My First Italian Fail: Turin

Oh, Turin.

Part of me wanted to just not talk about you on the blog, but I think it’s important to acknowledge that not everything I’ve done in Italy has been, well, life-changing-ly amazing.

Also, my experience in Turin was greatly affected by choices I made, as well as the lingering (and ongoing) impact of the pandemic.

Disclaimers out of the way, here’s what happened.

I arrived in Turin fresh off my inspiring night of opera in Milan and filled with anticipation. While planning my visit to Turin, I hadn’t found any of the kinds of hotels I usually gravitate towards (historic and/or unique/local), so I decided on a private room in a cute lil’ hostel. My thinking was that this would give me a different lodging experience and an alternate perspective of Italy.

According to the guidebooks, the neighborhood where this hostel was located was supposed to be vibrant and full of life. As I made my way there from the train station, it was dead quiet. There were a handful of fast-food restaurants and mini-mart-esque places open, and not much else. But the hostel itself was, as expected, adorable. So, I dropped my bags and set out to have lunch. I went in search of a restaurant that the guidebooks described as “one of the best in the city.” I arrived at the location to find…nothing. Just a blank, boarded-up space. Considering this place’s reputation as of 2019, I have to imagine that it was a victim of the pandemic.

No worries, I thought. I’m in a vibrant neighborhood! I’ll find something else.

So I searched and searched until I finally found what looked to be a small local restaurant. I went in and asked, in Italian, for a table for lunch. The guy looked at me like I was speaking jibberish, and said, in English, “What do you speak? English?” I replied yes, and then he said, in English, “What do you want?” I said that I wanted to have lunch. He brought me to a table, set down a menu, and walked away. I started to peruse the menu while waiting for him to return and found a dish that looked really good, but I didn’t know what “fave” was. Rather than look it up, I decided that I would just ask. (When possible, I try to have as many interactions in Italian as possible—especially when they’re likely to be “easy.”) When a different guy came to my table, I asked him, in Italian, what “fave” was. And it was immediately clear that he had no idea what I was saying. So, I asked it in a different way, with different words. He still had no idea what I was saying, so he said he was going to ask the other server (the guy who I first encountered) to come to my table.

I waited, but the guy didn’t come. So, I looked it up on my phone and turns out that “fave” is “fava beans.” (I know, duh. But you can’t assume!) When the second guy came back near my table, I told him not to worry about it and that I was ready to order. Again, my Italian seemed to completely fail me in the conversation. Dejected, I resorted to ordering with a pointed finger.

Over the course of lunch (which was delicious and the least expensive meal I’ve had yet), I was able to make a connection to the second guy. He was really sweet and we managed to communicate in a rudimentary way. But the first guy, the one who spoke English, never came to my table (even though the second guy asked him to several times).

To be honest, I really have no idea why. One idea I’ve come up with for why my Italian seemed to fail me with the second guy is because it’s possible that he only spoke a dialect of Italian that is local to Turin. (This is common in Italy.) I mean, it’s also possible that my pronunciation is so bad that it’s incomprehensible, but I’ve had multiple people in Italy (in different cities), tell me that my pronunciation is “perfect.” So, while it’s possible, I think it’s unlikely. I’ve thought a lot about the experience since, but I’ll never know for sure.

I want to be clear that I don’t feel that anyone in this restaurant owed me anything. I never expect people in Italy to be able to speak with me in English, which is why I’ve put so much effort into being able to speak as much Italian as possible. And I really wasn’t bothered by the first guy never coming to my table. Because, truthfully, it gave me the opportunity to forge a really incredible connection with the second guy.

That said, this initial communication struggle continued to play out for my entire time in Turin. I had multiple experiences where I tried to speak to someone in Italian in Turin and they seemed to either have no idea what I was saying or would immediately switch to English. It actually really bummed me out and made me feel awkward and a little insecure and even kind of sad. It just felt like there was a wall between me and Turin and I couldn’t figure out how to get around it.

Making the Best of It

I had high hopes for the National Museum of Cinema and did my best to get excited about a framed picture of Judy Garland and a case that displayed Fellini’s hat and scarf, but it was so uncomfortably hot in there that I had to kind of rush through it. When I was ready to leave, I couldn’t figure out how to get out. I asked someone who worked at the museum for help and I had one of those experiences when the person speaks a wall of Italian words to me. In Italian, I asked her to slow down. And then I asked her if she could say it in different words. Finally, I asked her if she could physically show me. But each time, she just spoke more quickly and more aggressively. I finally wound up taking what I think might have been an emergency exit. I’m not really sure, but at the very least, I was able to get out of the museum and I didn’t set off any alarms.

For my first 24 hours in Turin, I felt like I couldn’t find the people. I walked and walked and walked, but just found mostly empty streets and stores that were closed. By the time I finally found the more highly-trafficked area with more restaurants and shops the next day, I was feeling pretty low. So, I decided to do something drastic: I went to Starbucks.

Now, before you judge me, you should know something: This is a thing. Rick Steves recommends that when doing long-term travel, you ocassionally take a break from the fabulously foreign and just do something quintessentially American. His suggestions: go see an American movie or go to McDonald’s. When I read this, I was like, “Sorry Rick, I don’t care how homesick I am, I am not going to eat at McDonald’s in Italy.” But, when I came across this bustling Starbucks at a really pretty intersection of the shopping district, I thought, I’m going to give this a shot.

I went in and ordered a cold brew (which is very rare in Italy). When they asked me for my name, I gave them the Italian translation of Steven: “Stefano.” The barista said, “I’m going to abbreviate it to ‘Ste.’” I don’t love when people call me “Steve,” but I find “Ste” really charming.

I spent the next few hours at a counter by the window, working on some blog posts and enjoying the bustle of the city streaming past me. Amazingly, by the time I left, I felt completely revived and grounded. So thanks Rick!

Energized by Egizio

I parlayed my refreshed outlook into a visit to the Egyptian museum in Turin, Museo Egizio. It was more interesting than the film museum, but equally hot. To me, the craziest part about this museum was that it’s older than the United States. It’s kind of surreal to know that this institution, dedicated to an ancient culture, has been around for longer than my country’s entire existence. The experience was definitely worth it though. Some of the artifacts they have in there are massive, thrilling, and moving.

Okay, so when I told you I was staying in a hostel, you didn’t think that was the end of the story, did you? I mean, I know a few of you were like, “Ohhh boy, can’t wait to hear how this turns out.” Well, let’s circle back to that for a moment, shall we? So, truthfully, the hostel was really cute. I loved the staff and my room. And I got to do laundry while I was there, which was a true convenience. It had everything I needed…except one little thing. Air-conditioning. At night, my room was baking hot. And the balcony doors opened onto this bustling courtyard filled with loud voices, nesting pigeons, and partying mosquitos. Luckily, it was a fairly inexpensive lesson to learn: when it’s warm, I need AC to sleep.

Don’t cringe, but I moved to a more corporate hotel in a neighborhood with less character, but with two major selling points: the rooms had air conditioning and the hotel was a three-minute walk to one of the main attractions (for me) in Turin: Eataly. What’s an Eataly, you ask? Eataly is a chain of Italian markets, filled with the most incredible array of authentic Italian products and speckled with little eateries and cafes throughout the store. Founded in Italy, I believe the first one in the US was in New York, before they expanded to LA, Boston, and Chicago. Well, the very first Eataly ever is in Turin. And with my new hotel being so close, it allowed me to visit several times before I left Turin. Two nights in a row, I loaded up on colorful veggies, freshly-prepared foods like lasagna and artichoke-leek flan, and small tubs of gelato. Visiting the first Eataly was one of the main reasons why I wanted to visit Turin in the first place and the experience was a total treat.

One of the benefits of visiting a city that I wasn’t super into was a guilt-free opportunity to work on blog posts and to do some future travel planning. I feel like I did a good job of getting to experience a bit of the city, while balancing it with some much-needed rest.

Still, when it came time to leave Turin, I was ready. There was only one small problem: I was headed to one of Italy’s most famous seaside destinations and it was forecasted to rain for the entire duration of my stay…