In which Sid and Doris cross the Alps into Italy by Mont Cenis where Hannibal brought his elephants.
We took the motorway out of Chambery, more kaleidoscope-tunnels with the reflection of coloured lights in our shiny paint, chrome and glass. We carry on up the valley of the Arc to Modane where our old road breaks away for Hannibal’s route over the pass. Not much evidence of elephants. The border was once at the ridge but the 1947 France/Italy peace treaty ceded the eastern flank to France.
Picture mountain scenery, touring motorbikes, motor-homes, wiry old gents on bicycles and Hermann. He is not alone among smarty cars: a Citroen Dolly, a MacLaren and a Porsche Speedster that went by as we had the bonnet up sniffing for a fuel leak. He smells a bit of petrol when going uphill, but the mpg seems much as usual, and he is behaving well as the weather gets hotter so we think that nothing terrible is happening.
Despite these groovy cars the conveyance of the day is a really neat electric town motorbike with the motor in the rear wheel. It is cool and much better for the town than the noisy two stroke horrors so we can count this towards the Kindness and Ingenuity score. We won’t say too much about two stroke smoke. Hem, hem as Molesworth would say.
We picnic looking over Lac Mont Cenis and then test the brakes down into the Dora valley and the autoroute.
Here in single lane road works Hermann is menaced by a red truck in true Duel style. We are not much alarmed and find that once we have a slope the bully is left behind.
Driving in Turin is mildly awkward as the way to turn off the main boulevards into the access roads is mysterious, resulting in a couple of trips to a local roundabout. No one shouted and no one cried, and importantly no one tried to arrest or fine us. In fact the closest we have come to the police was a couple of days ago in an autoroute toll station where a gendarme leaned over and asked nicely if he could take a picture of Hermann on his phone.
Turin is a great city to wander around. After a brief and rather mysterious visit to see the Turin Shroud (it is kept in a box) (and oddly they don’t sell reproductions on tea towels either), an early recce found beer and crisps to feed your correspondents in their bright hotel apartment. We worked out our sights for Saturday and went to find dinner al fresco, or boiling hot as we call it.
To our delight one of the piazza cafes has a band outside with singer. Real live music for the first time in about five months – we listen in delight as they murder “Ooh wah diddy diddy dum diddy doo” and cry out for more. We eat not much but Sid has pud so we can hire the table a bit longer. S says that is real trooper stuff.
And we can hear more music coming from an alley. We track down drums, guitarist/singer and mini keyboard busking outside a classic side street bar. We stand with a tiny crowd and drink two glasses of wine, quite astringent, not quite nice but keeping our place at the charming scene.
Turin is the essence of Touring in the Time of Covid – the places are busy but not crowded and only Italian accents can be heard.