Villa de Leyva's colonial architecture, relaxed pace, and gorgeous mountain vistas make it a must-see for any traveler to Colombia. There - if I ever really need the money, I could always write for some travel rag! But the trip to Leyva was among the best parts of Josh's visit, we agreed. We took a bus from northern Bogota, not really knowing the exact route or where we would end up, but open to the options. There was a slight hitch along the way, when a police checkpoint got a bit hairy, as I had advised Josh not to carry the original of his passport. I was able to confirm that my Spanish is not so good under stress, which I suppose is good to know. It all worked out, though, as the police/army/whatever they were finally decided to view my nervous attempts to explain how Josh only having a copy of his passport was all my fault as funny rather than suspicious. Whew! And that wasn't even a close call -- I'm going to have to work on my poker face here.

We switched buses in Tunja without a hitch. Even inter-city service here is quick and easy - we waited all of fifteen minutes for our "bus" (more like a small van) then had a breathtaking ride down into the valley of Leyva. When I say breathtaking, I mean there were moments at which I thought I might take my last breath. But it was stunningly beautiful as well. Straight dropoff cliffs you're staring down tend to be, as a kind of compensation. We decided to take a different route back, which ended up being much more relaxing and enjoyable. Plus the name of the city it passed through, Chiquinquira, is lots of fun to say. Especially if you're stocked against the trip with a box of margaritas. I have no further comments on this subject.

Villa de Leyva itself was one of the nicer places I've ever been - the main plaza is enormous, even larger than the one in Bogota, but it has a neighborly feel. By the end of the week, as the good people of Bogota started pulling into town in their SUVs and taxis, we enjoyed a few smug smiles at their attempts to hobble along the cobbled streets in heels and boots, feeling like old-timers although we'd only been in town for a few days. My knitting friends had asked for some yarn, so we spent some time in the artisan shops admiring the loomwork and searching for a precise tint and texture of red wool.



Most of our time was spent tramping happily through the countryside surrounding Leyva. We looked in vain for "El Fosil," found a nice river and ostrich farm instead, located a supposed astronomical observatory of the Muiscas, decided it was slightly suspicious and spent lots of time hanging out around some grand rocks on a hilltop instead. Josh was able to identify lots of shards, and I found a few fossils in the dirt. Thunder began to threaten, and we headed down again to wait out the storm in a promising-looking old building whose sign simply read, "Hotel Pool Beer." All three were absolutely true, and we were treated as well to the proprietor's prize possession: a fossilized heart. It is perhaps true that organs can't fossilize (as Josh pointed out later), but it would have been truly heartless (argh...) to disabuse the guy of this particular conceit, so we kept our mouths shut. There was a fossilized femur in his wall, though, partly making up for the ruse.


On the way out of town, crammed like soccer fans into a TransMilenio bus, a simple line appeared on the graffitied walls: Leyva = Paz. In our short time there, it was true.