In terms of nationalities and races, as well as religions, sitting on the hotel terrace on top of the Motovun hill is like traveling around the world. Over and over again, from season to season. After a number of years, the whole world comes your way. And all you have to do is sit quietly and watch. A species of stationary tourism, sitting on the hotel terrace is my idea of travel. And the cost per day is very to my taste, too: half a liter of white wine, half a liter of sparkling water, and plenty of ice.

Addendum I (September 30, 2015)

Sitting on the hotel terrace early this afternoon, I learned quite a bit about Germany, of all places. Just after lunch, a busload of highschool pupils in their late teens burst onto the upper square together with their teachers. There was much hubbub, as one would expect from young people in late stages of puberty. But the pupils were amazing to behold. Although they all spoke German, and apparently an excellent one, at least a third of them were obviously not German. Among them were many Turks and Arabs, some Africans, and a few Asians. Which goes a long way to explain why many refugees from Asia and Africa are heading for Germany nowadays. At long last, it has become a melting pot. Just like America, Britain, and France, Germany is now sprouting many new colors. Which is entirely to my liking, I hasten to add. Anyhow, stationary tourism is far from boring. On occasion, it can be enlightening, too.

Addendum II (April 21, 2026)

Sitting on the hotel terrace once again, as is my habit during the tourist season, I learned quite a bit about Italy, as well. Shortly before lunch, a busload of highschool pupils in their late teens burst onto the upper square together with their teachers. And the pupils were amazing to behold one more time. They were from all over Asia and Africa, and at least a third of them were obviously not Italian. And no kidding. Still, all of them spoke the same language, which happened to be Italian in this case. They spoke it very well, too. Entirely to my liking, another melting pot was in full view. Which reminded me for who knows what time that the only way to bridge the racial divide was by fucking (“By Fucking,” November 25, 2014). I was delighted, to be sure. Which only goes to show that stationary tourism is the best way forward. Boring it surely is not. Far from it. Over the moon, I decided to extend this piece of writing without any further thought. Long live stationary tourism!