The sun is out, and I go for a walk. The day is superb. After so much rain the last few months, it is hard to stay at home when the sun is shining. As I am walking past an outdoor café in the middle of the Croatian capital, a man in his early forties gets up from his chair and turns toward me. “Hey,” he exclaims when our eyes meet, “great to see you!” I have no idea who he is, though. “Same here,” I smile facetiously, I take my dark glasses off to help him realize that he has mistaken me for someone else, and I extend my hand to him, “how are things?” “Wonderful,” he grins as we shake our hands with gusto, “just wonderful!” Still smiling, we wave each other goodbye, and I get back into my stride. I am quite sure we have never met, and so must be he. But I still relish our mistaken greetings. Would that all my encounters in this godforsaken city were of the same kind. Mistaken greetings are entirely to my liking, I must confess.