Sitting at Klaudio’s, Jozo Brandić and I are talking about bureaucracy in Croatia, whose ranks seem to be growing like topsy. “It reminds me of wedding photographs when I was a kid,” Jozo laughs. Only one or two were taken, and everyone wanted to be in them. “Every grandma from the village squeezed into the photograph come what may,” he keeps laughing, “even if they were not related to either the bride or the groom.” Out of the blue, a musty black-and-white photograph surfaces in my mind. It is crawling with jostling grandmas in black kerchiefs. The bride and the groom are nowhere to be seen, though. “Bureaucracy,” Jozo shakes his head and grins at me.