Tales from the crypt

It’s been nine years already?

The younger kids don’t go back to school till Monday. They have celebrated their final days of freedom by liberally coughing on me in the piazzas, buses, trams, museums and cafes of Turin. Today I wake up with a slight fever, scratchy throat and generalized blahness. I will make it an early night, but in the meantime one must soldier on.

The entrance to the Museo Egizio, whose vast collection is a national treasure. On this day it is stuffy and stiflingly crowded. The building used to be a school for the city’s rich kids, and its stairways and hallways still have that look and echoey feel like the bell just rang and you'd better skedaddle to homeroom.


The tomb of Kha, the best surviving example of a non-royal tomb from ancient Egypt. He was a scribe who oversaw the construction of more-important people’s tombs. We’re talking 1350 B.C.


A life-sized statue of Wahka I, about 1950 B.C. He was a prince, and mayor of Tjebu. I wonder if he did any ribbon-cuttings or worried about downtown "revitalization."


The strength of the museum, to my untutored eye, are its statuary halls, containing a veritable who’s who of ancient Egypt. The lighting is by Dante Ferretti, production designer for “Gangs of New York” and “The Aviator.” It basically ensures all your photos will look like manure.


King Amenhotep II. He lived to the age of 26, which was a pretty good run in those days, though you’d think his royal status might have earned him a few more years. He was snatched from the Temple of Amun in Thebes. Doesn’t Egypt want this stuff back? I know that country has an aggressive director of antiquities who’s been nipping at the heels of Germany to return its bust of Nefertiti. I wonder if Turin returns his calls.


This sphinx protected the procession way at the Karnak Temple in Thebes during the reign of Ramesses III. 1100, 1200 B.C., whatever. I am so bored I could die.


A detail from the sarcophagus of Gemenefherbak, defensive end from Alabama. Ran a 4.6 at the combine …


I’ve been to a few good Egyptian museums in my time, and my favorite exercise is picking a deity to worship. Ladies and gents, I give you Thot:


He’s the baboon patron of the sciences, he controls the moon for fuck’s sake, and for the duration of 2010-11, I am his devoted cult follower. Makes as much sense as muttering to a statue in the Santuario della Consolata. And think of all the possibilities for invoking his sacred name. Having an aneurysm? “Oh my Thot, my head!” and so forth. Get creative!

Fresh air, finally. A weekend market on Via Madama di Cristina. Counterfeit Purses R Us.


According to the guidebooks, this is the grim slum of San Salvario. Are you kidding me? I could name nine arrondisements in Paris where you’d be in more peril. Just because a general curry-and-rayon body odor permeates the area doesn’t mean you’re about to get a shiv in the kidney. Grow up, people.


I was in Berlin long enough to know these pockmarks mean something blew up here, oh, 65 to 70 years ago. Turin’s vast industrial might made it an attractive target in World War II. Half of the city’s 600,000 people fled; of those that remained, 2,000 died in the bombings, which continued on and off for five years. A thousand factories and half of Turin’s buildings were destroyed. This is police headquarters, on Via Sebastiano Valfre.

My street at last. I feel at home.



I was first introduced to this pepperoncini-infused olive oil the other day at the pizzeria Strabiglia on Via della Rocca, and it was a revelation. Even if it’s not widely available back home, it must be a breeze to make. Anyway, I picked up these two babies at the Carrefour. A pepper floats in one, a mushroom in the other. I think they might be game changers in la cucina. Speaking of which, I tried the Trentatre brown ale from Eataly today. It was spot-on to style: caramelly malt expression, mahogany in color, almost no hop aroma. Just a fine, fine beer, meant to be drank in quantity. How encouraging is that? Based on just this small sample size, I am guessing the Italians have already lapped the French, beerwise. If there is any justice, Thot will have healed me by Sunday morning and the Browns will smoke the Bucs. See you then.