As I am sitting on the hotel terrace, the director of the hotel, Igor Legović, comes out of the building that was once known as Palazzo Polesini. When he sees me, he chuckles and waves. I respond in kind. Not a word is needed in this case. “The last Polesini,” it crosses my mind out of the blue. The family was among the leading ones in Istria well before the arrival of Venetians in the Thirteenth Century. The family name most likely came from Pola in Italian or Pula in Croatian, a port at the southernmost tip of Istria. They were expelled from Motovun by the Yugoslav regime soon after World War II. Their abode was first occupied by many a destitute family, but then it turned into a hotel in the Seventies. It became the property of Igor’s father in law, Janko Erik, soon after the end of Croatia’s war of independence and the breakup of Yugoslavia in the early Nineties. But I am still the only inhabitant of the hilltown who enjoys the terrace quite regularly, and especially in the middle of the afternoon, when my house is a bit too hot to bear. The last Polesini, indeed. Except that I have no obligations of nobility. None whatsoever. Pure bliss.

Addendum (October 25, 2018)

Soon after I came to the hotel terrace earlier this afternoon, a large group of elderly Austrians arrived. They took all the tables around me, and then they started eyeing my own. Realizing that my peace was under threat, I got up, picked my drink up from the table, and headed for the garden of Hotel Kaštel. There, I was all alone once again. And I enjoyed the peace for quite a while. It did not take me long to remember this particular piece, either. As well as to realize that I am not only the last Polesini, but perhaps the first one, too. Few members of this illustrious family could enjoy the peace and quiet of the garden in times past. The same holds for the current owner of the hotel and its managers. Chances are that I am the first and last among the Motovun potentates who could relish this particular place quite regularly. The first and last Polesini, as it were. Transfixed by this reverie, I made sure to write an addendum to this felicitous piece. In hindsight, only the title is off the mark. Indeed, it is hard to imagine any Polesini of old who would return to this place with joy that comes even close to mine. I am the lucky one, to be sure. The one and only Polesini ever, as a matter of fact.