It was thundering most of the night, but it stopped raining well before I woke up. By then, it was gray but dry. And it was clear that Motovun would be crowded later in the day. Still, the crowds surprised me several hours later. Around noon, the hilltown was crawling with tourists who could not go to the beach. When I walked out of the house in the early afternoon, I could not believe my eyes: I could see at least a hundred people walking up and down Borgo. As it turned out, the lower square was full, and so was the upper square. Gradiziol was jammed, too. Wherever I went, there was not a single spare table to be had. “Everybody and his uncle is here today,” I joked with everyone I knew. “Seven-billion people in one spot!” By the time I returned to the lower square, though, the weather shifted. A storm was coming up the Mirna valley. The wind started blowing and it kept getting stronger and stronger. A curtain of rain was ever closer. But I reached my front door by the time the first drops came from the sky and all the tourists took to flight. As they ran hither and thither, many of them yelled and screamed. Some of them laughed, as well, but it was clear that everybody was utterly confused by the weather. It seemed that the storm was the last thing they had expected on a cloudy day. “Just imagine these morons in real danger,” I mumbled to myself as I locked the front door behind me. “They would be climbing all over each other in no time!”