The weather is iffy, and many tourists have decided to visit Motovun instead of going to the beach. There are so many of them that I started joking that all seven-billion humans have decided to visit the hilltown on the same day. When I came to the hotel terrace early this afternoon, I found only one free table. As luck would have it, it was next to a huge family from Italy. Judging by their looks, they were from Tyrol. Around three tables lined up next to each other, there were two grandparents, their two daughters with their husbands, and nine children. The oldest one was about twelve while the youngest was still breastfeeding. Although they were perfectly well behaved, I was relieved when they finished their meals, peed, and left. Phew! But my affection is still with the poor grandfather, who was very quiet through the continuous tumult. In his mid-seventies, he has nine grandchildren to contend with every single day of his vacations. And all day long. I can imagine him dreaming of return to the peace of his own house. But the relief that I am not in his shoes garners my sympathy. A lucky fellow, as ever. In my late sixties, I am not even a grandfather yet.