On the drive from Udine to Trieste we made two stops. The first stop was to see the urban planning oddity which is Palmanova. Built in 1593 as a Venetian city in the form of a nine-point star. The concentric streets radiate outward from the central piazza. Aside from the three entry points, what you see from outside is a tall hill; it snakes around the city. The idea was “a city as a fort.” It did not catch on. Eventually, people were lures there by free lots.
The next stop was Aquileia, the home of mosaics from the year 313.
Also in 313, Emperor Constantine issued the Edict of Milan. The edict entitled people to freedom of religion. More significantly, it legalized christianity. In Aquileia, Bishop Theodore built a basilica. It was one of the first buildings created for christian worship. To make bible studies easier for those who could not read, the main stories were put into pictures. The main floor is about sixty-feet wide and 100-feet long. In appearance, it looks like a huge carpet. And it is divided into sections. Each section depicts a different theme.
Aquileia had already been a Roman city for five-hundred years. Underneath the basilica floor is a basement with the remains of those older houses and more, even older, 2200 year old, mosaics.
The city was mostly destroyed by Attila the Hun in 452. Though, the floors survived. The basilica was rebuilt and destroyed many times. In 1031, Bishop Poppone, rebuilt what we, more or less, see today. He covered the mosaics with a floor of red and white marble pavers. They pavers remained until 1909 when the mosaics were rediscovered.
No one walks on the mosaics. There are no pews or furniture. An elevated glass walkway travels the perimeter of the room. There are also frescoes from 1100 and 1400, though they are difficult to focus on in contrast to the floors.
Two images made particular impressions on me. One is Jesus as a teenager with a baby lamb around his neck. By virtue of it being the oldest image, the one closest to the living person, does that make it definitive? The other image was a series of depictions of Jonah. But he is not tangling with a whale. It is a sea monster. A dragon like creature. He assaults it from a boat with a stick. Later, it spits him out. He is seen flying from it’s mouth like a cannonball. Finally, he is reclining under a tree. I am confused; who called it a “whale”? Is it a whale or a sea monster?
A few hours later, still pondering “whale? Sea monster?”, we arrived in Trieste. It feels like a big city. Right on the waterfront. Hills oriented toward the Adriatic Sea. The main square, Piazza Unità, has Imperial Austrian monumental scaled buildings on three sides, fronting on the sea. Our hotel, a former mansion, was on the main piazza. The hotel was furnished with attractive antiques. The floors were burnished parquet wood. Lots of brass. Comfortable wood framed chairs with velvet upholstery. Walls covered in floral fabric. The staff was attentive. The bar had great cocktails and local wines. Our room looked toward the piazza.
Reading the city’s history made my head spin. I cannot imagine living through the chaotic events of 20th Century Trieste. Without getting into the complex history pre-1900; in 1914 Austrian Archduke Ferdinand and his wife, Sophie, were assassinated in Sarajevo. Immediately, their bodies were sailed to Piazza Unità in Trieste. There were death rites and processions. The city was draped in black. Their coffins were sent by train to Vienna. Four years later, Europe exploded into World War One. So, until 1918 Trieste was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. From 1918 until 1943 it was Italy. In 1943, Nazi Germany occupied it. They built a crematorium. In April 1945, Yugoslavia moved in, but were swiftly ousted by U.S. and British forces, which stayed until 1954, when Trieste was ceded to Italy.
It was hard to relax into Trieste with that aswirl in my head. (I had similar difficulty in Dresden and Budapest and Berlin.) The only thing to do was eat and drink. Shift gears to dwell on what is present today and hopeful for tomorrow. We went to Caffè Tommaseo. It has been open since 1830. We ate jota. It was a cold and rainy night. We walked about with bright red hotel umbrellas. The piazza buildings lit, were like wedding cakes. Jota is a local, cold weather soup; beans, potatoes, cabbage. We drank Malvasia and Schioppettino wine. We crunched on brutti ma buoni (ugly but good) cookies.
The next day, we went to Al Bagatto where we had four breads: sepia ink, traditional, soft brown with cardamom. There were five olive oils made from Puglia olives, Roman olives, and one from strong local olives. A small puff of fluffy Bacalao puree, with citrus gel and red currants. Our glasses were full of Pinot Grigio, but not ordinary PG. The local wine makers let the juice sit long with the grape skins. The juice takes on more flavor and an orange hue. The call the wines, “orange”, for the color. Our Pinot Grigio was this type, macerato. And we had Ribolla Gialla, another local, outstanding white. A caponata arrived; mild, easy on vinegar, no hint of capers or salty olives, not particularly sweet. Then fresh caught branzino marinated in ginger, raspberry vinegar served with trout roe, slivers of asparagus. It was sweet uncooked fish, salty roe, sweet tiny sliced asparagus tips; flavor and texture zings and contrasts. The room sat 16. Everyone was Italian. We caught more and more of the conversations. Then risotto arrived. It had cuttle fish and shrimps. There was a pasta with swordfish. I asked the waitress, “how do I express these thoughts?” She taught me: Molto bello, molto bene, molto carino. The boss of Al Bagatto has every surface covered with important wines. He is friends with the local great growers and makers.
One featured wine maker, Edi Kante, we tried to visit. We drove to his country farm. We saw his chickens and ducks and peacocks and turkeys. But we did not see him. Perhaps, he was underground. The local hills are limestone. The serious makers have caves carved into the limestone hills. His caves are known to be particularly elaborate. In his caves he paints. For each new special wine he creates a contemporary painting for his pleasure and for the bottles’ labels.
Since we did not get to eat his food, we knew there was a rustic, local spot near by. We drove four minutes, parked the car and followed the laughter and merrymaking sounds. There was an open gate. There was a cluster of branches on it. Later, we learned that is the secret sign of an osmiza. Inside the wall were lots of tables. Some shaded by trees. Ours shaded by an awning. There was food and drink, but it was not a restaurant. An osmiza is a place which creates wine and cheese and cured meats. They are allowed to open to the public only a few days a year. We lucked out. The twigs on the gate is the sign. We asked for food. They gave us what they wanted to give. Platters of meats and cheeses and pickled vegetables and wines and crepes filled, one with strawberry and one with chocolate. We shared a picnic table with two Italians and a Czech. The weather turned wet. It rained. Then it poured. Our awning leaked, but the setting, the food, the drink, the company, the conversation in fractured english, french, italian made it a day to remember.
Wes and Marlow
Aquileia and Trieste
21 May 2019
The next stop was Aquileia, the home of mosaics from the year 313.
Also in 313, Emperor Constantine issued the Edict of Milan. The edict entitled people to freedom of religion. More significantly, it legalized christianity. In Aquileia, Bishop Theodore built a basilica. It was one of the first buildings created for christian worship. To make bible studies easier for those who could not read, the main stories were put into pictures. The main floor is about sixty-feet wide and 100-feet long. In appearance, it looks like a huge carpet. And it is divided into sections. Each section depicts a different theme.
Aquileia had already been a Roman city for five-hundred years. Underneath the basilica floor is a basement with the remains of those older houses and more, even older, 2200 year old, mosaics.
The city was mostly destroyed by Attila the Hun in 452. Though, the floors survived. The basilica was rebuilt and destroyed many times. In 1031, Bishop Poppone, rebuilt what we, more or less, see today. He covered the mosaics with a floor of red and white marble pavers. They pavers remained until 1909 when the mosaics were rediscovered.
No one walks on the mosaics. There are no pews or furniture. An elevated glass walkway travels the perimeter of the room. There are also frescoes from 1100 and 1400, though they are difficult to focus on in contrast to the floors.
Two images made particular impressions on me. One is Jesus as a teenager with a baby lamb around his neck. By virtue of it being the oldest image, the one closest to the living person, does that make it definitive? The other image was a series of depictions of Jonah. But he is not tangling with a whale. It is a sea monster. A dragon like creature. He assaults it from a boat with a stick. Later, it spits him out. He is seen flying from it’s mouth like a cannonball. Finally, he is reclining under a tree. I am confused; who called it a “whale”? Is it a whale or a sea monster?
A few hours later, still pondering “whale? Sea monster?”, we arrived in Trieste. It feels like a big city. Right on the waterfront. Hills oriented toward the Adriatic Sea. The main square, Piazza Unità, has Imperial Austrian monumental scaled buildings on three sides, fronting on the sea. Our hotel, a former mansion, was on the main piazza. The hotel was furnished with attractive antiques. The floors were burnished parquet wood. Lots of brass. Comfortable wood framed chairs with velvet upholstery. Walls covered in floral fabric. The staff was attentive. The bar had great cocktails and local wines. Our room looked toward the piazza.
Reading the city’s history made my head spin. I cannot imagine living through the chaotic events of 20th Century Trieste. Without getting into the complex history pre-1900; in 1914 Austrian Archduke Ferdinand and his wife, Sophie, were assassinated in Sarajevo. Immediately, their bodies were sailed to Piazza Unità in Trieste. There were death rites and processions. The city was draped in black. Their coffins were sent by train to Vienna. Four years later, Europe exploded into World War One. So, until 1918 Trieste was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. From 1918 until 1943 it was Italy. In 1943, Nazi Germany occupied it. They built a crematorium. In April 1945, Yugoslavia moved in, but were swiftly ousted by U.S. and British forces, which stayed until 1954, when Trieste was ceded to Italy.
It was hard to relax into Trieste with that aswirl in my head. (I had similar difficulty in Dresden and Budapest and Berlin.) The only thing to do was eat and drink. Shift gears to dwell on what is present today and hopeful for tomorrow. We went to Caffè Tommaseo. It has been open since 1830. We ate jota. It was a cold and rainy night. We walked about with bright red hotel umbrellas. The piazza buildings lit, were like wedding cakes. Jota is a local, cold weather soup; beans, potatoes, cabbage. We drank Malvasia and Schioppettino wine. We crunched on brutti ma buoni (ugly but good) cookies.
The next day, we went to Al Bagatto where we had four breads: sepia ink, traditional, soft brown with cardamom. There were five olive oils made from Puglia olives, Roman olives, and one from strong local olives. A small puff of fluffy Bacalao puree, with citrus gel and red currants. Our glasses were full of Pinot Grigio, but not ordinary PG. The local wine makers let the juice sit long with the grape skins. The juice takes on more flavor and an orange hue. The call the wines, “orange”, for the color. Our Pinot Grigio was this type, macerato. And we had Ribolla Gialla, another local, outstanding white. A caponata arrived; mild, easy on vinegar, no hint of capers or salty olives, not particularly sweet. Then fresh caught branzino marinated in ginger, raspberry vinegar served with trout roe, slivers of asparagus. It was sweet uncooked fish, salty roe, sweet tiny sliced asparagus tips; flavor and texture zings and contrasts. The room sat 16. Everyone was Italian. We caught more and more of the conversations. Then risotto arrived. It had cuttle fish and shrimps. There was a pasta with swordfish. I asked the waitress, “how do I express these thoughts?” She taught me: Molto bello, molto bene, molto carino. The boss of Al Bagatto has every surface covered with important wines. He is friends with the local great growers and makers.
One featured wine maker, Edi Kante, we tried to visit. We drove to his country farm. We saw his chickens and ducks and peacocks and turkeys. But we did not see him. Perhaps, he was underground. The local hills are limestone. The serious makers have caves carved into the limestone hills. His caves are known to be particularly elaborate. In his caves he paints. For each new special wine he creates a contemporary painting for his pleasure and for the bottles’ labels.
Since we did not get to eat his food, we knew there was a rustic, local spot near by. We drove four minutes, parked the car and followed the laughter and merrymaking sounds. There was an open gate. There was a cluster of branches on it. Later, we learned that is the secret sign of an osmiza. Inside the wall were lots of tables. Some shaded by trees. Ours shaded by an awning. There was food and drink, but it was not a restaurant. An osmiza is a place which creates wine and cheese and cured meats. They are allowed to open to the public only a few days a year. We lucked out. The twigs on the gate is the sign. We asked for food. They gave us what they wanted to give. Platters of meats and cheeses and pickled vegetables and wines and crepes filled, one with strawberry and one with chocolate. We shared a picnic table with two Italians and a Czech. The weather turned wet. It rained. Then it poured. Our awning leaked, but the setting, the food, the drink, the company, the conversation in fractured english, french, italian made it a day to remember.
Wes and Marlow
Aquileia and Trieste
21 May 2019
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