“Ah,” grins a highly-recommended dentist in Zagreb when I tell him where I live, “now I know you are not a standard person!” He motions me to sit down. “Ha,” he exclaims when I tell him that my dentist gave me an appointment three weeks after I called him about my crumbled tooth, “that’s Istria for you! Here we have to compete for every patient, and there are many of us who work both legally and illegally, but there they have plenty of Italians who come for expensive jobs only!” He motions me to open my mouth. “Why would they pull out teeth when there’s no money in it?” He gives me two quick jabs in the gums. “I, too, thought of going to Istria,” he raises his eyebrows, “but then I learned I could not build on the land I eventually managed to buy there.” He motions me to open my mouth again. “To hell with it, though,” the dentist laughs and waves his hand. “There’s more to life than money!”