Soon after I bought my house in Motovun, I noticed that this particular hilltown attracts fools of some kind (see, e.g., “Collis stultifera,” August 7, 2014). And I mention it half in jest to anyone who expresses a wish to buy a house here, to which they regularly respond with a giggle. In my mind, this is a sure sign that something is amiss, as it were. To my surprise, though, it has taken me quite a few years to understand this phenomenon. Motovun is especially attractive to those who wish to escape from this world. After a few visits, they get a feeling that it offers a viable getaway while remaining sufficiently close to the civilized world. To wit, one can reach Pula, Rijeka, or Trieste by car in less than an hour, and these three cities are far from puny. Still, one’s house in the hilltown is very like a bunker. Endowed with thick stone walls and small windows protected by hefty wooden shutters, it is a veritable refuge—that is, haven, shelter, asylum, sanctuary, burrow, retreat, or hideout. At long last, I understand all those who have selected Motovun as an escape from this world. Me included, it goes without saying. The Motovun syndrome, as I call it lately. Although it amounts to a mental disorder of sorts, it is not a particularly worrisome or annoying one. Far from it. Which is why many of the newcomers to the hilltown tend to be excellent company whenever they get together for a drink or a meal. Chances are that there are quite a few hilltowns in the fringes of Europe that serve as refuges for those who wish to escape from this world, but Motovun surely deserves special recognition on account of its singular beauty. Whence the name for this syndrome.