From Trieste to Grado: walking with Mattador

In my work I have discovered a fundamental thing: diaries, posts, articles need to be written while the memory’s fresh. My hips are still in agony, my cheeks are burning, but the smile is still there too. Is the memory fresh enough? We walked together over a period of three days over a journey of about seventy kilometres on foot, sharing food and wine. The stages were established beforehand: Opicina-Medeazza, Medeazza-Isola della Cona, Isola della Cona-Grado.

My travelling companions are special: I am following the participants of the “School of cinema without chairs”, promoted by the Mattador Prize, and the talk along the road revolves mainly around screenplays, sets, lights... The protagonists are the two winners of the project linked to “Visions in movement”: the prize for Isabella Aquino (Avellino) and Ludovica Mantovani (Venice) is the opportunity to make a film that narrates the path that they are following, while they are trained by the experts travelling with us, including director Matteo Oleotto, documentary filmmaker Alessandro Rossetto and Gianluca Novel, location manager of the FVG Film Commission.

On Friday morning we were at the foot of an invisible Obelisk of Opicina. Invisible because the fog hid everything. After the ritual introductions we take to the Napoleonica or “La Vicentina” for those who know it. Until Prosecco there is no sight of the sea; indeed, we are lucky if we can make out as much as our faces. But it doesn’t matter: it makes for a mood and it helps us to reach our pace slowly and without shocks, because we’re all a bit thick-headed. We stop when we reach the rock walls famous for being a school for Trieste’s rock climbers. The Rai TV company has arrived to do a report about the event, then leaves by car. While we get wet. But not for long, given that between Prosecco and Santa Croce the bad weather leaves us.

In Sistiana, after the Via della Salvia, I can take some pictures with the sun. On the left there is the small port, and on the right Duino Castle. Enjoying a sandwich, the company begins to gain in intimacy: “What do you do for a living?”, “Where do you live?”... And above all, we start speaking in dialect, mainly from Trieste, and that sweeps away the hierarchies. A few kilometres later, San Giovanni al Timavo welcomes us with the gurgle of its springs. We enter the church and find a lady who explains the history and stories of the place to us.

Ludovica is particularly interested, because the theme of her project revolves around the rediscovery of local legends. One of the two composers who are with us, Simone Biasiol, begins to play the organ, conferring even more solemnity to the moment. We linger to admire the mosaic of the paving behind the altar for a few minutes, before facing the final climb of the day. Then the only thing we want is to see the word Medeazza/Medjevaš soon. What awaits us is Signora Patrizia’s grappa at the agriturismo where we will stay overnight. We toast the traditional paintings of Franz Joseph and Sissi, raising our first glass. On the hills of the Karst, in the osmize, the wine starts to flow.

And we participate in this flow. Tired, yes, but not ready to give up on the red wine. We explain the history of the osmize to the winners (the terms derives from the Slovenian word “osem”, eight, which was the number of days for which under the Austro-Hungarian Empire these houses could open to sell the product of their vines) and also their social role. Something they are experiencing in person by taking part in this convivial moment. Midnight comes and goes. Then darkness. Second day.

A day during which Isabella tackles the First World War trenches and their historical significance. The organisers and coordinators of the project, Piero Caenazzo and Giulio Kirchmayr, have included the Monfalcone theme park of the Great War on the itinerary. We tell her what happened in these lands, while Alessandro helps her to think about how to show it all on film. From the shelters that were less involved in the battles we pass to the frontline trenches, up to Quota 85 and to the Fascist era monument dedicated to Enrico Toti. In Monfalcone another world awaits us: the bar where we stop is run by some Pakistanis from the shipyards and are part of a sizable community in the territory, while the sail loft we visit has been in the hands of a local family for generations.

Isabella and Ludovica listen, photograph, reprocess along the way. We still have several kilometres ahead of us, from the sailmaker to the centre at the Isola della Cona, and perhaps their meditation on the information collected saves them from feeling the pain that the rest of the group feels from the soles of the feet up to the hips and the back. Actress Rossana Mortara is a dragged along rather by her dog Mario, our indefatigable mascot. There are only a few steps to climb to reach the nature reserve centre, but they seem like Everest. We reach the sofas and throw ourselves into them.

We will think about the beauty of the canals and the mouth of the River Isonzo tomorrow; now we do not have the strength. We recover some during the abundant dinner, based on local and other dishes, from frico to pasta with pesto and a gubana cake. Another group tutor, Stefano Schiraldi, still has the energy to grab a guitar and sing songs from Trieste and Gorizia, making us all smile. He then turns to Isabella, who had been so struck by the stones of the trenches, to present her with the song he has composed using the texts of one of our local legends, Paolo Rumiz, dedicated to the Ninety-seventh Regiment, composed of Italians, Slovenes and Croatians from the Adriatic coast of the Empire and who fought in Galicia wearing Austro-Hungarian uniform. I clench my fists to hold back the tears, because the words and melody strike deep inside.

A tear still escapes and flows quickly, cold and heavily down my cheek. Sunday. The last day of walking for me. And it’s sunny. After the drizzle of yesterday, the sun has come out! With legs more or less aching, we all go out, coffee and biscuits in hand. The air is pungent with a strong smell of sea, of earth, of flowering trees. With the sun everything is more colourful: our cameras—including the compact film camera of the young cameraman Filippo Gobbato—capture the yellow of the reeds and the blue of the water, as well as the green of the islet meadows and the white of the park’s mares.

The director introduces us to the secrets of the nature reserve, before indicating the way to Grado. What we find so hard is not the soft terrain of the reserve, but the hard asphalt of the following kilometres. I pay dearly for my lack of preparation for walking all in one go what are Sunday strolls, destinations for outings lasting a few hours. The rush to the café at the Grado Golf Club makes the pain pass. Only the weight of the backpack pressing on a single point of the back makes me able to drag myself to the beach of Grado Pineta and finally the centre of Grado itself. Fatigue has made everyone quieter.

The beach in winter is not so deserted, as there are many kitesurfing enthusiasts. We stop to watch their jumps and acrobatics, despite the constant light bora wind, which makes things easier for them, but certainly more difficult for us... Along the sandy beach, we exchange a last few jokes with the set designer Andrea Gregoretti. Helped by the two ambassadors who are accompanying the group today, I cross the threshold of a historic building facing the canal of Grado.

It's time for me to say goodbye to everyone and go back home, but obviously not before a last beer in company. They will continue to Aquileia but I stop here. Of course I cannot deny feeling a certain envy, because now the experience of the journey has entered me like a drug. But there will be a next time; see you soon, everyone!

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Irene Donatoni

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With strong ties to my family’s multi-ethnicity, I graduated in cultural history and anthropology, with a focus on Mitteleuropa. I live in Vienna, but I often visit FVG for short or long trips to the places affected by the Great War. I enjoy sharing everything I learn as I travel, read, attend conferences or visit exhibitions.