It is several days before this year’s film festival, but Motovun is jam packed already. It is warm and cloudy, which means the beaches along the Istrian coast are not as attractive as usual. Robbed of sunbathing, tourists are roaming around the interior of the peninsula, and the hilltown is among the chief attractions. It was hard to find a table around lunchtime. There were queues of hungry tourists in the four restaurants on the upper and lower squares. The swarm was reminiscent of the festival, which only added to my growing anxiety. Although my beloved and I plan to go to Zagreb in a couple of days, the itch to leave the hubbub is becoming ever stronger. Looking back at our seven festivals from 2002 to 2008, I cannot understand any longer how we survived the horror for so many years in a row. Having already missed three of them from 2009 to 2011, I cannot wait to miss yet another one. The joy! Hey, who says the film festival in Motovun is beyond its pleasures?