Dragoslav Kožul showed me a large book with exquisite color photographs of Istria. I have not seen it before. Motovun is on the cover—that is, the dust jacket. The top of the hill-town is poking through a sea of clouds, as it often does in the morning. To my delight, my house is in plain view. Salmon in color, it is quite distinct, too. Dragoslav had not noticed it before. He presently showed the house to his wife, Bojana, and his children, Tara and Vlado. He will show it to others, I am sure. “And this is Ranko’s house,” I can almost see him pointing and grinning. The book about Istria has suddenly gained in weight.