Half in jest, I told my No. 1 son a few years ago that he should get married in Motovun if he wished me to come to his wedding. I explained that flying was out for me, as were long trips of any kind by whichever means. The only kind of trip I could still imagine was by boat around the Mediterranean. He did not comment any of this back then, but he let me know a short while ago that he was planning a wedding in Motovun this very summer. Now I am helping him organize the whole thing, but the idea of his wedding in Motovun nevertheless strikes me as implausible. Or at last far-fetched. This morning I saw Doris Sirotić, who works in the hotel, where the wedding would take place, and I greeted her from afar on the lower square: “Has my son been in touch with you?” “Yes,” she nodded seriously, “he certainly has.” I was kind of startled. “Gosh,” it flashed through my mind, “this is getting real!”