My morning coffee at Marko’s was spoiled by tourists. There were too many of them. First came a busload of elderly Austrians. A busload of elderly French tourists followed them shortly. They looked alike and they were dressed alike. To my chagrin, there was not a single obese person among them. For my sins, I am partial to obese women with ballooning boobs and bums. My monsters, as I love to call them. When a busload of elderly Germans came along, I could not believe my eyes. They looked just like the Austrians and the French, and they were dressed just like them, as well. Most of the tourists who came to Motovun this morning were on the short side. Men and women looked alike and dressed alike, which is why it was difficult to distinguish them in many cases. By and large, women had their hair cut short. Although not obese, most of them were pudgy. Nearly all of them had hard time walking. “Tourists are too ugly for my taste,” I told the waitress on duty as I got up from my table. “See you later!” She laughed and we waved goodbye. I just could not stand looking at so many ugly people in the lower square. But it was the lack of real monsters that made me cross in the end. Monsters I adore. They are my favorite tourists, and by a wide margin. I can watch them for ever and ever. Bouncing, wobbling, and quivering lard makes me outright happy.