Tomorrow is a huge day in Motovun. Epiphany, or a moment of sudden and great revelation or realization. The tourist season over, it will turn into a ghost town.

Addendum (January 19, 2019)

Only a fortnight after this haiku was penned, even a ghost would be welcomed with open arms in the desolate medieval town. As of a week or so ago, Marko’s on the lower square is the only restaurant and café where one can have something to eat and drink, and a few tourists can be seen there almost every day except on Mondays, when it is closed. On weekends and when the weather is nice, the place is crowded. Not surprisingly, though, the grocery store on Gradiziol and the post office on the upper square are the only two places in the upper town where the few remaining locals can occasionally be seen. More often than not, there is much rejoicing when such an encounter comes to pass. But the hermit in me relishes the peace and quiet, just as I imagined would be the case a couple of months ago (“The Graveyard Challenge,” November 18, 2018). If I happen to be asked why I was not in Zagreb during the winter, as has been my habit for an entire decade, I come up with an unabashed answer and a little smile: “I’m training for afterlife!” Everybody laughs out loud, and that is that. As ghost towns go, Motovun is a nigh perfect one.