I dreamt that I was walking around Motovun when a large number of cars burst into the hilltown. There were at least twenty of them, and they were all looking for a place to park. It was clear the drivers knew each other. I was amazed at their skill in finding every nook and cranny where a car would fit. I remember watching a car that went up a narrow path and stopped when it could squeeze by no further. Some of the drivers were already out of their cars, and they laughed at the one who could not come out of his car. “He’s a mathematician,” one of them explained to me. This was in connection both with his precision and his lunacy, I guess. The whole company was quite merry, and I addressed them all with an impromptu speech. “I’ve been living here for many years,” I said, “but I’ve never seen people park their cars with such consummate skill!” There were cheers and much laughter. I woke up before I ended my speech. It was still dark outside. Before I managed to fall asleep again, I tried to locate the place where I saw the cars. It did not take me long to realize that it was a combination of Barbacan in Motovun and Kalemegdan in Belgrade. The two fortifications had merged in my mind across half a century.