Finding my way in Torino


Benvenuti a Torino!
It was a rainy welcome to Turin. The Italian immigration officer took some time to inspect and question the traveler ahead of me. An African descent. If he had the blue or maroon passport that Americans and British hold, it would have been easier for him to move through. He keep getting documents from his handcarry bag to show the officer. I wonder if he is having a difficulty because of his dark skin.
Finally, he was waved through. And finally, my turn.
"So you're a tourist?"
"No, I am a visitor."
To the immigration officer, a tourist and a visitor are probably one and the same. But I was not in Turin as a tourist. I was there to visit my sister's grave.
Caselle Airport is not that big. If it is not as big as Heathrow, it would be fairly small. Maybe the same size as Stansted Airport in London. I went straight to the bus ticket booth. SADEM. I was able to purchase a ticket for Torino. I asked how much and the lady answers me in Italian. Pardon me. No comprendo. I thought I saw 6 fingers: 6 EU$.
I looked for the bus station following signs in English. Finally I saw a bus. SADEM. As I climbed the bus, the passengers, mostly elderly ladies communicated with me in hand gestures. What could they possibly be telling me?
Go pluck myself?

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