There’s a kind of drama to the Turini—a feeling no other road can replicate. The kilometers are devoured and when you finally reach the summit, you’re filled with a mix of relief that everything went well, thus ticking off the first box of the day. There’s smell of rubber and petrol, and at times, you don’t even remember what silence looked like just hours ago.

Words Alessandro Marrone / Photos Alessio Bergadano

A Few Moments Before Dawn – That time of the morning when it takes a few extra minutes to get going and organize your thoughts. Then everything starts spinning and you realize this won’t be an ordinary Sunday. Today, it’s all about curves. Today means Col de Turini Tour. You spring out of bed like crazy, barely noticing you’ve only slept three hours. It’s always like this when the first of the seven alarms (just in case) on your smartphone interrupts a light sleep that merely serves to fast-forward those last few moments before a new climb. And yet, even though this is the millionth time on the Col de Turini—the ninth with a group of special enthusiasts—the tension fills every tiny particle around me. The kilometers separating us from the meeting point and departure, the Hotel Hermitage in Èze, are erased by the first rays of the sun as we reach the heights overlooking a still-sleepy Monaco, wrapped in a soft morning mist carried by the breeze.

At this hour, there’s no sound. You can hear the crunch of gravel underfoot, the clinking of cups being filled with the first life-saving coffees. As you satisfy your caffeine cravings, you start seeing the first crews park their vehicles in the lot kindly provided by the Èze Municipality —one of the most dynamic institution we’ve ever met and that we thank for their crucial support of our automotive cause.

8:00 AM – You don’t even notice the time. Just enough to finish a still-warm croissant and apply the stickers to the side of the BMW X30 M50 and the first participants begin to check in. Tension has melted away, replaced by the friendly chatter of people who haven’t seen each other in a while. It’s a pleasant background soundtrack as all 49 teams arrive on time. Everything is perfect. The sun above seems determined to break through the clouds that dared to threaten a Sunday devoted purely to the joy of driving. Another alarm rings—it’s time for our briefing and finally for departure.

9:30 AM – One by one, in an orderly and noisy serpent of horsepower, the cars hit the road and head toward Èze Village, driving through the main street before turning uphill. Why? The switchbacks of the Route de la Turbie. The blue sky blends into the crystalline sea and as the ribbon of asphalt climbs, we pass Menton and head towards Sospel.

Despite being on a long weekend, the roads are relatively empty and soon we’re surrounded by the rocky walls of the Gorges du Piaon as well as the first tight bends that make the Col de Turini one of the world’s most iconic roads. You lose count, ‘bout downshifts or late braking. The dance between steering wheel and pedals is accompanied by a constant roar that echoes through the valley for who knows how many kilometers.

There’s smell of rubber and petrol, and at times, you don’t even remember what silence looked like just hours ago.

The lineup of participating cars is stunning—a colorful stream of sports cars and supercars driven hard, without fear of wearing out their tires, without holding back any drop of emotion. Every shift leaves behind the distant echo of a Lambo or an AMG climbing toward Moulinet. We pass legendary bends once seen only in the pages of rally magazines, now brought to life through the thrill of braking violently on the same line followed by some WRC driver not long ago. There’s a kind of drama to the Turini—a feeling no other road can replicate. The kilometers are devoured and when you finally reach the summit, you’re filled with a mix of relief that everything went well, thus ticking off the first box of the day.

12:00 PM – Checkpoint at the top of the Turini. While some crews take a moment to relax, others opt for the optional stage that descends to La Bollène-Vésubie, then stop at the Roquebillière gas station and climbs back up the same switchbacks—repeating one of the most unchanged rally stages of them all. Half an hour, or even less for some, and we’re back at the summit. We head into the Hotel Les Trois Vallées for a light lunch — but more importantly, to let our eyes wander across those walls lined with plaques, photos, and memorabilia, all steeped in motorsport history.

Another coffee—because despite the adrenaline still pumping, we need to make sure our bodies hold up for the second half of the tour, which, truth be told, is my favorite one. Yep, the climb to the Turini is legendary, but the other side offers even more corners, shattering any belief that the top marks the pinnacle. We hold the awards ceremony—including one for the day’s mascot, little Sofia, the youngest co-driver ever at just 4 years old, and to the team that came all the way from Florida. A blink of an eye later, engines fire up again.

Down for Peira-Cava, one of the day’s two fastest stretches. Again, barely zero traffic. Taking a variation from last year’s route, we pass the Col St. Roch and reach L’Escarène, the second-to-last checkpoint. Some might think it’s all downhill from here, but the best is yet to come: the Col de Braus.

It’s incredible how such a small geographic area offers roads like this. The Braus, a postcard of switchbacks chasing each other like a dog chasing its tail, is the very definition of mountain driving. You could eat brakes and tires in just 600 meters. And if that happens, you’ll know you pushed the car to its limit. It’s impossible to come here and not slam on the brakes at every turn, then hammer the throttle —and repeat that at least six times. All in a minute or so.

We pass through Sospel again, and when your co-driver says there are only a few kilometers left, you’re stunned by the Col de Brouis—a spot unknown to most, but thanks to perfect visibility and a width rivaling a German Autobahn, it’s the cherry on top. You push through every remaining meter. Nobody held back.

4:00 PM – With rare punctuality, we fill the area in front of the old Ouvrage du Brouis, sadly still awaiting a buyer. Dodging a few rude residents—who would rather spend their Sunday in front of the TV with a stained tank top than behind the wheel of a beautiful car—it’s time to say goodbye and hand out a special plaque to each team. It’s been a scorching day, full of amazing cars—and more importantly, amazing people. True enthusiasts—not the ones just hanging around for a few Instagram likes.

Take one last moment to breathe in this crystallized memory. You see the crumpled roadbooks, the dirty stickers, the shimmering air from engine heat. Once again, the real value are the people—each with their own story, their own way of spending a day away from home with hands gripping the wheel. Getting to talk with them, seeing that sparkle in their eyes as they look at their car at the end of the tour—that’s the best reward.

One that can’t be measured or described. And one they’ll carry with them for a day that, for many could looks like a twisty way to connect point A to point B. But everything in between? It was worth all the effort, fuel and tension. The next edition will be the tenth, with a completely new schedule. And someone here is already getting anxious about it.