I was sitting at Marko’s on the lower square when Pero Učkar appeared. “I got lucky today,” he smiled from ear to ear as he sat down. “I saw an amazing woman!” As he was trying to describe her, he spotted her at Klaudio’s across the square. “There she is! There she is!” Obese is not exactly the word. A ball of lard, she was indeed amazing to behold. In her mid-forties, she was eating icecream with a ton of whipped cream on top. Ever so slowly, she was relishing every spoonful of it. “But you should see her walking,” Pero shook his head in awe. As we sipped our drinks, we made sure not to let her escape unobserved. I got up as soon as she got up and followed her some way down Gradiziol. Her lard shaking and swaying, she could barely walk. Obesity squared, I would say. But then I heard her say a few words into a mobile phone she held in her hand. “Guess where she’s from,” I rushed back to Pero. “Germany,” he raised his eyebrows. “That’s what I thought,” I beamed at him, “but she’s from Croatia!” Obesity is making huge strides in this country, no doubt. “Anyhow,” he shook his head again, “she’s the winner for this month.” Watching tourists can be much fun, and Pero admits to have learned it from me.