I am walking along the Barbacan parking lot on my way to the store on Gradiziol when I see a tall American Indian coming out of a car. He has just parked some way in front of me. Long black hair. Red skin. Wide shoulders. Towering a whole head above me, he is dressed in black. The Red Indian first waves at me and then calls out in a deep, gruff voice: “Which way to the hotel?” Only then I realize he speaks Croatian in a Dalmatian dialect. A moment later I realize that he is sporting a pair of ample breasts. “That way,” I respond in Croatian and point at a ramp some way ahead of us. She thanks me with a nod and wheels around. She is from Dalmatia, all right.