The hotel terrace was full, but I was lucky to grab the last table. A short while later, a couple roughly my age approached me. They wished to know whether I would mind if they joined me at the table. I did not, of course, and they ordered their drinks. As chance would have it, they ordered white wine and mineral water, which I was also drinking. A few minutes later we started talking. They were from Venice. I told them that I moved to Motovun only a few years ago, but that I was of Venetian origin, as well. My last name delighted them. We spoke in Italian for quite a while, but then we switched to English. My Italian was rather lousy while their English was surprisingly good. Very soon we started comparing notes. Both Venice and Motovun, its erstwhile outpost, suffer from too many tourists. The population is rapidly shrinking. The government is going from bad to worse. On top of everything, both places suffer from inept attempts to conserve the crumbling infrastructure. The old masters knew what they were doing, but their knowledge is long gone. There was much rejoicing at our table on account of all these parallels, but our conclusion was thus quite gloomy: if not even Venice can make it in this world, how would we expect Motovun to fare any better? When I was ready to leave, we exchanged addresses and promised to visit each other at the earliest opportunity. To continue comparing notes, to be sure.