There are those who say they don't like Torino much. They say the town is a little too industrial for their taste. It's too far north. It has too many rough edges; it's too flat. Well, to me it's not any of those things. Torino is one of my favorite Italian towns. It gives me the same gut feeling as, say, New York: a bustle, sophistication, ethnic diversity and hustle that can charge your spirit and challenge your senses. It reminds me of Seoul in the 70's—it gives off an aura of knowing its purpose and having a direction. It also has a fantastic history (it was the first capital of a united Italy) and a rich cultural heritage that is under-appreciated; it's well worth a visit. Torino has things to do and stuff to build (it's the center of the Italian automobile industry, and an industrial powerhouse), and if you can't appreciate the city for what it is, then, well, too bad for you. I like Torino's attitude.
This is not to say that you can't have fun in Torino, or won't be stunned by the city's surrounding natural beauty. There are the Alps just to the north and minutes away; Genoa and the Med to the south; Cocconato, Milan and the lakes Como, Lecco, Maggiore and Garda to the east by an hour or three at the most, and to the west, there is France. The city lends itself well to be the center of an exploration of northwest Italy. And Torino has its share of typical tourist attractions including its covered walkways and, of course, being the home to the famous Shroud of Turin (Torino is the Italian name of the city).
It's a city to walk in; you can go almost anywhere in the city core using the distinctive covered walkways, a special attraction of Torino. They were built to provide a covered route from the palace to the river Po for a princess in the 19th century and offer shade or protection from the rain.
Driving in the city, on the other hand, is not recommended unless you have suicidal impulses. It's like driving in the rest of Italy: dangerous but exhilarating. Traffic doesn’t necessarily follow streets; cars can—and often do—use sidewalks, parking lots or any other venue that may offer itself in aid of getting them where they want to go. The Italians don't mark lanes on many streets; it is traffic as the crow flies. Step carefully.
N. and L. wanted to see the Shroud of Turin museum, which they reportedly found interesting, although all they saw was an image of the original. The real shroud is not exhibited at the best of times, and the copy that was on display during our first visit years ago is apparently now only shown irregularly. We just missed a rare four week display of the original shroud, or what was represented to be such. If you're interested in religious relics, both the museum and the nearby church of the shroud are both worth a visit.
I was more interested in revisiting the Caffé Torino. We've made a point of having at least a coffee at the café during every visit to the city. We found it, as expected, much the same as remembered, although N. reported that she noted some deterioration from our last visit five years ago. The gold bull in the sidewalk that marks the café was still bright. I'm not sure why, but tourists like to step on the bull's rear end; it must bring them luck or maybe they just like the idea.
We stayed the night at a Best Western hotel in the city within walking distance of the rail station, the center of the city and beginning of Via Roma, the primary shopping street. If you like to spend money on the inconsequential, you can be happy in Torino. The hotel was surprisingly good, and as we had a penthouse room with a great outside balcony, there was a superb view of the city, particularly that night. Dinner at a nearby restaurant was less than brilliant and a bit pricy, but it gave us a chance at our first Italian pasta in far too long a time.
Last night was the Geneva day celebrations for this year, as usual capped by one of the best firework displays in Europe. (I'll put up the finale as a video and include the URL reference in a future blog.) We had dinner in the open air at the Café de Centre then walked fifty meters to the riverside to view the display. The weather was perfect, and many of the city's residents had poured into the riverside and along the lake to party. It was on a similar day of celebration that I first visited Geneva many years ago, and, as I recall the city then, there is little observable difference today.
I have mixed feelings about Geneva; in many ways it's a business and money city, without a great deal of personal warmth. Like many European cities in the post-war era, they put up some atrocious buildings in the downtown, mostly aluminum and glass packing crates. It will take a long time to get rid of them and replace them with designs more appropriate to the city's history and culture. On the other hand, control-freaks will love the many layers and degree of public administration in Switzerland. This is an organized town. Traffic is horrible; the streets are mostly under construction, with new subterranean fiber cabling, piping and tram rails being laid. I'm told it will be like this for years to come.
Geneva's old city, up on the hill, is not without charm, but then, it's old, and when compared to the modern lower city, it's peaceful and has many interesting shops. There was one enterprise selling antique scientific instruments that appealed to me in particular, but then, I like shiny, complicated things. The old city is well worth a walk, but be careful of the idiots driving the narrow streets.
It seems that if you visit European cities, eventually you end up in the local cathedral—and this is the case in Geneva. It certainly is the most interesting structure we visited. The cathedral in the old city, with its 1,700 year documented history isn't much to look at inside or out, when compared with some of the truly magnificent churches in Europe. Perhaps there is too much Calvinist influence. Then again (there are always at least two sides to any comment about Geneva), archeology has created a wonderful dig underneath the cathedral and documented the constant human occupation and building on the site since the third century. There is an exhibit under the cathedral where you can literally wander amid the excavations for eight euro, four if you're old enough to dodder, and see the structure as it existed at various times. With a few more euro and strong legs, you can walk to the top of the tower and see a spectacular view of Geneva, if you're into that sort of thing.
Geneva is about money, and this is a very rich town. Evidence of wealth is everywhere, and if you are one of the financially-challenged, it can be fairly depressing. The city is not particularly expensive for Europe until you get into luxury items, like food, clothing and housing. Eating simple is okay, but if you insist on tablecloths, prepare to hurt in the wallet area. Our experience of dining in Geneva was not that great. We found much of the food to be over-cooked and unimaginative—a surprise in what is, in effect, a French city. I'm sure there are fine restaurants here but I don't think my expectation of moderate pricing and sufficient care in food preparation is that exceptional. The same can be said of the wines: there is a natural bias to locally-grown vines, not altogether deserved.
I like the Swiss, but I'm not entirely sure why. They are obsessive about security and have some really strange views about sequestering themselves in this age of European consolidation. While the euro is essentially a second currency here, and travel to and from Switzerland by EU citizens is simple and open, this is the only country I know of that requires—today—that new residential buildings contain a bunker behind a blast door, stocked with air, water and food for its residents in the event of a nuclear attack. I find this attitude odd in a country known for peace, neutrality, the UN and charitable works, but such paranoia should resonate with many Americans convinced that everyone is out to get them.
The lake and river are Geneva's main claim to natural beauty, other than the surrounding mountains, of course. I don't think there is any sight more uplifting to the spirit, or more reassuring to a feeling of permanence and continuity of life than to pass through the Alps on a clear day. In Florida, more than anything, I think, even considering the food, culture, democracy and diversity of Europe, I miss the Alps.
If Belgium is known for one thing (other than 800+ types of beer and a fragile political system) it is chocolate. Other countries may make some claim or the other, but not one takes chocolate as seriously as do the Belgians. The country has strict laws that aggressively define what is, and what isn't chocolate, and they get really upset when claims are made for products that don't meet the minimum percentage of cocoa mass. While the U.S. and even the EU have compromised the integrity of chocolate—it's just a matter of time before popular U.S. chocolate is degraded into random vegetable fats, emulsifiers and food coloring—the Belgians have remained obstinate. I say: good for them.
For those who grew up thinking Hershey's or Mars bars were the highest quality chocolate to which we could aspire, Belgian chocolate will prove an eye-opener. Simply put, there is no substitute for the incredibly rich texture, subtle range of flavors and overtones, craftsmanship and intense joy that it provides.
The big Belgian names in chocolate—now popular worldwide—are known to most, but it should not be surprising that the Belgians think that the very best chocolate is produced by small craft shops hidden away from the main-stream. Shops like Mary, considered one of the finest chocolatiers in Belgium (stated to be a favorite of the Royal Family should you find such things important), which is tucked into a store and workshop on Rue Royale.
L. has directed us to a very interesting vendor on Ch. de Charleroi called Zaabär, and its Chocolate Factory is truly pocket-sized but somewhat unique. Its chocolates are superb. One of the things that differentiate Zaabär is that they vacuum seal their bar chocolate. Most wrap or seal in paper or light foil, exposing the chocolate to bloom caused by humidity or rapid temperature change. Not so with Zaabär, and their packaging is innovative and classy, also great for shipping. It's a bit pricy, but then, I think it's worth it. This is chocolate that you savor and relish in small portions.
One of the things to do in Brussels is to tour one of the workshops offered by several of the chocolatiers. Mary, for example, has tours of its new factory in the old—now converted—Arsenal in Etterbeek (a commune of Brussels). Zaabär offers a tour by default as their shop IS its factory, and you're surrounded by the process while you walk around and sample the wares. The idea is to nibble to find your favorites and fill your basket at the same time. Each of the chocolate blends they make (and they make a lot of them, some very exotic and exciting) is on display with small bits available for tasting. If you go from start to finish, you can pretty much eat your fill. I highly recommend the chili blends for a hot finish to the chocolate flavor. You may know that chocolate comes from different regions, each with distinct overtones. My favorite at Zaabär is the Grenada-sourced dark (60% cocoa) chocolate.
Zaabär also offers the opportunity to join one of its classes, held twice a week, where for 20 euro you can learn to make your own chocolates. You can keep what you make, probably a good thing, as there can't be much demand for that pizza-flavored chocolate you're thinking about.
It's been a long day of driving, not the happiest thing to do during the European vacation period. Through July and the first part of August, much of the population of Europe is on the road, for the most part headed south (in two weeks it's north). Weekends are the worst, which is why we traveled on Monday. There are several weekends labeled "Red" because of their traffic density, and reported on TV like sports events, with at least one picture of immense lines of cars stacked behind tunnel entrances or turnpike turnstiles. It wouldn't be summer without them.
We packed L.'s car and planned a route through Luxembourg, then south to Metz, Nancy and Dijon, and finishing up with a run through the French mountains into Geneva. This is a familiar route, and we must have driven it dozens of times. There was a great deal of traffic, as was expected, but as we stayed on the French turnpikes, the roads were safe and comfortable. My advice though: avoid the popular rest stops—vacations do not bring out the best characteristics of Europeans, or anyone for that matter.
Using the French roads is not cheap. The fee for the 500 km "payage" in France came to almost $40. (Imagine Florida charging $40 road fees to travel from J-Ville to Miami. I can see THAT happening in the near future.) Here, you do get something back for your money: smooth, wide, well-maintained roads through some of the most scenic countryside you will ever see. Traffic is also less on payage, and believe me when I say that that alone during the vacation period was worth the $40.
It was the first time in five years that we drove the expressway from Brussels to Luxembourg. We saw this road built over thirty years ago, re-built twice and repaved numerous times in the intervening years. It won't be long before it's again partially closed for resurfacing as a good length is in sad condition; road construction seems to be something beyond Belgian ken—or has a very low regional priority. The trees are very dense now on each side of the road and in the median; it's almost claustrophobic, and in places you can see very little of the Belgium—a pity, it's pretty. It reminded us of Ireland and its hedgerows.
France farm land, was, is, gorgeous. This is a civilized countryside, as you would expect after tens of centuries of tillage. As we left Dijon and headed on an eastward bent toward Geneva, we began climbing into the mountains and the views are stunning. The weather didn't cooperate fully and we ran into some rain and cloud, but on the good road it wasn't a problem.
We were early for our expected arrival in Geneva, so we decided to stop short of Switzerland and have dinner in a French village. After several false starts, and a great deal of negotiation over where to leave the expressway and strike out for a village, we decided upon Nantua, about 10km from the highway. It is a gem of a little town, laid out along a beautiful, green lake in a steep valley. We were a bit early for the restaurants, but located the Café Brasserie d'Centre near, as you expect from the name, the center. We ate what was offered, a simple menu of charcuterie, pork and rice, paired with an excellent Côte de Rhone wine, which, accompanied by a dessert, came to less than expected.
The evening wouldn't be complete without some excitement: our GPS decided that a forestry track up the side of the mountain was the means to regain the expressway. It was wrong. After bouncing along the precipice and scaring the bejesus out of the ladies (I was resolute, of course), I finally surrendered to the obvious, back-tracked, and the rest of the trip was without incident. We're now back in Switzerland for the first time in six years. Not many changes are expected.
If willingness—nay, enthusiasm—to be responsible for recycling household trash is a valid measure of public social consciousness, then Belgium can be pretty proud of itself. Household debris in Brussels, as an example, must be categorized into plastics, glass, paper and garbage, placed in the appropriately colored bag or container, left at the curb on the appropriate day, or even hauled to neighborhood sites for disposal. Glass, for example, must be carried to central bins, again sorted by color, and subsequently tossed in the correct container. While the regime varies somewhat by commune, Belgium is collectively dark-green in an environmental sense. Even its politics has a strong Green Party representation.
The Federal state has assessed a charge for the ultimate disposal of electrically-powered and other devices composed of hazardous materials that require special treatment or disassembly when reaching their end-of-life. If you bought a TV or an electric razor, you would find a small amount added to the bill for just that purpose, with the charges going toward the operation of regional recycling centers which do the necessary. Again, the citizen must save up his items and make a trip to the communal disposal for this to work, but the policy seems to be embraced by most. Belgians seem to understand the necessity to look after their countryside, perhaps because there is so little of it, and what isn't occupied is so intensely beautiful. Most of us have little experience in dealing with radioactive wastes and other nasty goops found in modern electronic appliances, and, in you think about it, you don't want to bury such substances near your ground water, either. Unfortunately, for us in Florida, anything placed below knee-level is close to ground water.
There's less trash to be treated in Belgium, in part because residents a) are often more cautious in buying stuff for which they can't see an important purpose or function (something that doesn't get in the way of American consumerism), and b) stuff lasts longer or is considered functional for a longer period. Thus, there just is less remaining for ultimate disposal. When N. and I moved to the U.S. we were amazed at the quantity and variety of stuff left at the curb for pickup by the trash trucks. Entire households seem to be gutted regularly and left to the city for disposal. Perhaps as a result of this trashy incontinence, our current city is obsessed with the size and future of its land-fill sites. (There is almost no recycling in our State—they just bury the junk; out of sight, out of mind.). Contract values for digging a hole, throwing trash therein, and covering the hole (to be admittedly simplistic) are enormous. Waste disposal is a very big business in the U.S., and business is good, depending upon your perspective.
Europe, and much of the rest of the world, is taking a different tack, and having lived the regimen, I'm sympathetic to its ambitions. After all, recycling is such a simple task, requiring so little of our time, and yet returning such enormous, long-term benefits. Some find the bottle banks, spotted around Brussels and other cities in Belgium as ugly; a blight. I think they are beautiful.
