Turin

The first thing you feel is the space. Wide boulevards, grand piazzas, colonnades that stretch on like they have somewhere important to be. Turin stands with a straight back formal, at first glance. Almost regal. Which makes sense. It used to be a capital, after all. It still carries itself like one. But underneath the symmetry and stone, Turin hums. Not loudly, but steadily like a city that’s always thinking, always building, always one step ahead even when it looks like it’s standing still. We arrived under a sky that couldn’t decide between sun and cloud. The Alps hovered in the distance, pale and quiet, like they were watching. The air felt crisp, almost serious. We liked that. Some places invite you to relax. Turin invites you to pay attention. There’s elegance here, but it’s worn with ease. People walked with a kind of polished nonchalance coats just right, shoes clicking across cobblestones, espresso in hand. It’s not showing off. It just is. Like the city itself. We started at a café. Not just any café, one of those cafés. Velvet seats, mirrored walls, chandeliers that seemed to have stories. We ordered bicerin, because how could we not? Thick chocolate, espresso, cream all layered, no stirring. It tasted like history. Like comfort and confidence in one small glass.