Trieste

A cozy corner of the Adriatic

Trieste has long been on my list because it had appeared serendipitously in my life so many times—recommendations, exhibits, word-of-mouth. Several Italians told me that it was piú importante, very important, to the history of Italy. Once I read it was called the café  capital of Italy I was even more intrigued. In the land of tanti espressi, there is a place called the best? I was sold.  

Thanks to an Italo sale, Trenitalia’s rival, I made the long trek (7.5 hours) up north. With Italo, you get what you pay for when you travel in “smart”. It is crowded, the seats are uncomfortable, and it is loud. Despite the pleading loudspeakers asking you to please lower the volume on your electronic device, there were many loud phone calls throughout the journey (speakerphone, baby).  

Thankfully, my arrival to Trieste was quieter. The city was gently lit up, and my walk to my Airbnb was really peaceful, weaving in through the wide streets and past the main canal and the Serbian orthodox church.

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I quickly learned why Trieste is renowned for its café culture. First, they have their own unique set of words for ordering caffe. You order per al banco, at the bar (instead of al bar). Capo in b’ is a café macchiato in a glass (bicchiere). If you order a macchiato, you will get a café latte. But rest assured, whatever you order on purpose or by accident will be delightful. Crisp, acidic espresso and fresh, creamy milk. For me, the measure of good espresso is it doesn’t need any zucchero (sugar). If espresso makes you wrinkle your nose and crave some sweetness to cut the earthy bitterness, it’s probably a mixed-bean Lavazza roast (che schifo).

Each café had so much personality. Tommaseo was a tight bar lined with glass shelves of alcohol. The espresso was proudly bio, organic. Café degli Specchi was situated squarely in Piazza d’Unita Italia and was so grand and stately. Even the café was grand – served on a silver platter with a complimentary shot of ciccolada calda. My favorite was Café San Marc. It had a mini libreria of Italian and American classics and a wide, curved bar with an old fashioned espresso machine. When I first visited, I held open the door for a grumpy Hemingway looking man, who was insisting his aide leave him at the store alone. He said grazie principessa to me and planted himself in the middle of the café, and the baristas brought him books to read. The café was so enchanting, I went back three times. I could have spent the full three days at cafés.

Trieste has such a unique history especially given its location, nestled in the corner of the Adriatic sea near Slovenia and Croatia. The Istria peninsula has been battled over many times, with Slavic and German influences. In WWII it was held for a long time by the German forces and was the site of the tragic foibe massacres.

I was surprised how easily I understood the language and could converse. Throughout my time there I only had one (1!!!!!!) time where someone switched to English with me. I felt like people spoke much slower compared to the Viterbesi.

The streets were wider and the buildings had a similar grandeur to Milan, which makes sense since it is a wealthy port city. It was so foggy and humid, I oscillated between being too cold or too warm when the sun came out. The gray sky blended in with the calm, gray sea with no horizon in sight. Having no horizon to orient myself, made me feel like I was on an island, completely separate from the rest of Italy.

The infamous bora wind – alternating soft, warm breezes with frigid long gusts—seemed to runt he city. When the sun was out and the wind was gentle the piazzas were bustling. Once the ice air came, everyone took cover in cafes. I followed suit for the most authentic experience.

I spent my second day up the coast at Miramare, a stately castle with traditional Italian gardens. I didn’t plan to go inside the castle but since so many others did, I couldn’t resist. It was 10 Euros well spent. It had such a rich, unique history and seeing the sea from the inside gave me a beautiful perspective of the sea.

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My last day up north I spontaneously took the 8 euro train to Ljubljana (loo-bee-aa-nah), the capital of Slovenia. The trains don’t run often between Trieste and Slovenia but it was so worth it.

The small capital was so beautiful and so special, even in the constant rain. I kept trying to compare it to the other cities I have been to in Europe. Is it a little bit Copenhagen with the bikes and colors? Or maybe German with the sausage and beer?

But Ljubljana stands totally on its own. Bright buildings, like the pink church amidst the gray stone. The green river lined with cafes and breweries. Everyone I spoke Italian or English was so friendly and welcoming. I had planned some specific things to do but there and ended up just following the crowds from the outside market (so many beekeepers!!) to the to an amazing lunch spot for typical Slovenian food.

I tried a carniolian sausage with two traditional sauces. A zippy mustard and traditional horseradish. I took a big dip of the horseradish, and it instantly seared my sinuses, from my nose to my ears. I instantly put my head in my hands and rubbed my temples as tears formed in my eyes. I am pretty sure the bartender saw me. Tragic.

Nothing a smooth Slovenian lager couldn’t fix! And the horseradish was so good, I had more (just in smaller bites).

I left Slovenia very soaked from the rain but so glad I went. I can’t wait to go back.

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Some other snippets:

- On one of the darkest afternoons when Russia invaded Ukraine, there was a Carnevale festival downtown for children. Much needed joy.

- My Trieste train ride was made more comfortable by pocket coffee, chocolate squares with 100% arabica espresso. O Dio.

-  I am bit-by-bit reading L’amica Geniale, My Brilliant Friend, the first of the Neapolitan Novels (aka the book series that changed my LIFE). Will the change my life in Italian? Secondo me, certo!!!

- I am so grateful for my Italian friends who are immensely patient when I confuse the gender of words (CONSTANTLY!!)

un grande abbraccio,

Olivia