Ivan Levak has started introducing me to all and sundry as the oldest man in Motovun. Whenever this happens, I play along without fail. “Yup,” I bow with a broad grin, “I’m ninety-nine, but I look as though I’m sixty-two.” Years quoted change a bit, but I gain a few precious years every single time. And there is much laughter. The same thing happened this evening at Marko’s. A bunch of young people from the hilltown was huddled around a single table, but Ivan introduced me to someone’s girlfriend from one of the neighboring towns. She was in her mid-twenties. Seeing that the company was a dash too young, I decided to go home a bit early. “Sorry,” I barged into their conversation and waved them goodbye soon after the introduction, “my watch tells me it’s time for me to take a leek.” There was much laughter once again. But it was a real pleasure to return home a bit earlier than usual. Peace and quiet at last! The oldest man in Motovun, indeed.