Chapter Two—Piazza San Carlo, Fare Una Bella Figura

Literally, fare una bella figura means make a beautiful figure. The phrase has to do with the Italians’ great passion for beauty. Italy is the center of fashion, and for much of history it has been the center of art. The most beautiful cars come from here. Turin has beautiful architecture. And Italy’s got an impressive list of supermodels, too.

Piazza San Carlo will be one of the first places that USAC takes you, and for good reason. After walking down the polished-stone sidewalks of Via Roma, if coming from the direction of Porta Nuova, after passing grand window displays brightly-lit even at night, and after passing between two fountains, two statues, and two churches, you’ll come to Piazza San Carlo.

On a nice day, it’s crowded, especially on the weekends. There might be someone dressed as a clown blowing up balloons and shaping them into elephants. There might be some special event going on. There might be a pair of carabinieri swaggering by in their chic uniforms. During the spring, summer, and early fall, the several cafés in the huge piazza have dozens of tables out under shades. Dogs are barking, people, of course, are smoking cigarettes, and people are just walking around in circles.

This is the Italian piazza: it is where people come to watch other people, and where people come to be seen by other people. It’s fun enough just to soak up the ambiance, to sit on one of the steps leading up to the horseman statue in the center of the piazza and watch Italians be Italian. You can come alone and read a book, you can come with friends and just relax. Try to do what the Italians do. Watch them. Mimic them. Learn what it means to make an afternoon out of the piazza.

If you’re not afraid to spend a little money, sit down at one of the outside cafés and order a glass of barbera, or maybe dolcetto d’alba, two local wines. Piazza San Carlo can be absolutely free, or you can spend 70 Euros on dinner. It’s up to you, but I encourage you to go there again and again.

One day I was reading on one of the benches in the piazza. A guy sat next to me, he looked about my age, and he started rolling a cigarette. I watched his deft hands work and, after a moment, gathered the courage to ask if he’d roll me one. He was happy to.

We got to talking. Dario was, indeed, my age, and he, too, studied in Turin. He was not from Turin itself, but he was from Piedmont. He spoke good English for a Piedmontese and at the end of our conversation we exchanged numbers.