My beloved and I will be heading for Motovun tomorrow morning. She will return to Zagreb a few days later, but I will stay in the hilltown for an indefinite period. One more time, I find myself thinking about it ever more often. Medieval squares and streets pop up in my mind, and so do faces and names, but I cannot discern any joy in my random recollections. Friends and enemies are jumbled up so thoroughly that I have hard time pulling them apart. Although I am rather happy to be leaving Zagreb, I am far from happy to be going to my, as it were, hometown. Thinking about the trip, I look forward to seeing Gorski Kotar, whose woods have become dear to me over the years. I also look forward to seeing the islands of Krk and Cres just before passing through Rijeka, as well as the mountain Učka towering above the bay of Kvarner. The trip itself makes me happy, that is. This is something I regularly experience regardless of the direction in which I am traveling. The only variable is my beloved. That is, it all depends on whether I am traveling toward her or away from her. As we will be going together tomorrow morning, my feelings are neither here nor there in this regard. That will change in a few days, though, and Zagreb will become ever more enticing once again. To my chagrin, Motovun will quickly become a pretty desolate place. As far as happiness is concerned, Gorski Kotar and Kvarner are the only safe bets in my emotional geography.