Carrying all that I really needed, 20 hours later, I boarded a bus to Valparaíso, where I would rent an apartment for the next six weeks.  I spent my time transcribing hand-written notes and journals; archiving and tagging media; compiling receipts and costs; and setting a plan for things to do once I got home.  I needed something to look forward to.  I sketched out more of the Project 1:1000 website, researched trademarking, and made notes on topics for this book.  I resolved that it should be written in the same format as the website: one picture and one thousand words at a time.

    I shot hundreds of pictures as I explored Valparaíso, with its impressive architecture and street art adorning the steep coastal hills of central Chile.  I rode the elevated train into the city, where I lingered at the port, the old town, and a giant market in a two-story building downtown.  I visited one of Pablo Neruda’s houses, La Sebastiana.  So great to walk in the footsteps of one of the giants of poetry.

    Part of my rent included rides to and from the grocery store and a few tours of the area.  Willy was my guy and I probably paid him too much money, but it was worth it.  My apartment was across the driveway from his place, the entire property somewhat protected by a patchwork of walls and fences.  We would chat almost daily, our trips for groceries and tours of the city, memorable.

    I loaded my backpack, said goodbye to Willy, and pulled out of Valparaíso at the end of May.  I spent another few nights in Santiago, in the strangest of limbos.  I took my final night shots of the city before bed, and a few more upon awakening.  Then it was a heavy walk to the subway, to a bus, to the airport, and soon I was gone.

    Even if I didn’t have 150,000 words of notes, 28,000 photos, and 4,000 videos of proof, I would still believe it.  The miles that I had driven, the people that I had met, the things that were seen, heard, said, and done had altered me, rearranged me, broken me down and built me up anew.  I was better for having witnessed the interconnected majesty of this planet; of discovering the treasure of cultures; of beholding the resilience of people; and receiving the kindness of strangers.  I was affirmed in the necessity of going one’s own way; that dreams should never die; and the invaluable gift that is the ability to speak another language.  The world became larger and smaller, more similar and different, sadder, more precious, proud, kind, fierce, lush, desperate, resilient.

    In January 2019, good fortune shined on me yet again as my best friend reminded me that his brother-in-law had an empty family house on Puget Sound.  I told Ed about my plan to write the book and find someone to build the website.  He warned me the house was in bad shape and without heat.  Luckily, I had recently trained for this.

    I spent most of my time in Seattle building the multi-user, content-managed website myself.  I wrote 75 pages beside Montana and Idaho waters in the Summer of 2020, a few more the following Fall on the Olympic Peninsula, and began editing at Julie Rae’s house in Missoula before arriving home for Christmas of that same year.  A good amount was edited and completed at The Kelly Cabin in Red Lodge, in between the fire of 2021 and the flood of 2022.

    Oh, incidentally, I did make it up to the Atacama Desert while I was living in Valparaíso.  I flew to Antofagasta and rented a car, unable to shake the sensation that I was cheating on La Bestia.  It was a dazzling visit to beautiful, barren lands.  I visited the ghost towns of Oficina Salitrera Chacabuco and Oficina Salitrera Pedro de Valdivia, made so by the saltpeter mining companies that had abandoned their operations.

    I visited Calama and some impressively old ruins at Chiu Chiu, and then it was on to the jewel that was San Pedro de Atacama and its environs.

    I spent three nights at the Restaurant-Hostal Cabañas, hiding from the heat of the day, wandering the weathered streets of the desert town before and after.  There were sidetrips through Toconao and then Socaire, where I lingered in a tiny chapel made of clay and bricks.

    There was a two-hour hike around the Valle de Marte (Valley of Mars), which had also been properly named.  It really did feel like I had stepped onto another planet.  Traipsing through sand and limestone, a hot sun overhead, volcanoes and snow-capped mountains in the distance, I was ready to see Luke Skywalker on his home of Tatooine.  Cairns reminded me I was on earth and was hardly the first to see these incredible sights.

    This was followed by a four-hour hike around Valle de la Luna (Valley of the Moon), where I wandered through caves and canyons, and ascended to a spine of rocks that I straddled for an hour, feverishly shooting the landscape after every few steps, as light and shadow conspired to seemingly create new shapes and forms 360º around me.  I slowed down and got close up on my descent, capturing the waves and swirls of the grains of sand.

    Dazed by what I had been blessed to see, I passed through the abandoned city of Pampa Unión on my return to Antofagasta the next day.  Before I returned to Santiago, I traveled south to visit the impressive sculpture La Mano del Desierto (The Hand of the Desert) and then back north to visit La Portada, a gorgeous rock formation just north of the city.  1,106 km (686 mi) later, I returned my rental car in Antofagasta.

    On my return flight to Santiago, I was a bit haunted by what I might be missing below.  I wished La Bestia could have seen Atacama.  Maybe one day she will.