I have known for a day or two that there would be a concert in Motovun this evening. To the best of my understanding, it was to be several groups singing in a Dalmatian a cappella vein popular across Croatia today. One of the groups was to be our own. But now I understand that the concert will feature a great Croatian star—a certain Tomislav Bralić. Never heard of him, of course. Judging by the number of chairs already jamming the upper square, he is a big draw. A merry mob of at least a thousand is expected. As I was sitting on the hotel terrace this afternoon, a team dealing with acoustics let it rip. I fled the terrace as fast as I could. The music and the lyrics smacked of the Balkans at its worst. Sweet, coarse, and blood-thirsty. Friends I bumped into on the lower square assured me that this was quintessential Bralić, no less. Croatian to boot. Now I will have to witness the event, though. After all, what are witnesses for but to taste of things as they really are. When it comes to Motovun, it attracts the worst this country has to offer. The very pits. And it is my lot to make it known far and wide against my sorry will.

Addendum (September 12, 2011)

To the credit of the people in these parts, about a third of the seats on the upper square remained empty through the concert. It was a flop, to put it mildly. Most of those who did come for the event were there for the Motovun singers. And rightly so. In the end, I was quite happy about what I witnessed. Hype is hype, but it goes only so far. Thankfully so, I must add.