Every so often I get an electronic-mail message from an old friend asking whether I am still in Motovun. The last few years I must have told many of them that I wished to move away. As far away as possible, in fact. In my replies I explain that I am still in Motovun, but that I spend ever less time there. And I add that the hilltown is dead in the winter, when I can be found in Zagreb. If my friends happen to speak Croatian or Serbian, I explain what Motovun really is: vukojebina. The term is used in both languages that span much of the Western Balkans. It stands for the middle of nowhere, boondocks, backwoods, boonies, or wasteland. But the underlying meaning of the term is quite delicious: the place where wolves go to fuck. And no kidding. If there is a Croatian or Serbian word worth introducing into the English language, vukojebina it definitely is. There is no better one to describe Motovun in winter, either.

Addendum (November 28, 2024)

If Motovun was vukojebina when this piece was written, it is vukojebina squared by now. Although the tourist season is significantly longer the last decade or so, many inhabitants of the hilltown are nowhere to be seen any longer. Back then, I spent winters with close friends mostly from Borgo. We ate and drank together almost every day. We also sang and laughed whenever we got together. But many of them have passed away in the meanwhile: Ivo Vrtarić, Ljubica Handjal, Miro Kopčalić… Right now, my street is nigh deserted. The same holds for Gradiziol on the other side of the lower square and the area around the upper square, which is surrounded by town walls. Nowadays, most of the remaining inhabitants are too old and frail to venture out of their houses during the winter. In about a decade, Motovun will become vukojebina cubed. And I would not be surprised if wolves started visiting it in winter months. They would find it just to their liking, I am pretty sure.