Tommy Martinović came to see me today. He stayed in his apartment in Novigrad for some days, but he will be returning to London tomorrow. It was a pleasure to see him, as ever, but I surprised myself by the pleasure with which I introduced him to everyone we bumped into during his visit. “This is my cousin from my father’s side,” I would start with a big smile. “His grandma and my grandma were sisters,” I would continue. And then I would go for the key bit in our lineage: “They were from Klana!” And Klana is in Istria, of course. I realized what I was doing only when my cousin left. In fact, I was doing my best to show off my Istrian roots. In retrospect, I was only sorry not to have mentioned the two grandmothers’ maiden name, which was Širola. How stupid of me! The next time Tommy comes to Motovun, I must bring up the family name to everyone we happen to bump into. And with relish. Although it actually hails from Friuli bordering on neighboring Slovenia, all people in these parts will accept it as Istrian to boot. Hey, who says I am a foreigner, or furešt in Istrian vernacular?!