If you drop the first ‘e’ from Trieste, you get the Italian for sad and for most of the 20th century that might have suited the city very well. A forgotten old Venetian backwater that seemed to have spilt out of the Italian boot, this was a place without an identity.

Indeed, for six years between 1947 and 1954 it was literally stateless, as the post-second world war border disputes dithered over where to put it. The final decision was on Italy, an arbitrary outcome that allowed Trieste to eventually recover its vigour in the comforting embrace of the EEC, rather than take its chances with those volatile Slavs.

Half a century on, it’s apparent that Trieste is still a frontier town, occasionally edgily so, given neighbouring Croatia’s resentment at still being excluded from the EU club. Trieste is a polyglot city; Serbo-Croat or Slovenian is as likely to be heard as Italian, with the occasional spot of Hungarian and German thrown into the mix.

For those accustomed to the languid charms of Italy, it can seem alien at first, although there are parts of the city where the Adriatic mentality is as engaging as the Mediterranean. If Trieste had a heyday, it was as the southern port of the Hapsburg empire, which explains why its gridlike 18th- and 19th-century streets aren’t particularly Italianate, seeming more reminiscent of Germany, Austria, or even Glasgow.

The period is so firmly imprinted that it’s a little disconcerting to find a well-preserved Roman theatre, dating from the time of Trajan, lurking just behind the traffic jams and department stores of the Corso Italia.

To get some perspective on the city you need to gain some height. The Capitoline Hill was the focus of the first settlements here, and now features a bizarre mixture of Roman remains, medieval classicism and the monumental pomposity for which the Italians had a peculiar talent in the middle of the last century.

The medieval castle is in the process of being restored, although it is already a hotch-potch of Venetian and Austrian construction, crammed with an enervating collection of weapons designed for eviscerating enemies as painfully as possible.

More spiritual pleasures are provided by San Giusto cathedral, an unassuming treat, one of those provincial basilicas that are never going to get much attention in a nation as rich in religious heritage as Italy. Mosaics inside date back to the 11th century, notably a striking gilded Madonna with the archangels that is as beautiful as anything in Milan or Florence. Moorish-style arched pillars offer a few elegant echoes of the Mezquita in Cordoba, by way of medieval Venice.

The sublime gives way to the ridiculous outside, with the views over the city spoilt by a fascist war memorial that is bombastic, tasteless and vaguely homoerotic, and thus a pretty accurate rendition of Mussolini aesthetics.

More of this grandiose architecture characterises Trieste’s imposing municipal square, Piazza dell’Unita d’Italia. This over-ornate collection of burnished municipal palaces has a real Ruritanian feel, especially with the carabinieri marching around in all their finery. Thankfully, the posturing is softened by having one side of the square open to the Adriatic, where cruise liners drop in from Venice on their way down the Croatian coast.

It’s fair to say that the city’s ambience remains relatively resistant to Latin influence. The easiest superficial readings of a city’s character come through its restaurants. Trieste isn’t overly enamoured with the fancier fripperies of modern Italian cookery. Indeed, it maintains a nostalgic fondness for hearty German excess. For five hours in the evening, bierkellers such as Buffet Rudy on Via Valdirivo are thronged with locals fond of sauerkraut, pig-knuckle sausages and goulash, served up by a tattooed barmaid who might grudgingly throw in a side order of polenta to acknowledge that this is still Italy.

Cucina Triestina is an unusual hybrid of Italian, Slav and German cooking influences. Idiosyncratic dishes include jota, a bean and sauerkraut soup, gnocchi with cheese, and ham robust enough to be more at home in Prague than Padua, and stinco (veal knuckle).

Serious foodies will need to trek out to the suburb of San Giovanni to visit the venerable Antica Trattoria Suban, an establishment that has been catering to local gourmets for nearly 150 years, mostly by frying meat, serving it with rich sauces, following up with cream and fruit pastries and washing it all down with excellent local wine. You’ll need to spread yourself over a double seat on the bus back into town.

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