Heeeyho Readers! Tomorrow is Children's Day in Brazil, so I'm celebrating early with a post.
I finally got around the Piazza Paleocapa after racking my brain chasing a hostel―streets in Turin are confusing and often lead to a dead-end or a giardino. I persisted and got to the address after all. A vivid Italian voice shouts over the intercom to let me in before a loud clack coming from the ginormous automatic wooden door. My bicycle is muddy, and I’m showerless after spending New Year’s Eve camping in the woods. I shout back, explaining the situation.
“You on a bicycle? No, no! Can’t leave the bicycle there. Bring it up,” said the man.
Charming street in Turin
To avoid extra buzzing over the buzzer, I obbeyed. The hostel was in the attic, on the last floor of a five-story building and soon realization struck that the elevator―one of those old wooden boxes―was too small for me, the bike, and the bags. Unstrapping bicycle panniers isn’t difficult, yet, it takes some tedious time, especially when I know several elevator trips are needed to carry it all up. I’m working to move as fast as I can when a wild Italian appears.
“Why are you taking so long? Ahhh! Now I can see…,” he said, “you are really on a bicycle…”
“Told you,” I said in a jocose tone. “Do you have a place for my stuff there? Or should I leave the bike here?”
The bottom floor seemed protected, and the massive door, at the entrance, would only open for residents, which conveyed a sense of safety. Not only that, but I was in Italy, in Turin; it’s supposed to be a first-world kind of place with no thieves.
“Not leaving bike here!” he said emphatically. “Too many deviants stealing bicycles in Turin. Come on, give me the bags, and bring the bike with you. Capito?”
“Ditto!” I boxed myself together with the bicycle; up we went. The hostel owners, a marvelous Italian couple, gave zero fucks that my bicycle was muddy. Soon chattering revolved around the insane trip, cycling, during the winter, without money. The Attic Hostel was homey and the owners legendary; we got along really fast.
Piazza Solferino, Turin
Turin, Legos & Children's Day
Turin is a city and an important business and cultural center in northern Italy. It is the capital city of Piedmont and of the Metropolitan City of Turin, and was the first Italian capital from 1861 to 1865. The city is mainly on the western bank of the Po River, below its Susa Valley, and is surrounded by the western Alpine arch and Superga Hill.
When I reached Turin, I felt tired of wandering around with a camera recording tourist attractions. The sole goal this time around aimed to take two or three rest days before cycling into France. Most of my adventuring trips focus more on conquering challenges rather than visiting places, which is a shame for most, and most often for myself, when I try to remember the magnificent cities I have been through. Anyways. I went for a walk to avoid thinking about the approaching Alps crossing and the upcoming struggles.
Sculptures at the corner of a building
I take the Piazza Carlo Felice around the Giardino Sambuy into Via Roma Street, where, at the corner, I spot a monumental Lego store. I decide to snoop. The Lego store transported me back to the ’90s. It was Christmas when I got the first box of Legos. I remember as if it was yesterday the blue box with green covers and the book with instructions (I have this set to this day).
Isn’t it pitiful that kids nowadays are glued to useless dumbphones instead of playing with toys that instigate their creativity?
Speaking of Legos, a big parenthesis: Tomorrow, October 12th, is Children's Day in Brazil―it appears the date varies from country to country, but it's nonetheless a date anticipated by every kid, more for the gifts than anything else. Since I'm no kid anymore, no Legos this year for me {sigh}. When is Chuildren's day in your country?
I continue walking across many piazzas (squares) until I reach the mother of piazzas, the Piazza Castello. Piazza Castello is the main square in Turin. Four main streets converge here: via Garibaldi, via Po, via Roma, and via Pietro Micca. This monumental square is adorned by impressive city palaces, including the famous Royal Palace, and houses three large monuments placed around the Senate and the Casaforte Acajada. Frenetic tourists crowd the streets; I'm quick to register some photos.
Piazza Castello
Statue Of King Umberto I
First World War Memorial to Emanuele Filiberto
Though historical sites are fascinating, life in the hostel seemed brighter and I was desperate for a pizza. Italian pizzas are different than Italian-Brazilian pizzas. Their dough is thin and light (the ingredients are just flour, water, salt, and yeast); in Brazil, the predominant version is a little thicker. Our pizzas are covered in cheese, so much that I'm not even a big fan. And flavors mix everything one can imagine. Both are great in their uniqueness.
Those days in the hostel were crucial to restore the energy. I met a couple from the UK who gave valuable information about the National Parks there. There was also this elegant Italian girl―she was way out of my league―, though I do think we clicked. I never really explored the city as much as I should. Playing guitar, chatting, and provoking the hostel owner seemed more interesting.
I prayed sunny days would stay on my side. Didn't happen. I discovered after Turin that crossing the Alps was not gonna be possible due to snowstorms. And the tunnels wouldn't allow for bicycles. The last bit I remember was me on a train to Lyon. But this is the subject of another story.
I hope you have enjoyed the pictures of Turin and this quick story. If you ever go there, stay in the Attic Hostel; tell the owners you met the crazy Brazilian dude traveling by bicycle during the winter (they have a picture of myself.)
Did you know that I have a book out? Check this!
Access Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/6500272773?
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~Love ya all,
Disclaimer: The author of this post is a convict broke backpacker, who has travelled more than 10.000 km hitchhiking and more than 5.000 km cycling. Following him may cause severe problems of wanderlust and inquietud. You've been warned.
