The Wonderful (and Ghostly) World of Trieste

In certain places it is well-known and accepted how odd Trieste is. A majority of Italians, in a recent poll (cited by Jan Morris in her fascinating book Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere), did not even know that it was technically part of their country (!?). And can you blame them? It was officially annexed to Italy after World War I, but it wasn’t until the 1950s that the entire city came under Italian control and within today’s confines. Added to these territorial disputes of somewhat limited contemporary relevance is the downright peculiar nature of the city. I hear on the streets as much Slovenian and Croatian as I hear Italian and its dialects. If engaged in conversation with a Triestine, sooner or later s/he will bring up the fact that most Triestines, the speaker included, have mixed origins like Americans (this is usually stated with a mix of excitement and pride). If you’re lucky, like talking to any American these days, you’ll get the breakdown of the nationalities that the speaker can boast. I got into a count-the-nationalities-in-your-person contest with a guy at a bar last year and he actually won. Even though I’m a tenth generation American, I can only claim about five different bloodlines (and I usually only tell people I’m Lebanese and Dutch), and he had at least eleven (one of which was Dalmatian–word!).

And even beyond all this, Trieste is strange for reasons that I will never be able to put my finger on exactly (this is ultimately what I’ve spent the last five years trying to do in my Godforsaken dissertation). Joseph Cary’s book, A Ghost in Trieste, is a wonderful read and even it its title you can see it hinting at something more to this city. A recent New York Times article documents the strange, but pleasurable, sensations you have traveling in this quiet corner of Italy. And why is all this?

Trieste is, for all intents and purposes, a dead city. But unlike other cities that live on in the shadows of their grand pasts, celebrating them for tourists and residents alike, Trieste is a city with a varied, slightly misanthropic, hard-to-grasp history. James Joyce lived here and was inspired by the city to write Ulysses, though he wisely set it in the more familiar to him Dublin. He was friends with Italo Svevo and helped him to gain recognition for his work, La coscienza di Zeno (Zeno’s Conscience), which would transform the way Italy, and most of Europe, thought about the social condition of modern man. It is the only place on Italian soil to house a Nazi death camp. Sir Richard Francis Burton died here (and he was PISSED about it). It still boasts one of the highest suicide rates in Europe, a claim that it has held onto with strength since the nineteenth century (Burton not included). The Austrian Empire, knowing that Trieste was their most important port, allowed Jews who settled and established businesses in the city theretofore unheard of social and economic freedoms.

Statue of James Joyce on the Canal in Trieste.

The list goes on, but the thing that all of these seemingly random links share is that they are all gone now. Vanished. Relegated to books and timelines and a few older, sharp memories belonging to the city’s aged residents. Gone and almost entirely forgotten by the outside world. What is left in their stead is a city, quite beautiful, that is haunted with the former presence of important greatness. A city that seems as Austrian or Slovenian as it does Italian. A city that bears its skeletons of former industry with a sort of weariness more reminiscent of Pittsburgh than of other declining Italian coastal cities (think of the sad, sinking buildings of Venice).

It is rad.

That’s right: even though I just compared Trieste to Pittsburgh, I still think that it is awesome. Why? Well, for starters, the people. Like I mentioned before, they are eager to compare themselves and their mixed heritage with Americans. As an American engaged with Italy for over a decade, it is refreshing to hear people list perceived similarities with my home country instead of perceived differences. In much of Italy there exist social norms that are required of people. Throw that out the window when you’re in Trieste: perhaps due to the intersections of various cultures that have happened here over the centuries, the Triestine concept of right and wrong is completely flexible.

This is not the Italy of people dressing immaculately to go buy one loaf of bread from the baker. The food is often Austrian and sometimes even (heaven forbid) BUFFET. This is not the land of immaculate gardens and homes. The Italian sense of color and design and all the trappings of aesthetics seem to have missed this corner of the country entirely. I was on a train coming into Trieste Centrale just the other day, sitting across from two young women who were coming into the city for the day. As we pulled into the station, one said to the other, “But why don’t they do something about all this junk? It is so UGLY here!” Her companion replied, “Beh, it’s Trieste.” The junk to which she was referring are the defunct, crumbling, abandoned buildings that line the seashore as the train pulls into the station. It is probably a mile-long strip that is, at face value at least, quite unsightly. I don’t think so, though…

Abandoned buildings are not for everyone, and I realize that they can be eyesores and dangerous at times, but I don’t think they’re junk. They’re shells of a former city that no longer exists, but that the residents cannot seem to forget. The rest of the world has forgotten, to be sure, but Triestines have not. So there they stand. Shells of a former self, like yellowing photographs on the walls in the home of a hermit. They may not have inherent value to the outside world, but they are significant here.There is a beauty in that, I think. And even if you don’t know the ins and outs of the city’s history (which can be quite overwhelming), the crumbling, forgotten parts of it still retain their charm.

And their creepiness. On the official city map that is sold at all tobacco stores, in the north of the official city area, an abandoned mental facility is marked. When I first saw this, I thought WHY? That thought was immediately followed by: I HAVE TO GO THERE. Five hours of getting lost and walking about randomly later (it may be on the map, but it is in an area without documented roads), and I found it. It is an unmarked building atop a high hill on university property and the only trace of its former institutional self is to be found in the bars that still grace its windows. There is the requisite graffiti and it is well-secured by chain link fence and bricked up doors, but it is still fascinating. This city was once a hotbed of psychological discovery (it was part of Austria, after all) and this hospital is, again, testament to that fascinating past. Why is it marked on the map? Who knows. I like to think that the map makers, being a good Triestines, has a healthy amount of respect for the ghosts in their city and decided to pay homage in their work.

Villa Cosulich. This villa, abandoned in 1980, is now the site of a park. I love that a park, for children and adults, is built around an abandoned house. Only in Trieste!

Beyond defunct mental hospitals, there actually is lots to do here. There are museums devoted to the writers Joyce and Svevo (though in this the city is more than a little Italian: they are often inexplicably closed). There is a fine castle, the Miramare, built by Ferdinand Maximilian of the House of Habsburg. There are a smattering of art museums, a Jewish museum, the museum of San Sabba (the death camp), an amazing synagogue*, and lots of old Austrian Empire-era buildings and coffee houses. There is even an important regatta called the Barcolana held in early October, which brings all sorts of outdoor markets and a bit of a party atmosphere to the city.

I’m the type of person who loves to visit cemeteries; I can wander for hours looking at gravestones, imagining the lives of the people beneath my feet, wondering if anyone still visits certain graves or if they’ve been completely forgotten, and reveling in the quiet. Trieste is kind of like this–a city cemetery where you can let your mind wander through the past that you, in part, create with your imagination. Certainly, there are elements of this in cities like Rome and Florence, but the seemingly forgotten nature of Trieste adds an element that helps the city to retain its personal touches that other Italian cities, often flooded with tourists, have long ago said farewell to. Trieste can be yours–a personal space full of melancholy and history. And thanks to the myriad nationalities in the city, past and present, yours will be welcome as part of the historical fabric here. Of course, if you find yourself in Trieste and you’ve had enough of this roba pesante, as the Italians would say, you can get outdoors.

This is what passes for a swimming spot in Trieste--in front of the requisite abandoned buildings, near train tracks. The unusual setting enhances the experience!

Trieste demands that you look at the outdoors in a way that a lot of Italy does not. Built into the rocky Karst (carso in Italian) and butting right up into the splendid gulf of Trieste, the city is an outdoor paradise. I’m going to save my outdoor tips for another post, but just know that if you come to Trieste and get sick of chasing ghosts, you can easily find yourself among some of the most splendid sub-Alpine scenery in all of Italy (and its accessible by city bus!).

*Side note: When I was photographing the synagogue the other day, an old lady with a cane came by and stopped to watch me. She finally asked me, “Is that the Jewish church?” I answered, “Yes, it is called the synagogue.” She then told me that she had been living across the street from it since 1954 and had always admired it, but knew nothing about it. I gave her a short history of the building, originally dating from 1912 and left thinking, “How cool was that?” I think I was just geeked that she cared enough to ask and that I could actually give some info.