentino one more time. Near its western end is a bizarre 19^th century imitation of a medieval town with towers, tall walls, and even a drawbridge. Unfortunately, much of it was undergoing works, so I continued to my next stop.

Crossing the river and passing by the Monument to the Crimean Expedition, I climbed the Capuchin Mountain to the Church of Mary. The interior of this church is rather unremarkable, but what people come for is the iconic view of Turin. From this high vantage point, one can see the Alps draped over the city, with the Mole Antonelliana standing as the proud leader of Turin’s towers. I read a book on the terrace while waiting for the sky to clear up a little more and ended up staying for almost an hour. Various people had come and gone in the meantime, including some African pilgrims and a group of sparsely dressed pole-dancers.

After taking the pictures for which I had so patiently waited, I proceeded to the nearby Villa della Regina. I did not want to go inside and merely walked around the garden, attempting to catch a few new glimpses of the city below. Then, I descended through a Sunday flee market to the Church of the Great Mother of God. The pantheonesque building was in the middle of a mass, so I did not go inside but continued across the river to the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist instead. I had missed its opening hours the previous day and it was about to close again until the afternoon.

Once again, I found myself a little disappointed – the really impressive churches would only come later in the day. Nevertheless, I was glad to be on the other side of the river, since I could go back to the pizza place from yesterday and try a different pizza. Their margherita was not bad, but it would have been near impossible to come anywhere close to the sublime taste of yesterday’s buffala.

I spent the rest of the day drawing a wide circle around Turin’s historic centre. First, I visited the Santuario della Consolata, an ornate oval building with a beautiful painted ceiling and a subterranean chapel. Adorned with white turrets on the outside, it stands just to the left of a tall brick tower – an odd coupling but somehow unsurprising in this city. Second, I visited the Basilica of Santa Maria Ausiliatrice. This is probably the most impressive church in Turin owing to its sheer size, but also its sensitive decoration and toning.

Finally, I swung by Piazza Statuto, at which point I really needed the bathroom. This urgent need was further intensified by the knowledge of my upcoming bus ride, and so I had no choice but to buy myself a croissant at a local pastry shop as an excuse to use a lidless toilet behind a faulty door. The day had been pleasant – too pleasant, perhaps. To balance it out, the powers that be decided that on my ride back to Geneva, I would sit at the very back of the bus and steam above the engine like a pot of mussels.