Welcome to the Travel Forums


Why join TravelBlog?

  • Membership is Free and Easy
  • Your travel questions answered in minutes!
  • Become part of the friendliest online travel community.
Join Now! Join TravelBlog* today and meet thousands of friendly travelers. Don't wait! Join today and make your adventures even more enjoyable.

* Blogging is not required to participate in the forums


Villa De Leyva

Advertisement
A blog post I wrote especially for my kids to read, about moving to Villa de Leyva in Colombia
4 years ago, February 19th 2010 No: 1 Msg: #104246  
I encourage everyone to try Villa De Leyva for a holiday destination or somewhere to live.

We went out on the town this evening, sporting umbrellas.

I felt strangely excited about that. Having spent 30 years in England, I always travel with an umbrella, and in fact, I had taken two of them to Colombia. This was the first time I had the opportunity to use them.

Walking around with our English umbrellas, we attracted much attention, from the many people watching the phenomenon from the safety of their front doors.

For some reason, my umbrellas are always broken, with bits of metal sticking out at odd angles from the black nylon covering. These particular umbrellas had never even been used, but still they were broken. I suspected the shopkeepers keep the broken umbrellas for the gullible ones, like me.

Greys commented that it wasn’t really proper rain. She is used to 20 minute downpours. This was a typical English-style drizzle. Again, I felt strangely excited about that. Who would have thought that English-style drizzle could make a man feel so alive.

Shortly after Greys’ disparaging comment, it started pouring down ‘properly’, and I mean PROPERLY. The rain got us from every angle, bouncing back from the cobbled street and the white-washed walls. Wonderful.

My enthusiasm passed on to Greys. At first, your instinct is to keep as much of your skin as dry as possible. But by the time the rain runs freely down your back, you no longer care, and a wonderful sense of abandonment takes over. We had closed our useless umbrellas and danced in the downpour. There was now noone else in sight. Everyone had gone in and closed the door. They didn’t know what they were missing.

LifeIsBliss

Reply to this

Tot: 0.099s; Tpl: 0.005s; cc: 5; qc: 12; dbt: 0.0124s; 12; m:apollo w:www (50.28.60.10); sld: 2; ; mem: 6.1mb