Echoes of Flavio's Ghost Dreaming

I had written something in my other livejournal, in Spanish about the odd feeling of not quite nostalgia for bits of Venezuela that I get... not when it is sunny and bright in the spring/early summer and it feels like my home town Caracas, but when it is drizzly and grey with a murky low white-grey sky and it makes me almost pine for Mérida in Vz, a small university city in a valley half way up the Andes, in the outskirts of which I used to spend time with hippie friends in their farms some time in the 80s, surrounded by mist and drizzly, white-grey skies that hid the snowed peaks up beyond where the winding road disappeared in the white.. and all of this evoked by this moment when, looking out of my window you only see the London drizzle and a spot of red where the 214 bus disappears down Kentish Town Road...