Robbed and reflected

So,
    I apologize for this long delay, and I know that the majority of you are no longer following this blog.  That's cool.  Regardless, here is the skinny to wrap up the Chilean adventure.
    I kept a log of our travels in a nice cork bound journal my parents had got me a few years ago.  I would write about Juan Ignacio Fogliatti, a fearless Chilean who lit hills of invasive gorse on fire, disliked foreigners, raised boars and beans, and played on facebook while the cold wind blew in through the holes in the walls.  I would write about Mateo from outside Puerto Montt who had crafted a pristine organic permaculture-esque farm where goats gave birth to twins that would need help nursing, and the yellow house in the forest where we lived on this fertile land.  I would write about delirious 22 hour bus rides with no sleep, where 300 pound women stole food from their children and snored sonic explosions while the toilet claimed it's place as my second seat, whether I was resting my arms or arse on it.  And then I would go on to write about Valparaiso, were it not for the fact that in Valparaiso we were robbed at gunpoint, at which point, my journal, and camera, both with beautiful and well crafted memories stored deep within their innards, were taken away.  The emotional reeling after such an experience feels distorting to say the least.  When you realize such items are gone, but that you still have the love of your life, not to mention your own life, right there in front of you, things seem fine.  But reliving the moment, to question how things could have played out differently, comes as part of the post-robbing package.  Whether you want it to or not!  The fury and misplaced delusions that I was a mercenary ready to avenge my wrongdoers subsided in the house of Pablo Neruda.  Not ironic at all.  The power of eccentric beauty will always have the capacity to subdue anger and violence and so it is there, in the well preserved, well loved, well though out house of Pablo Neruda that our trip began to wind down.  We had one more day following this excursion to sink in to the colors, smells, tastes, and of course, charm, of this seaside town.  In the following weeks, returning from Chile to everyday life in CO, I found it next to impossible to pin down a phrase that could describe Chile; in transition?  Yes.  In need of a hug.  Yes.  Beautiful and somewhat inaccessible in a month.  Totally.  If anything, it was another adventure that will sink into me, just more slowly than some, and potentially, more powerfully.