Thus the title of a documentary about Istria by Lothar Just and Arnold Trampe, which was presented at the Motovun Film Festival this afternoon. This is their second documentary about the region (“Motovun mon amour,” June 26, 2011, and “Motovun mon amour, Again,” September 16, 2011). Following the narrative of several people from the peninsula, it paints its chequered history. The emphasis is on the last couple of centuries, when Istria had changed hands over and over again. Having watched the documentary, I talked to some of its protagonists that gathered at Lothar’s house in the hilltown for a modest celebration. Not surprisingly, our family histories matched pretty well. But the title keeps bugging me long after the projection and the party. God only knows how such a documentary would fare a couple of centuries from now, for Istria is sure to remain in transit in the meanwhile. Would anyone recognize us in their stories so many years ahead of our time? In the sequel I can envision, many protagonists are African and Asian. World Wars I and II are never even mentioned in their narratives. In fact, World Wars III and IV are on everyone’s lips. And the dominant language is neither Croatian nor Italian. In fact, I can barely understand what the future protagonists are saying in their peculiar jargon. For better or worse, the rest of the documentary is only a blur.