A bunch of gangly Croatian kids of about seventeen or eighteen trudge up to the square in front of the church. Surly faces. Slumped shoulders. Venomous eyes. “Is this why we hiked all the way up here?” one of them snarls as he glares around. Soon they are joined by many others just like them. Outraged and disgusted, they trudge back to the archway through which they came. “Is there anything worth seeing here?” one of them mumbles without lifting her eyes from the cobblestones. For some reason, Motovun is now blessed with untold school excursions every year. No-one ever tells the kids why, though. Motovun is a must, period.