I am listening to tribal music from Ivory Coast and staring at the Mirna valley through the window. It is the only window in my house whose shutters are open at the moment. The day is abysmal. It has been drizzling since the morning. The gnarled sky is uniformly gray. Dense fog occludes the sea. The valley is still intensely green, but it is also awfully soggy. It feels as though Motovun is perched at a high point at the bottom of a vast and limpid ocean. Although it is not cold out there, it is far from pleasant. The dampness only increases the discomfort. Standing by the window, I take solace in the music. As far as I am concerned, it is the only remedy against the darkness and wetness that ominously surround me. It is the lightness and dryness supreme. To make sure that the remedy works as well as possible, I jack up the volume. Returning to the window, I smile to myself. Ivory Coast, indeed.