Motovun pops up in my mind almost every day. And more than once on most days. I see it from the road to Pazin. Or from the Brkač hill. I see the Mirna valley under the hilltown. I see Učka towering in the distance. I see the two main squares, upper and lower, as well as the hotel terrace with its chestnut trees. I see the church and the tower next to it. I see Borgo next to my house. And I see my livingroom bursting with my paintings. But the Motovun in my mind is always empty. Deserted. There is no-one in sight. Not even the street cats are there. There are no lights or sounds there, either. The hilltown in my mind is free from all the newcomers thrown up by the horrors of World War II. Like it was when I first fell in love with it almost a decade ago.