The Pizzaphile: November 2006

A hand slips down my exposed back while a warm and gravelly voice seductively whispers, 'Don't move... I'm just going to get some more ice.' I'm a little flushed and heady from the alcohol, hypnotised by the firefly string of fairy lights that illuminates the square and fail to realise that my chair is rocking slightly on the cobbled streets beneath. Strains of a non descript Latin-American beat quiver in the night air around me. Though it's well after midnight, the parade of bright young things is only just gathering momentum. And then the voice comes closer, offers me another glass of Barolo. 'So darling, imma gonna see you later at de warehouse party okaye'. I think I'm in love with this town, if not quite as amorously inclined towards Arturo, the swarthy owner of the Free Volo bar.
But I'm not in some funky favella backwater of Rio, or sampling late night Seville cafe culture. I'm in the Northern Italian city of Turin, not generally known for its ebullient nightlife. In fact, most Italians would scoff at the idea of a weekend break in this Baroque building site, conveniently located for a spot of nearby skiing but not for much else. Mention you're headed north to the foot of the Alps and you're generally met with the response 'poverino' or 'poor old you'.
In some ways they have a point. The summer months are miserably muggy and plagued by a deluge of mosquitoes of biblical proportions. But let’s face it, any Italian city is a sweltering misery for a tourist in August.
Back to the balmy night when the humidity has dissolved enough to offer the swarming merry-makers of the Roman Quarter some respite. The evening begins like every other evening in Turin; with an aperitivo. For the uninitiated, this is a very pleasant Northern Italian invention which incorporates more food and alcohol into the daily routine. It’s an Italian alternative to the after work snifter in the pub, but rather than pork scratchings, the locali offer up an abundant banquet of complimentary food at no extra cost to your glass of wine. To be fully indigenous I chose to have a Campari, which along with vermouth was born in the sub alpine region. We’re hanging out in Le Drogherie, an old Renaissance apothecary tucked away on Piazza Vittorio Veneto, a huge square near the river bank at the bottom of Via Po.
The sharp bitter alcohol slakes my palate and is thoroughly refreshing, I’m ready for another but reluctant to fill up before dinner. The gastronomical delights of the region are next on the evening’s menu, and Turin does dining well. The restaurants bustle with an art deco glamour but we skip the traditional Risorgimento fare (boiled meats and sweetbreads ) and have a pizza at Sfashion Café, an eaterie dedicated to satirizing the silly world of fashion.
This tendency towards self- deprecation and piquant irony is a trait I notice which sets the people of Piedmont apart from their fellow countrymen, who take all things in their dolce vita most seriously. The shops and trendy boutiques in the Quadrilatero Romano are still open and too much of a temptation after a few glasses of the succulent regional wine (corpulent brews like Babaresco and Barolo) so I get left to the amorous advances of the hearty Arturo while we wait for the clubs along the river to ignite into action.
It’s down to the Murazzi, the banks of the river flooded with revellers and late night watering holes under the arches of former boathouses. It feels like a cross between Brighton and Ibiza, and just as mainstream. A little further along from the river is the Docks Dora, a site of ex-factories and industrial warehouses, fertile ground in many cities for sophisticated underground culture to flourish. Turin is no exception. It has the intellectual nonchalance of Berlin coupled with the gritty chic of London’s Dalston and the energy of New York’s Lower East Side. Achingly hip some might say. Venues with names like Hiroshima Mon Amour host denizens of club culture like Belgian musical pioneers Soulwax and their deck spinning antics as 2 Many Djs.
There’s a sense of individuality in dress senses, styles and tastes here in Turin that isn’t so apparent in other Italian cities. I feel at home in my louche London look as opposed to sticking out like a sartorial sore thumb. Of course, despite the Northern European cool, Turin is still an Italian city and the residents still do have a fondness for watching girls go by. I even think Italian mosquitoes are influenced by their Mediterranean hosts, as a few managed to get inside my underwear, which failed to charm me.
After an imprudent amount of alcohol I find ways to calm my hangover the following morning with chocolates and contemporary art. Turin is fast becoming a premier hub of contemporary artistic production and is home to Italy’s first museum of contemporary art, in Rivoli, a romantically crumbling castle just outside the city, complete with avant-garde restaurant and thought-provoking displays.
Back in town it’s time for a glass of prosecco and some chocolates under the chandeliers of the historic cafes around Piazza San Carlo where everyday scenes evoke the glamorous days of the duchy of Savoy.
To be honest, I can’t decide whether I prefer the traditional to the modern in this town. Turin fuses baroque charm with the innovative and contemporary in fashion, film, music and nightlife like no other Italian city I know.
While romance failed to blossom during my visit, somehow I developed a crush on this most under-rated of Italian destinations. It's easy to get seduced by wine and chocolates, sexy and sophisticated nightlife and the no nonsense sense of humour the Torinesi have to offer. At just over an hour away from London, there's plenty more reasons to head back for another winter fling.

The Pizzaphile

About Me

Tuesday 14 November 2006

Time to Try Turin

Monday 13 November 2006

Rome's Hedonistic Highlights in 24hrs