Pablo's house

The buses returning to Santiago were booked, so I had to spend a couple of hours by the Valpo bus station, not the most scenic part of town.

After walking through the mercado in the streets, I settled in at La Merced, where vendors sell old magazines and records.

Others gamble at cards. I was amused but not surprised to see my guide from the tour boat.

Back in Santiago, Jorge and Patricia greeted me like a long-lost relative. I set off this morning for Neruda's house, the last thing on my list.

But like Neruda's house in Valparaiso, it had been closed for holidays, and the line was so long, I abandoned it in favor of a splash-out lunch with wine in Providencia.

Sadly, all good trips must come to an end. Otherwise I'd be moving. Time to get back to reality.

Ciao, Chile. See you next time.

***

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them. 

You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lipsand in your life my infinite dreams live.
The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,oh reaper of my evening song,how solitary dreams believe you to be mine! 

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon'swind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunderstills your nocturnal regard as though it were water. 

You are taken in the net of my music, my love,and my nets of music are wide as the sky.My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.
—Pablo Neruda