I am walking to the grocery store across the lower square and down Gradiziol. The town is almost deserted, but every now and then I see someone I know. When I greet them, I immediately feel that most of them are a bit reserved toward me. They greet me back, but without any enthusiasm. Is this because I am not one of them any longer on account of my ever longer stays in Zagreb? Or is there something else afoot? For instance, do they feel that I am among those responsible for the demise of golf in the Mirna valley? On my way back from the store, I see Sofie Aller walking down Gradiziol. She is grinning from ear to ear. It is obvious that she is really happy to see me. The feeling is mutual, and we give each other a big hug before gabbing for a few minutes about all sorts of things. When we depart, we wave at each other for a while. Now, she is Danish. She comes over from Copenhagen several times a year. The last year or so, she has been trying to sell her house in Motovun, which she owns together with two friends from Denmark. So far, there have been no plausible buyers.