A Walk Through Trieste

Trieste met me at the end of the Rally, of the whole long and exhausting season, really.

I walked the narrow streets, full of still fresh memories, legs drained. The city felt suspended between effort and rest. Habsburg facades leaning toward the sea, cafés glowing softly as if they’ve been waiting. I slowed down, noticing small things: tiny imperfections in the old masonry work, grass finding its place between the cobbles. I tuned to the low murmur of voices, I watched people racing through the streets, busy with their lifes.

Trieste blared with loud and bustling Italian spiritedness, and yet it also oozed quiet nature on every corner, if you only slowed down enough to find it.