Early the next morning, Mike and I took a boat to Muggia, located just south of Trieste near the Slovenian border. My previous visits to Muggia had been in February, and with an overcast sky both times, conditions were less than ideal to take photos of Muggia’s distinctive trilobed Duomo. In fact, on my second visit, I had made a special trip from Udine just to see Muggia’s Carnevale parade, but to my dismay, the parade was cancelled due to rain. Today was a brilliant, sunny day, but unfortunately at 9:00 in the morning, the sun was in the wrong place. With the light shining from the east, the Duomo was backlit and would make for a white, overexposed sky. Mike and I hung around a full 15 minutes before catching the next bus back to Trieste.
Deciding to explore the city’s old section, we climbed the Scala dei Giganti (Giants’ Stairway) to Castello di San Giusto. Much of the castle was closed off due to construction, and we ended up circling the hill several times before finding a way through. Once at the top, we were able to visit the Chiesa di San Giusto, as well as the nearby churches Santa Maria Maggiore and San Silvestro.
We descended the hill on the opposite side, past the ruins of the Roman amphitheater. Then, we wandered through Piazza dell’Unità d’Italia and along the Canal Grande, stopping at a few bookstores along the way, so that I could browse their local cookbook collections.
For lunch, I had selected an old-style buffet from my guidebook, but it happened to be closed that day. I was determined to continue pursuing my goulasch quandary, so we settled on the next restaurant we found that listed goulasch on their menu—Birreria Forst. With an atmosphere something like a cross between a beer hall and a diner, it was comfortable enough, although lacking the charm of many smaller establishments. I did order the goulasch (although, once again, there were no tomatoes in the sauce), which was served with patate in tecia. In typical American style, Mike ordered “toast”—a grilled ham and cheese sandwich with French fries.
After lunch, we returned to Castello di Miramare in hopes of finally getting my “blue sky” shots. We arrived by bus this time but found that the castle’s entrance up the hill from the Grignano harbor was closed. Massive wrought-iron gates were locked with a heavy chain; there was no getting through. The only option was to walk back down to the harbor, then back up along the highway to look for one of the castle’s other two entrances. Fortunately, we succeeded in finding the second entrance, and I was thrilled to finally get some gorgeous images of Miramare. The views from the castle’s balcony promenade were especially breathtaking! We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling through the park’s 54 acres—a network of paths winding around manicured gardens and peaceful lakes.
We exited the park through the same gate we had entered, hoping that there would be a bus stop nearby. The problem was that we didn’t know if the closest stop was behind us or ahead of us, so we took a gamble and headed along the highway toward Trieste. This turned out to be the wrong choice, for we walked all the way to Barcola before coming across a bus stop. And of course, by the time we got there, we had just missed the bus by a few seconds! So, we found a bench along the promenade, facing the sea and with Trieste not far to our left. Despite the hot afternoon sun beating down, we were content—myself especially, since I had finally succeeded in getting my photos of Miramare. Eventually, I would return to Muggia, too—at the proper time of day for photos.
Back in Trieste, we opted for a late afternoon snack of gelato at Gelateria Zampolli. I ordered yogurt, fragola (strawberry), and mela verde (green apple)—although my Italian was obviously not clear, for I received only two flavors, apple and “strawberry yogurt.” Mike had a cup with baci, nutella, and dulce de leche.
It was our final night in Trieste, and we wanted our last dinner there to be extra special. As usual, I was armed with a list of restaurants from my guidebook, but some had apparently closed and a few others appeared to be generic Italian (or what has been dubbed “national” cuisine, as opposed to the more distinctive regional cuisine). Ultimately, we settled on Ristorante Al Cantuccio, which was across the street from Ristorante Al Bagatto (where we had dined on the night of our arrival). It was another elegant (and expensive) splurge! I ordered the spaghetti al pesto con sgombro (pasta with pesto and mackerel), and Mike started with tagliatelle with shrimp in a balsamic sauce. My second course was filletto di rombo (turbot fillet) with sage and potatoes, while Mike had calamari with thyme, balsamic vinegar, and potatoes.
On this trip, we had gotten in the habit of ordering a mezzo litro (half liter) of house wine with our meals. At Ristorante Al Cantuccio, however, wine was only available by the bottle, so we requested some Vitovska, a white wine from the Carso area around Trieste.
I must digress for a moment now to reminisce about my very first trip to Italy, when I found myself in a similar situation. I was 22 years old and traveling with my mom. We were having lunch at a seafood restaurant in Portovenere, when the waiter brought us a full bottle of wine instead of the requested quarter liter. This was before I had studied any Italian, so neither of us comprehended the waiter’s instructions. Looking back, I believe he was telling us to drink only as much as we wanted and that would be the amount he’d charge us for; however, all we understood was “bevi, bevi,” so that we did—we drank the entire bottle! The same thing happened more recently at my lunch at Arta Terme’s Ristorante Salon, but luckily my Italian had much improved by then. The waiter, Matteo, brought the bottle, I drank a glass, and that was the amount that appeared on my check.
Back to our dinner at Al Cantuccio: we had finished our meal, having enjoyed a glass of wine each. When the check came, we were surprised to see the charge for the entire bottle. I considered arguing the point, but given that my Italian was still far from fluent—and the fact that a bottle was truly a bargain at only 10 euros—I chose instead to finish the bottle myself. So, as Mike was paying the check, I hastily chugged down the last couple glasses, feeling slightly naughty as I did so. It was a fun and tipsy stroll back to our hotel!
