“In Piran, the sun sinks into the sea. It sets and sinks best when summer is at its peak! When the fig trees smell and when the wind brings the smell of rosemary that flourishes and mingles with the laurel bushes in the hidden gardens of the cramped houses. These are climbing, leaning on each other in clusters. The streets are narrow; only the midday sun shines on a fellow traveler returning from a fleeting errand.”