Sunday, April 3, 2011

Would you Rather a House Or-A-Villa?

I recently had the great once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go to the great thriving modern town of Oroville Washington (which oddly enough, means "gold-ville" in Spanish, I'm telling you this to impress you, kay?). So, as you can imagine I was leaping with excitement at this once in a lifetime chance.

I shall warn you now, this blog post shall be nothing but a cheap plug for Oroville. The town across the border from the "California of Canada" located in beautiful northern Washington.

My friend whom I shall refer to as "the aemoba" and I packed the car and went over the river and around the mountains and up some hills to this hot tourist destination.

Alright you cosmopolitan highbrow, you're probably sitting there thinking "Pah! Oroville Schmoroville!" But, there is something I must really tell you. Although the way I am describing it is something akin to an exaggeration (and a great one at that) it was not a half-bad place to be on a Tuesday afternoon. The town offered a nice grocers, and even a small river. And that is what I wanted to tell you.

Now you're probably thinking, well big deal, so ya wen to Oroville. Look here hotpants, I did fail to mention that I also did something quite prestigious - International Traveling - which actually required the use of my passport. Why yes I did, take that and put it in your tea pot and brew it, bozo! I found myself in Canada, the country that produced a wonderful individual called Tim Horton. We spent several afternoon's at Time Horton's enjoying coffee, pastries and other epicurean delights.

One afternoon we even had the wonderful fortune of hiking what was sort of like a not-so-grand Canyon but a canyon nonetheless which was treat since it's winter here and the amoeba and I don't venture outside as much as we ought to.

After two days of fun, fashion and frivoloty (Oroville style), the amoeba and I packed up the car and headed back to civilization.

Yes, it was a fun jaunt to the rugged rural parts of this country and after eight hours in the automobile, it was bittersweet to sleep in my own bed again. Sigh, I shall return to dear Oroville one day. Until then, my dear town, Fare Thee Well!

(Hey, isn't my title witty? Well, I think so).