It was a late spring afternoon in the year of our Lord 1610 when Jakov Grižanić, his wife, three sons, two asses, a dog and ten sheep disembarked at the port of Plomin. The journey aboard the brazzera had been rough, they were not used to the sea; the waves seemed overwhelming (which they were not); the rocking made them seasick. At last they had reached the promised land, after all that trouble, and were standing there on the shore like castaways. The sun was sinking in the west and there was little time left to find a place to sleep. Yet they stood wearily, as if waiting for someone to collect them, and the dog ran tirelessly around trying to keep the sheep together. Jakov gave a sign with his hand and the small company started to climb the hill leading to Plomin.