Blog Two: Trieste, Italy

Trieste, Italy [20-21 September]

We (I really mean Fiona) habitually plan(s) our trips quite meticulously. We leave Edinburgh thinking that we will be visiting 6 countries in the course of our 7 week trip – Croatia (twice), Italy (three times), Greece (twice), Turkey (twice), France and Spain.

So we are a bit surprised when it transpires that that will actually be seven countries. We hadn’t realised that the big toe of Slovenia pokes out beween Croatia and Italy, so that the road from Rovinja to Trieste necesitates us passing through border control into Slovenia, and getting an entry stamp on our passports.

We then have the unexpected pleasure of a 30 minute drive up hillsides and down into beautiful valleys, before passing along the highway with a fantastic view of the Bay of Trieste on our left. This short advert for Slovenia makes it look very attractive for a future visit, before we pass seamlessly into Italy – because Slovenia and Italy are both Schengen Group nations there’s no need for a border control point between them.

The car transfer delivers us to a narrow side street in Trieste, and the front door of the former palazzo that houses our super swish minimlist and stylish apartment. We already wish we were staying here for more than one night.

We sally forth with a small map and the directions of the receptionist at the Palazzo Talenti. It proves to be just a 10 minute walk through the Piazza St. Antoni, down the Via Rossini and over the bridge straddling the Canal Grande to the Piazza del Borsa. On through the basy pavement cafes and into the hugely impressive main square, the Piazza del Unita d’Italia. The square and the waterfront remind us a little of Lisbon, both emphasising the seafaring history of the two cities.

The grandeur of the vast space is a little spoiled by the presence of a small encampment of white gazebos, which are set up for political meetings – it seems to be election time. We walk on through the grand Piazza to the waterfont, only a stone’s throw from the cruise terminal from which we’ll leave tomorrow, and arrive at the beautiful sculpture commemorating the skills of the city’s seamstresses.

We stroll back the way we have come, and decide to stop for a coffee at the only cafe we can see that is not completely full outside. I ask Fiona what kind of coffee she wants. She says “Well they really frown upon people ordering cappuccino in the afternoon, don’t they?”

The waiter approaches. He looks like he fancies himself to be a bit gangsta, possibly a mafioso doing a second job. “What kind of coffee you like lady?”

“A cappuccino please.” I’m thinking: she is doing this deliberately. The waiter fixes her with a look that seriously would be appropriate to her just having shat on his grannie. He turns to me in disgust.

“I’d like an Americano please.” This proves to be too much for him. He starts to rant about coffee made with water, with milk on the side, not being the Italian way. “OK – how about a double espresso with a little milk on the side?”

This triggers a lecture on the need for tourists to learn how to drink the appropriate coffee, in the correct manner, at the proper time of day. It goes on for some time, as he plays to the gallery of other clients of the cafe. He stomps off in high dudgeon to bring us who knows what.

Whilst he is away we decide not to get annoyed, as is our norm, but to bait him further. On his return he slaps down a cappuccino, and a double espresso with some milk. I say to him, in the most drippingly sarcastic voice I can muster “I really want to apologise for offending your coffee making sensibilities due to my ignorance. We are Scottish and we have no idea how to make coffee properly. You must get so sick of stupid ignorant tourists coming to your cafe and giving you money.”

Instead of sending him over the edge, he smiles, claps me on the shoulder, and suddenly he’s my best mate. It dawns on me that this person actually thinks that I am sincerely apologising to him. As opposed to eyeing up the nearest metal chair leg with a notion of introducing it to his rectum.

He slopes off, clearly content that he has suitably educated two foreign ignoramuses. We drink our weak, lukewarm coffees and leave.

Dinner by Canal Grande in the evening is much more enjoyable, in a long street full of hospitable restaurants with friendly staff. We wind our way back to the apartment. As we are about to cross to the Palazzo Talenti entrance, we spy a hooded youth who is lurking suspiciously and appears to be eyeing Fiona’s bag. Or perhaps he is just an assassin sent by the barista at the cafe. We scuttle quickly into our highly secure apartment building.

In the morning, our final views of Trieste include the spectacular Piazza del Unita d’Italia and the rest of the city spread out around the bay, from the vantage point of our cruise boat berth.

My dozen favourite images from our short stay in Trieste are included in the gallery below. Click on a thumbnail to see a bigger image. If you’re using a mobile phone, turn your screen sideways to see the bigger image to best effect.

Image Gallery