Clean lines, an ethereal but powerful white. Effortless elegance. Timeless without nostalgia. And yet there is always a hidden sensuality in the Calla. Something you sense without it showing itself, that works on the imagination rather than displaying it. A bon chic bon genre style, delicately winking and completely enveloping. Exactly like Trieste. A respectable city, austere, Mitteleuropean at heart. Which, however, when you least expect it, surprises you. It did so with Joyce, Svevo and Saba, who on our very street wrote some of the most fertile pages of modern literature. It did so with Carducci who, right here in our hotel, lived days of clandestine love with his muse. After all, Trieste, in everything it does, is always extraordinary. Unexpected, as we like to say.