Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
up in the distance, their caps still covered in snow. A couple of hours later, I arrived in
Trieste. Bejeweled in the colors of the Mediterranean, the blue sea sparkled below the tree-
lined cliffs, while red-tiled roofs embroidered the sculpted town.
I drove into the heart of the city and threw the memory of my parking ticket shenanigans
away as I parked the bike illegally, again. I knew that one day I would probably regret
doing this, but I didn't have much choice. If the French army were already after me, what
difference would it make if the Italians joined in?
The piazzas of Italy are all spectacular, but the one in Trieste seemed to stretch on for
miles, bookended by the sea and the stately city hall. I thought surely someone out here
might be feeling generous. A man slowly cycled past me on his bicycle, and I hoped that
he might be one of them.
I stopped him with my usual bold but slightly delusional outburst, “I need someone to
put me up in their house for one night.”
Alex was in his early forties, with a head of prematurely gray but thick hair. He was
dressed like a bike messenger, which I thought he might be. He stopped his bike, and
looked me up and down before saying nonchalantly, “Okay.”
Although that is exactly what I wanted to hear, I was a little taken aback. “Okay,” I re-
peated hesitantly, asking him, “What does that mean?”
“That you can stay,” he replied, smiling at my surprise.
“In your house?” I asked, still astonished by how easy this was.
Alex laughed, repeating himself more slowly, as though I were the one who didn't speak
English, “I have a house. And you can stay in it.”
Since Alex was already on his way home, I followed him through the narrow stucco
streets of Trieste until we came to his apartment. There, he introduced me to his wife and
young daughter. It didn't take long for Alex to share with me his other true love: fencing.
Alex had once been a great fencing champion, spending his childhood and early youth
competing in the ancient sport.
He no longer fenced professionally, and I could sense how, despite his obvious love and
vivaciousness for life, he had lost a piece of himself because of it. He picked up his fencing
sword and swiftly cut the air with it, leaving behind a faint trail of regret. We had coffee
with his family, and then Alex persuaded me to join him in a fencing match on the streets of
Trieste. It was a rather random sight, if I may say so myself. He dressed me up in full gear,
and we left the apartment with our swords in tow. Though I had never fenced before in my
life, Alex's passion for the sport was contagious. In many ways, he reminded me of Tchale
