I do not bump into too many people I know in the streets of Zagreb, but most of those I do bump into know me from Motovun. “It’s a graveyard in the winter,” I explain my presence in the Croatian capital. “A few old ladies, and as many hungry street cats.” Most of them just grin at everything I have to say. “Only the post office and a grocery store are open this time of year,” I continue with their silent encouragement. “Cimitero di Montona,” I conclude with a flourish if and when appropriate. For those even mildly familiar with Italian, these words sum it up pretty well. But bumping into people I know always leaves a sour taste in my mouth. And many unhappy memories rush to my mind as soon as we part our ways. An exile already, I remember so many people I befriended in Motovun upon my arrival. Most of them are gone by now, as well. They could not stand it any longer, either. Just like me, they must be weary of bumping into people they know from Motovun in the streets of their new abodes.

Addendum I (January 7, 2020)

So many years later, things have changed. Now I am staying in Motovun during the winter months. This is what I started doing last winter, but I cannot imagine changing my habits ever again. By and by, Zagreb is losing to Motovun (“Zagreb versus Motovun, Again,” October 1, 2016). Even though the hilltown remains a graveyard in the winter, the hubbub of the Croatian capital is ever less appealing to me. And the challenge of living in a graveyard is gradually winning my heart (“The Graveyard Challenge,” November 18, 2018). A day after Epiphany, known as Three Kings in Croatia, all the cafés and restaurants are closed in Motovun already. Only the post office and a grocery store are open still. Cimitero di Montona is here in full swing by now. Chances are that there will be no tourists in these parts until mid-March at the earliest. In the meanwhile, I will occasional come across a few old ladies, and as many hungry street cats. I will go to Zagreb every now and then, but never for longer than a single week. Three cheers for Cimitero di Montona for many more years!

Addendum II (April 22, 2023)

There is a new and surprising twist to this story, and it has nothing to do with Zagreb. In place of the moribund chestnut trees along the Barbacan parking lot under the Motovun walls, cypress trees are being planted to keep the ground in place. I just counted them, and I am amazed by their number: there are no less than twenty-eight of them in a long row. By the time they reach some height, the town walls facing east will be unrecognizable. As cypresses are typically planted around cemeteries in these parts, the name I gave to my hometown more than a decade ago will be right on the mark. Behold, Cimitero di Montona in all its glory! Kidding aside, the only hope is that cypresses will indeed keep the Barbacan parking lot from sliding down the hill. After pollarding some fifteen years ago, the chestnuts are in dire shape and they cannot hold the ground much longer (“Pollarding,” September 15, 2008; and “Pollarding Revisited,” September 13, 2012). And without trees with powerful roots, landslides are nigh inevitable (“The Next Landslide,” November 13, 2014). Long live cypresses!