It is amazing to listen to Ivan Šćulac talk about Motovun before his departure for Australia. That was in the late Sixties, when he was in his late teens. “This was Texas,” he likes to say with relish. “You needed wood,” he says, “and the forester would sell you some.” He shows where the money went—the forester’s pocket, it goes without saying. “You needed your roof fixed, and the carpenter would do the same.” He shows where the money went once again. “You wanted something from an official, and the money went into his fucking pocket.” All of these people were on regular salaries. All of them were doing their jobs, which could always wait until tomorrow. But the higher the post they held, the higher the amount of money that went into their own pockets. “Texas,” he beams at everyone. At some point I started wondering how Texas got such a bad name. “Istria,” I can imagine Ivan correcting himself, but he never does. “Communist Istria,” I can imagine, but to no avail.