The truth be told, New Zealand beckons ever more pressingly. Every now and then I catch myself thinking about calling the British embassy in London and inquiring about my rights, if any, regarding residence in New Zealand. Or about packing my paintings back into cardboard boxes. Or about letting my Croatian passport lapse when it comes up for renewal in a few years. Or about looking for a company that would take all my belongings overseas. Or about the best way to find a good buyer for my house in Motovun. Or about my farewell party on the terrace of my house. God only knows whether this foul mood will stubbornly persist or mercifully ebb away in a few days or weeks, but today I feel sick and tired of the land of my ancestors. Indeed, why in the world should I persist in their blind error?