home from Torino

Walking home on a Thursday night, contemplating the Grouper Tartare. And the correct way to get to Mara Dei Boschi for a Gelato or similar icy cold, tongue numbing, brain freezing confection. Dodging the night time revellers and their attempts at parking. Bikes, scooters, motorcycles, complete cars all vying for space on the penumbra where the road and footpath meet. I don't know why I mentioned it was Thursday. Every night of the week is the same. Girls, boys, women, men, babies, toddlers, and the odd grandparent.  Everyone is out in couples or groups. Except me. Cue violins.

I think on that note I'll skip the whole SingleSpeed World champs and do that as a separate entry, as it were.
I am writing this from Zurich airport, boarding in 15 minutes.
I got back to Torino sunday night, a lift with Giampaolo's family. His wife, 2 brothers and their wives... and any number of children. All of us spread through 3 vehicles. We made a stop on our way down the Aosta valley to see a 300BC Roman Aquaduct. No, wait. Two thousand, three hundred years old. Okay. No.Umm. Really?.. Okay. Yes...What?!! Oh. Shit a brick! Or a hand formed stone at least. The valley/gorge plummeted away beneath us. Staring down amidst the rocky outcrops the river raged. Think kayak extreme with a really good crash helmet because your head would,t make it down through the narrow gaps and jutting granite with out a little bit of contact.
Quite amazing, quite blown away.
That night in Torino I ate out, having emptied my larder the week before. Later on that evening the dreaded Diarrhoea started. And four days later is still with me. I thought late monday afternoon when I finally vomited the last of me out, and my stomach finally felt less bloated that this had to be over and done. So I ventured out to organise my train to Zurich. Come Tuesday I felt much better- until I added food to the equation, and found I can convert anything solid to liquid very quickly. My last two days were quite fully booked. Now that was all changing, going down the drain-as it were. I rode across town to Parco Dora to see what happens when Industrial wasteland is converted to a modern space for towns folk to use. Quite an amazing place to go and wander amongst a skeleton of an old Iron Mill. Now a venue for concerts, events or just hanging out, doing graffiti or poking your girl/boyfriend.
After that I was quite wiped out. By the end of the night, that is to say 1.a.m after an unheard of 5 hours of packing I finally got to bed. Four Bananas and a croissant being my only food for the last 48 hours. And now looking back at the last 80 hours I can add a small packet of Peanut M&M's, another Banana and a lovely bowl of Melon.
All in all it was looking pretty grim on Wednesday night, The reality of having to spend the night at the Airport because Zurich had no rooms left for less than 500euro. As it was the train trip from Italy had been thankfully calm. The only tension was in my brain due to the American woman sitting behind me, who insisted on asking everyone around her where they were from. As soon as they answered She jumped in with "we're from North Carolina, have you been there?" I thought it amusing in a "dear christ I am stuck in a Harry Enfield skit" kind of way...but after the 5th repeat I was ready for some violence. Especially when two more things were revealed. 1/ The yanks had spent a week in Milan. 2/ Mrs Nor'Carolina asked "is Milan the capital?" Seriously. Seriously? For fucks sake.
So now, sitting at Zurich airport I had other stresses. Toilet visits were a gamble between me and the people I left my luggage trolley with. Would they steal my stuff? Or would it explode as I ran away to grow a beard and gather a collection of attractive floor rugs...
But, Europes best connected German, Phatty, hooked me up with Martina. She met me back in Zurich train station and guided me home, set me up with Bed and bathroom. What a turn around. Early the next morning... that is this morning, we trained back to Zurich main station where we went our separate ways. She, to Finale Liguria to ride bikes, me to the airport to get checked in..
Got that Bike bag checked in just before I gave the fuckin heavy cumbersome sack to a homeless person (of which there are none in Switzerland, shoulda done it in Italy ) 4th day of diarrhoea and about to get on a flight from Zurich to Singapore, probably going to sit by the Downs syndrome Asian kid that was kissing the pillar beside me in the check th rep in queue, whilst squeeling Mylie/Britney/Christina tunes ( dunno which, maybe he was doing a medly of all 3, DS are all about show tunes don't you know) the phlegm could be spectacular.
The only fuck up in the whole process is that the two jars of Marmite XO that Biff brought from the U.K for me were 250g...mistakenly I had packed them in my carry on. So they got binned.

Terzo. Torino

1. It was perfect to have Parrucchiere Enzo to start the day for me. I was due a haircut, and had seen his place on my walks. It was not flashy. It's the kind of place you go to every two weeks, your son goes, your grandson goes.  Enzo, he knows not one word of English, so we sat in silence while he worked his scissors, trimmers and razors.  But then, a flood gate was open when I asked about his framed and signed Valentino Rossi shirt. By holding both hands together so index fingers and thumbs contacted, whilst saying “Amici, amici” banging his hands against each other and giving a little shake to emphasise,  to get his point across that, ValeRossi and his son are close friends. And then that the framing cost more than the shirt, and that it is priceless to him. Then onto Torino the city. His city. He is Torinese through and through. He is so proud of his city. But not so happy with immigrants that don't work and steal and the police do nothing, or are unable to do anything. Well, I am quite sure that was what he was saying. Phew! We covered a lot of stuff that I only just managed to keep up with. And then I was running late. My hair was supposed to be a quick tidy up before going to the Museum of The Resistance from WW2. It's is mind blowing to see film footage of armed men high kicking their shiny boots thought he streets of Torino. Or rallies of thousands of people having to be part of the flash mob that Mussolinis crew organised. The Fascists in the front row waving and smiling and into it... the Fiat employees and local factory workers roped in as fillers to make it look impressive...or else. And then to see the worn out people return to their city, the bombed city at the end of the war. I recognised the streets and Piazzas in the films. It happened here. These streets I ride are the same streets that citizens filtered back into while a couple of hundred die hard Fascist Snipers were set up and holed up in the tall buildings. Taking shots at whatever took their fancy.

And then, a quick load up of the bike to ride across town to my new digs. And wow! What a nice place!! Proper kitchen!

Mara dei boschi is the name of the Geleteria that I found the day before I moved in. There may be nicer places in Torino, -maybe- but since I go there every day at least once, they know me. And that matters. And their Gelato, Granita and Sorbetti are all devine.

  I don't really walk anywhere. I have a bike- why walk? The 1.5meter rule for giving cyclists room on the road in NZ... Well, here there have been a few close shaves, but everyone respects all the cyclists. The city bike share scheme and private bikes mean there are bikes EVERYWHERE. And not once has anyone come closer to me than 1.5 mmeters.

Stopping for red lights- I did that the other day. It was an example of me sitting on my bike while a steady stream of cyclists rode past me. Its like riding wrong way up one way, footpath, tram tacks, pedestrian alley ways. Its open season. Just do it.

  And it might bite me on the arse, but no helmet laws exist so it is solely up to my cotton cap to keep the sun and asphalt off by face and head meat. When off road mountain biking we all wear helmets.

Turin has Women. Women, slender, tanned, lots of flesh on show...could be beautiful, but up close leathery and as old as my parents.

Women, slender, tanned, lots of flesh on show, could be beautiful, but up close stunning. Need mirror to check own reflection. Not to confirm I'm looking good, but to remind myself of my age. I am old enough to be their parent.

Retail therapy has been non existent. For one, the shops are closed for 3 hours in the middle of the day. For two, the city is spread through many neighbourhoods, shops are scattered. And for 3... none of the shops look like actual shops. They spend most of a day shut behind steel roller doors over all the windows. Every now and then I ride past and see a new shop- turns out I just fluked it being open. It has been very hard to get my northern hemisphere body clock dialled in. And impossible to get it tweaked to suit business hours.

  I have been aware that every single day since I got here I have been on the go. I couldn't say I have achieved anything startling. But I have been busy doing not much. Today, my 10th day here, I spent the morning dozing on the couch. Wearing just a towel as the temperature outside climbed. It is so easy to forget you're on holiday when there is so much to do.

Last Sundays bike ride was a big day. Met with Francesco and Ambrogio in Piazza Vittorio Veneto. We headed for the hills grabbing an Espresso en route. While all around us Torinese people got some exercise, sun, social interaction. And possibly some church. The ride had lots of elevation gain. We rode up through a WWI memorial. The whole hillside marked out with posts with a plaque for a soldiers name. Post after post after post. Beautiful setting for  remembrance.

Lunch was a highlight. Local. Lovely. Should have been followed by a siesta. At the top of the hill, amongst two other eateries, but we were at the full one. Ambrogio is a regular, knowing the owners son since school. The Tagliatelle was a pure pleasure of simplicity. The Pork shin I followed that with was as good as the best meat I have had anywhere. But there was still at least 30k's cycling to go... And we rode some more climbs, more singletrack, more forest, more rocks. Eventually ending up at Superga. The Cathedral where all the Kings of Italy are buried. It looks down on the city. Straight line up a road to Piazza Castello, where the Kings ruled from. And through to another Castello, (the name of which escapes me because there are so many in Torino) where the Kings were always born.

Monday evening us 3 Singlespeeders were joined by 2 more, to break a record and be the first time 5 Singlespeeders have ridden the trails in the hills of Torino. With the end to our quick evening being the big drop down Seicento (named after the Fiat 600 derelict in the jungle) and down, down, down through the magical corkscrew.