When I was 6, my grade one class went on an excursion to Montsalvat, the artist colony in Eltham which looks rather medieval. I’ve never been back, although I occasionally ponder it – they probably have luthiers there but not coopers, and I have more need for a cooper than a luthier.

I did not expect to find something along those lines in Italy, ie a faux medieval village, but here we are. The Borgo Medievale is in Valentino Park on the banks of the Po, and is a late 19th recreation of what a fortified medieval Piedmontese village would look like.

I’m not surprised to find this in the city of the Savoys. I found a fantastic old quarter in Salerno a few days ago, but the Savoys demolished almost everything old in Turin, leaving a crass Risorgimento era city. That they would have paid to create a fake medieval village on the grounds of what was one of their palaces is not exactly surprising.

It’s very well done, and looks beautiful, but it’s just an imitation of what has been destroyed, paid for by the people who did the destruction – it is just as well the Savoy family did not rule in the age of the bulldozer and modern demolition charges.

As a side note, the woman at the desk in my hotel told me that it was the real medieval heart of Turin. This just shows how out of touch with history many people are, probably most people. This is dangerous as it makes us all much easier to fool, and on more important things than this….

I went to Oktoberfest this evening in Valentino park. Whilst it was meant to start around 6.30pm (this is me giving benefit of the doubt as I suspect the advertising said 6pm but am not certain), the beer did not start flowing til after some inauguration ceremony featuring a band and some people addressed up like extras from Amadeus.

By then, it was 7.15pm and people had started walking out in droves. As the event had wasted at least 45 minutes of my time, I stayed for one beer in a plastic cup and went back to my hotel. It struck me as a particularly joyless event with hardly anyone in attendance.

In Valentino Park today, I saw squirrels! This is quite cool as I have never seen squirrels before. Sadly I think these are American grey squirrels, an invasive species. This is a positive mark on the ledger for Turin.

I’ve been quiet for a few days because I’ve been pondering about what I really think about Turin. Finally I’ve decided I don’t like it.

Whilst Turin dates back to ancient times, being a settlement of Cisapline Gaul visited by Hannibal on his way to wage war on Rome, there are very few ancient ruins to the city. Nor are there any medieval remains and very few buildings from the renaissance.

What it really comprises is a lot of buildings from the Risorgimento in the late 19th century. This is perhaps understandable as it was for many centuries the capital of the House of Savoy, the sort of crass Royal family which would even turn a staunch monarchist like me into a republican.

Palaces and monuments to the over rated Savoys abound in this city, and there is even a piazza which seems to imitate St Peter’s square.

Which I suppose befits a city which seems to want to be a northern version of Rome (a city I tend to dislike).

This beautiful church is subject of a pilgrimage from the city of Bologna up a nearby hill every Easter. The area commands amazing views of the city.

It appears to me that green copper coated domes are a major thing here in Bologna.

Chalice is not really used in common parlance. It’s a quaint word from another time. If you’ve ever heard it, I bet it’s probably in the final act from the Danny Kaye classic The Court Jester:

‘The vessel with the pessel

Has the pellet with the poison

The chalice from the palace

Has the brew that is true.’

Chalice, or more to the point, Calice, its Italian equivalent, means wine glass. It’s not a word I’m used to hearing or using, and nor were any of the other Italian Australians I was hanging with in Cosenza last week. When we order wine by the glass, we use ‘bicchiere’ which means drinking glass.

I guess that is because our Italian wax taught to us by parents who migrated in the 1950s, and who did not know words like ‘calice’ because any drinking glass would do and who could spare the money for fancy glassware. (I’m proud to say that my family used to save its vegemite jars to use as drinking glasses.)

But here in Italy today, in bars and restaurants, when you order wine by the glass, you ask for a ‘calice’. I like it, and it is my favourite word I have learned on this trip.

https://www.news.com.au/sport/sports-life/swan-street-erupts-as-richmond-fans-revel-in-huge-grand-final-victory/news-story/18ce031e12e16691b7000fd7dcadd519

This shows how all class Richmond supporters are.

The Western Bulldogs (aka Footscray) are also a club based on working class battlers, but we don’t behave like this when we have something to celebrate.

Indeed, their behaviour Saturday night makes me grateful Collingwood didn’t make it through as well, and makes for a great argument as to why Medicare should not be extended to dental treatment…..

No one in Australia drinks Fosters Lager. That is mostly due to a marketing decision made about 30 years ago to gradually withdraw it from the Victorian market (back when we still had our beer allegiance on a state by state basis).

So finding it overseas like this at Hamerica – a restaurant with an obvious purpose and theme – makes pleasant sense.

So, here’s to the silly 18 year old version of me, who thought Fosters really was good beer because he didn’t know any better, and who was at least four years away from learning the meaning of the Ancient Greek word Hubris….

I occasionally have what I call ‘wow’ moments – when I see something that causes my jaw to drop. My first trip to Italy was like that when I saw Venice as my plane prepared to land.

I think I had a few moments like that in Bologna this afternoon, when I saw some of the amazing buildings in the heart of this medieval city – home to the oldest university in the world (although currently ranked well behind Monash on most of the ratings tables).

There is a certain optimism and freshness to cities like this, where they leave their mistakes standing incomplete next to their triumphs, and their masterpieces waiting hundreds of years for some magnificent benefactor to finish them. I love it.

https://www.news.com.au/sport/afl/tayla-harris-pays-tribute-to-danny-frawley-after-blowing-afl-stars-out-of-the-water/news-story/ab8d4d0e46c84d2ac16c7e4bb654a824

I’m sitting in Bologna reading up on my AFL news, as you do. Reading that Tayla Harris came third in a contest on grand final morning sinking a torp is great, but also goes to illustrate that the torpedo punt, that most beautiful and spectacular, and riskiest, of kicks, is next to extinct, saved only for exhibition contests, rather than used on game day.

I’ve long lamented the disappearance of the torp from the modern game. I wish coaches would risk it in their game plans again, as they did in the 70s.