Klaudio’s late in the evening. The usual suspects plus Mirko Gabler—the American, as he is known by many in Motovun. Out of the blue, 1968 came up. Memories welled up. Mirko talked about Russian tanks with Mongol crews trundling under his windows in Prague. He talked about his escape to Croatia, and his eventual departure to the States. And then he talked about some of the spectacular ways in which people got away from the occupied Czechoslovakia. For example, some families gradually acquired a large number of raincoats made of tough, light plastic, always making sure not to raise suspicion by buying too many of them in the same place; sewed the sundry coats together into huge balloons; attached them with ropes to makeshift baskets; made fires at the edges of dense, remote woods; filled the balloons with hot air; clambered all together into the baskets; and sailed over the accursed border when the wind was just right. Some such families never made it, of course. But, ever since I heard Mirko’s story, raincoat balloons keep floating through my mind. To freedom, to freedom!