Viva Italia!

I have had the chance to travel all across Italy over the last 10 years. I have visited big cities such as Rome, Florence, Naples, Venice, Pisa, Pompeii, Milan, Turin, Bologna, etc., but also countless small towns and villages where people’s warmth never ceased to amaze me. I have met so many men and women who were kind enough to guide me, help me, and make me discover all of Italy’s hidden gems- including the best gelato spots of each place!

I first traveled to this charming European country in 2010, and will never forget the introduction I got to Italia.

I had embarked on a backpacking trip with my friend V. We had planned to travel across Western Europe together for a few months. We had spent our first week overseas in London, and our second in Paris because the main focus of our trip was Italy. We had both never been to that country, and really wanted to visit this land fully. We had a common passion for the fine arts, the food and the local architecture. Plus I spoke Italian quite well. So, when the day came that we were finally heading to Italy, we were more than excited. We had booked a TGV from Paris to Turin, and were supposed to arrive at our already-booked hostel at around 6 pm.

Of course, just in like every good or bad adventure, nothing ever go as planned. This trip was no exception. The first part of the train ride went well, bus as we were approaching Switzerland, the train stopped. There was a mechanical issue, and no one was able to tell us how long it would take to fix the problem, but it would be a while. Alright. We did not panic, I mean, those types of situations are part of the journey. So, we found a gentleman with a PC, and asked to borrow it for five minutes so that I could inform the hostel that we would be late. The check-in ended at 8 pm, and we would definitely arrive later. I sent the message, and waited with my friend near the railroad tracks.

Three hours later, the issue was fixed, and we were back on tracks, literally. We were not going very fast, which means that we arrived at the Turin station at around 10:30 pm. We would usually only use public transportation, but we were exhausted and we were afraid the hostel would be closed. So we said, alright, let’s just take a taxi, it will take shorter to arrive, and that’s it.

We got in, I told the driver our address. He looked at me and said: “That is not Torino.” Huh? “Your hostel is not in Torino, it is in Volpiano.” Okay, “How long will it take to get there?”, I asked. “25 minutes if I drive fast.” Well, we didn’t have a choice. 25 minutes from the city is not that bad. Still we were afraid that taxi trip would cost us half of our summer budget.

The cab driver was, indeed, driving pretty fast. Between 160 and 180 km/h. V was terrified; I thought it was fun! He left us in front of our hostel, doubtful that this was even a hostel at all. It was a gloomy residential street. No lights were on. It looked so creepy that the driver asked to take us back to a hotel in Turin. After seeing our 45 euros bill, we said, no grazie. We looked at our little piece of paper where I had scribbled the address. This really was the place. We knocked on the door for five minutes, alone and afraid. No answer.

Then, an old angry man wearing nothing but speedo-like underwear opened the door and started screaming at us. How dare we woke him up! I tried to calmly explain to him (in Italian) that we were late because of the train, that I had written to the manager, and that we had nowhere else to go. He did not seem to understand, so I pulled my little green pocket dictionary out of my bag to find a better way to explain the situation to him, but he left and closed the door.

A few minutes later, he was back. He was on the phone with someone. We thought it was the police, and we really did not want any kind of trouble. It was 11:15 pm, we were tired and cold and hungry. We just wanted to find a place to eat and sleep. Then, he handed me the phone. I took it: “Ciao?”, I shyly whispered.

The hostel manager was on the other side of the line. She was mad, but mad! We had obviously woken her up. I, again, calmly explained our situation in my best Italian. She had not received my email. I finally convinced her to let us in. I mean, we had paid in advance. She said okay, but she was living 30 minutes from there, so we would have to wait. Fine.

When he realized that we were not lying, and were actual guests of the hostel, the old angry man became suddenly much nicer, and invited us in. He was actually the janitor of the place and lived in a small studio-apartment there. He took us to his room, made us espressos, and we chatted lively. His name was Angelo, he had fought in World War II (I still don’t know on which side), and had a lot of stories to tell. He gave us recommendations on the best pizzerias and cafes around.

40 minutes later, the manager arrived. She was still extremely angry. Nonetheless, when she saw us, her expression changed: “You’re so young!”, she exclaimed. It’s true. Even though we were both 18 years old, without make-up we looked like 14. I guess she pitied us, or maybe she felt really bad for the whole situation, because she offered us a private room, with a TV and a bathroom.

We slept like babies that night.

The rest of our Italian adventure went really well. With the exception of the general fights on buses, gypsy attacks, and public transportation strikes, it was great! We walked around Milan, and Bologna, were blown away by the masterpieces in Florence and the Vatican, too poor to embark on a Venice gondola, became huge history nerds in Rome and Pompeii, mafiose in Naples, tourist clichés in front of the Pisa tower, and visited so many other wonderful places, always trying the local gelato, always smiling, always happy that we had made it, safely.