Perched at the top of Istria and against the odds it is quite obvious that Trieste is an Italian city through and through. Not quite what we had been led to believe while we were in Slovenia.
We’ve been puzzling for weeks. Curious to know what these plastic floaters are.
At first we thought they indicated safe channels for the boats to pass through. Or perhaps were designated mooring places. However, it seems they serve a different purpose – we think. Our D8 route into Trieste gives us a better viewpoint. Zooming in it seems that this boat may be some sort of miniature fish/lobster/crab processing plant. We are non the wiser. Any suggestions?
We bus into Trieste. Tickets only available from selected places. Bus drivers unable to issue tickets or take money. Once down town, a Barcolana clear up is under way. A couple of the old town Piazzas still a mass of wires and empty stalls. Even so the Treasure Trove that is Trieste architecture still delights – even without a clear blue sky.
The gold leaf detail on the face of this building simply exquisite . . .
We move on to an out of town attraction – 19thC Miramare Castle. Camp site lady told us we just need the number 6. Man in the tobacconist, where we buy the tickets from, tells us we need the number 6, then the number 36. Young girl at the bus stop tells us we only need the 36. Confused? We will be . . . Forty minutes pass. The number 36 doesn’t show. When a number 6 arrives the driver informs us that it takes us all the way! Good job we’re on our hols.
The castle would do our National Trust proud. It’s stunning and in a stunning location.
No sign of shorts and T-shirts today. There’s a nip in the air. All gone summer? We’ll see . . .
Scroll up too, to see the full view of this staircase
By the time we’re ready to leave, the coastal park gate through which we’d entered is closed. We make our way up to the main road. Opposite direction. We have two options. Catch a number 6 back into Trieste then the number 44. A one hour minimum trip with no walking. Or just catch a number 6 away from Trieste to Sistiana. Then walk the 2K back to our site in Aurisina. Probably less than forty minutes all in. We go for the latter. As we approach the stop a number 6 whizzes past. Turns out that at 5.40pm it’s the last one today! A young lady, also waiting, tells us the number 51, due soon, stops at Sistiana. We thankfully board. The driver takes one look at our tickets and says “These aren’t valid. They’re for a different bus company!” Then he looks at our forlorn faces. Relents. Lets us on. Now how kind is that! . . .
It’s dusk by the time we get back to camp. The gate is locked. Reception closed and in darkness. It’s then we remember. As we’re the only ones left on the site, the lady gave us a key to get in. The key is still in Beastie. The gate and side fence has sharp spiky tops. We don’t like the look of them. Mrs S not interested in a bunk up. I go undercover. Come over all 007. Go stalking alongside the perimeter fence. On my side it’s 8 feet high. Look for a weak point in its defences. Find one. Another fence meets it at right angles. Allows me enough purchase to get on top. Now I’m standing and facing in. Should be facing out. Need to perform a 180 pirouette. Make sure it doesn’t turn into a Nutcracker Suite. A too-too painful thought. Rudolf would have been proud of me . . . .