Two fat men in their late fifties and two youngsters in their late teens are sitting next to me on the hotel terrace. On the quiet side, they are from Austria. One of the men sports an enviable mustache. The children must be his, I make a wild guess. Their mother must be dead, and the other man must be her brother. A visit to Istria must be in memory of the mother and sister, I keep guessing with abandon. She must have died recently, too. Cancer, no doubt. At some point the uncle gets up to go to the toilet. Only then I see that his huge breasts are hanging all the way down to his belt. God be praised, I was right about quite a bit concerning this quiet Austrian family.