My thoughts often wander to one of the places where I have lived over the years. I remember a park in Belgrade, an office of mine in Cambridge, Massachusetts, a bridge in Ljubljana, a church in Reading, Berkshire, or a street in London. Every now and then, I find myself wondering whether I would wish to return to any of these places. But the answer is always the same: definitely not. My reaction is usually even stronger, and it occasionally borders on disgust, which surprises me ever anew. I loved all of these places one way or another, so why would I not wish to live in any of them ever again? I cannot be sure about the reason for my strong reaction, but my guess is that it has to do with familiarity. Knowing a place well strikes me as a kiss of death. And this applies especially to the people living there. People I neither know nor understand well enough are more appealing to me simply because I am still unaware of all the miseries that are sure to come with greater knowledge and understanding. Obviously enough, this also applies to Zagreb and Motovun where I am living right now. If I left one or both of these places, I would never wish to return to them, either. And for the very same reason. I know them all too well, and especially the people. Which is perhaps why I am still attracted by New Zealand. The farthest place on earth, and from every place where I have lived so far. The two poles excluded, of course.