Today, my friends, we are all very lucky indeed. For you have two photographs to look at and I am in Trieste. There'll be more, much more, about Trieste later but first we must concentrate on Venice.Venice, of which you can see a small part in the first photo, that is Precious posing outside a dog shop, is a very nice place indeed. Its only drawback os the number of young female american tourists gagging for it. Take them away and I bet it's a lovely, soulful place to spend some time, full of history and of memories haunting it's maze of cobbled alleyways and canals.
However, for you and me, it's a menagerie of cackling tourists and idiots blocking bridges to take a, no doubt, romantic photo to show the folks back home. I may have imagined all those young girls walking the streets drinking beer but I don't think so.
Plus be sure to get back to your hotel before dark.
Venice may very well be sinking, but it is sinking far quicker through its mercantile chase for the almighty overseas dollar than it is through rising sea levels.
So here comes the controversy.
But first I must set a scene.
When cycling through Northern Italy, three things jump out at you. The flat landscape (good), the rain (annoying) and the vicious headwind (really, really annoying). if you ever find someone who tells you that they enjoy cycling in the rain and with a headwind, the odds are good that they've already murdered a prostitute or two.
And then, you reach the far North Eastern corner, it starts a little seedily until Monfalcone is in your rear view mirror and then something quite unexpected happens. You find yourself going uphill. And just as you're digesting this unnatural change the road sweeps left and then ...
I don't know what to say about this coastal road other than all those great coastal roads you've ever seen, Highway 1 in California, the Great Ocean Road in Victoria, suddenly find themselves in a jostle for position in your affection. If anything, you'll count this one better for it's compactness and it's all downhill, oh yes.
This is mesmerising. You've been lifted 100 metres up, I'm sure, solely, to give you a good view and there, in front of you is the Gulf of Trieste, Trieste itself and a road, smooth as silk, carved out of the rockface which gently descends the 15 km to Trieste. Trieste itself is saying, "yes we know, take your time, enjoy the view and we'll be waiting for you to get here."
Then you get there.
This is a City well done. It has, as the french would say, a certain je ne sais quoi. It is clear right from the start that this City and it's inhabitants are so self assured that they do not care what anyone else thinks. It's as if they've glanced across the Adriatic, looked at the disaster that's befallen Venice nad thought hang on a minute, we best get ourselves written out of any Shakespeare's plays and keep quiet. Not for us, the unseemly tourists and girls, less pretty than ours, throwing themselves at our feet. With any luck no-one will notice us and we can carry on as we are. Let's save our elegance, grandeur, majesty, simplicity and beauty for ourselves.
When cycling through Northern Italy, three things jump out at you. The flat landscape (good), the rain (annoying) and the vicious headwind (really, really annoying). if you ever find someone who tells you that they enjoy cycling in the rain and with a headwind, the odds are good that they've already murdered a prostitute or two.
And then, you reach the far North Eastern corner, it starts a little seedily until Monfalcone is in your rear view mirror and then something quite unexpected happens. You find yourself going uphill. And just as you're digesting this unnatural change the road sweeps left and then ...
I don't know what to say about this coastal road other than all those great coastal roads you've ever seen, Highway 1 in California, the Great Ocean Road in Victoria, suddenly find themselves in a jostle for position in your affection. If anything, you'll count this one better for it's compactness and it's all downhill, oh yes.
This is mesmerising. You've been lifted 100 metres up, I'm sure, solely, to give you a good view and there, in front of you is the Gulf of Trieste, Trieste itself and a road, smooth as silk, carved out of the rockface which gently descends the 15 km to Trieste. Trieste itself is saying, "yes we know, take your time, enjoy the view and we'll be waiting for you to get here."
Then you get there.
This is a City well done. It has, as the french would say, a certain je ne sais quoi. It is clear right from the start that this City and it's inhabitants are so self assured that they do not care what anyone else thinks. It's as if they've glanced across the Adriatic, looked at the disaster that's befallen Venice nad thought hang on a minute, we best get ourselves written out of any Shakespeare's plays and keep quiet. Not for us, the unseemly tourists and girls, less pretty than ours, throwing themselves at our feet. With any luck no-one will notice us and we can carry on as we are. Let's save our elegance, grandeur, majesty, simplicity and beauty for ourselves.
I expect when the UNESCO mob showed up and said, "my word this place is fantastic, there are at least five things here deserving recognition!", the Mayor, or whatever, of Trieste tapped them on the shoulder, took them out to lunch and said, "thanks for your kind compliments but we'd be awfully grateful if you kept this place to yourself. Pretty as they are, we do not want drunk American schoolgirls vomiting on our pavements and can you imagine those tacky souvenir stalls that would pop up. I beg you, leave us alone and future generations will thank you."
And so they did.
The second photo is of Precious posing outside her owner's new employer's Head Office. As you can see it is quite grand in a 'yes we know sort of way, now would you mind not spoiling our view of the sea'. Their name is Assicurazioni Generali and, this is a slightly detrimental note, every other building seems to have the name Assicurazioni Generali carved into it's stone. Jarring though this may be, remember that it is not on huge neon advertising billboards, so in it's own way, it's the least obnoxious advertising you'll come across. Insure with us, it says, and we'll promise not to ruin your view. Plus the year 1831 tells you that they've been doing something right for a very long time.
The grandest buildings are dramatically carved out of their white stone, their neighbours compete for attention by using appropriate pastel colours. Noticeable but not, if you know what I mean. I really don't know what to tell you but a free day in Trieste is an extremely rewarding and relaxing experience.
You'll return to your hotel room and you will find that the shower works, the towels are soft and the toilet rolls are conveniently located. The wifi will be free, glory be (damn you swiss com).
Then the sun will go down and you will find yourself in a bar with pictures of smoking nuns and of fat ladies sitting on stools while their small dogs peer at you. Above you will be a photograph of (and here's where I think my Fritish may have let me down) a photograph of the biggest clown school in the world. Every bar should have one. The men/women wbehind the bar will unobtrusively ply you with small snacks and beer and when the time comes to pay the bill, they will not surprise you with an exorbitant, inflated price.
The railway station isn't littered with drunks and the facilities are free. What's that about? It's a terminus. Where are the drunks? yearning to be free, and their inevitable odours. I do hope they don't sweep them out into the sea or force then to build majestic roads through rock faces. Hmmm, I may have hit on something there. Or, more likely, they're quite happy being drunk here. It's not all wine and roses, I did spot someone, who may or may not have been an ex-yugoslavian, selling some tasteful ladies wear in a not entirely relaxed manner on the street. Having said that the trams smell of oranges rather than urine. You can't help but wonder what they make of Berlusconi here. Unless, and this wouldn't surprise me, they did make Berlusconi here.
There does appear to be some kind of election going on here. As is the nature of these things, it has brought as unseemly shamelessness to otherwise perfectly acceptable squares and avenues.
In the end you will wonder why the only thing you knew about Trieste was that it was once the capital of the Austro Hungarian empire. You will leave absolutely sure of two more things. More tears will have been shed over Trieste than over Istanbul. You'd bet yours and everyone else's house that they want it back.
Trieste - where even the flunkeys are top drawer. I'd take it over Venice any day of the week.
And so they did.
The second photo is of Precious posing outside her owner's new employer's Head Office. As you can see it is quite grand in a 'yes we know sort of way, now would you mind not spoiling our view of the sea'. Their name is Assicurazioni Generali and, this is a slightly detrimental note, every other building seems to have the name Assicurazioni Generali carved into it's stone. Jarring though this may be, remember that it is not on huge neon advertising billboards, so in it's own way, it's the least obnoxious advertising you'll come across. Insure with us, it says, and we'll promise not to ruin your view. Plus the year 1831 tells you that they've been doing something right for a very long time.
The grandest buildings are dramatically carved out of their white stone, their neighbours compete for attention by using appropriate pastel colours. Noticeable but not, if you know what I mean. I really don't know what to tell you but a free day in Trieste is an extremely rewarding and relaxing experience.
You'll return to your hotel room and you will find that the shower works, the towels are soft and the toilet rolls are conveniently located. The wifi will be free, glory be (damn you swiss com).
Then the sun will go down and you will find yourself in a bar with pictures of smoking nuns and of fat ladies sitting on stools while their small dogs peer at you. Above you will be a photograph of (and here's where I think my Fritish may have let me down) a photograph of the biggest clown school in the world. Every bar should have one. The men/women wbehind the bar will unobtrusively ply you with small snacks and beer and when the time comes to pay the bill, they will not surprise you with an exorbitant, inflated price.
The railway station isn't littered with drunks and the facilities are free. What's that about? It's a terminus. Where are the drunks? yearning to be free, and their inevitable odours. I do hope they don't sweep them out into the sea or force then to build majestic roads through rock faces. Hmmm, I may have hit on something there. Or, more likely, they're quite happy being drunk here. It's not all wine and roses, I did spot someone, who may or may not have been an ex-yugoslavian, selling some tasteful ladies wear in a not entirely relaxed manner on the street. Having said that the trams smell of oranges rather than urine. You can't help but wonder what they make of Berlusconi here. Unless, and this wouldn't surprise me, they did make Berlusconi here.
There does appear to be some kind of election going on here. As is the nature of these things, it has brought as unseemly shamelessness to otherwise perfectly acceptable squares and avenues.
In the end you will wonder why the only thing you knew about Trieste was that it was once the capital of the Austro Hungarian empire. You will leave absolutely sure of two more things. More tears will have been shed over Trieste than over Istanbul. You'd bet yours and everyone else's house that they want it back.
Trieste - where even the flunkeys are top drawer. I'd take it over Venice any day of the week.
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