When you shield your eyes from the hazy sun, which is hanging low to the southwest, you can clearly see long shadows of fluffy hedges running along the plucked vineyards. Now high and now low, the hedges are glowing yellow and red in the sunlight. The vineyards are dark by this time in the afternoon, row upon soft row. A few fallow meadows are still green, as are the fields south of the river, but much of the forest to the north-west is brown and gray by now. The leaves are gone before the frosts. But the sun is still strong and the sky is still blue, although the horizon is covered in thick mist. And then, out of the blue, the roar of Austrians on their off-road motorcycles… By the time they reach the town, they will be jolly. They will feel victorious. They will have big bellies, awkward boots, and cheap protective clothing. “Racing,” their jackets will boast in every color and typeface. They will have a beer or two, and then they will roar away on their muddy toys. Next week, they will be back in their shiny factories. Over much more beer, they will tell their burly friends of all the wonders of the Istrian countryside.