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.