The Last Hoorah

So this will be my last post from South America (although I think I will keep up the blog as I am seriously considering moving halfway across the country and away from everyone I know).
I have no idea what to say. I can´t think of any way to really sum up the past 6 months. I don´t think it would be possible. Instead I think I will just put in an excerpt from one of my journals. I was in a national park on the Caribbean coast in Colombia at the time, and although the entry is not meant to represent a summary or a conclusion of my trip, I do think it captures the feeling of living in a surreality that i´ve been harboring for about 6 months now.

My time in Tyrone was really like being inside of a piece of a Gabrielle Garcia Marquez story. His yellow butterflies were everywhere and as their yellow cream wings fluttered through the air, opening and closing like the eyelids of the surprised, I found myself wishing for a love that spawned butterflies....

The soft yellow of the butterflies was offset by the lush green of the ivy-like plants that crept along the sand towards the ocean. Their long tendrils looked like the fingers of the jungle that lay behind them, lazily unfurling as if to stealthily reclaim the few meters of sand that dared escape its clorophilic clutches. But even these greedy fingers were beautiful with their tiny purple flowers blossoming everywhere.

Laying on the beach and looking up, I watched the silhouettes of angular seabirds wheel through the sky like pterodactyls, looking for their next meal. The boulders next to me seemed to support this daydream, their giant masses and sharp edges suggesting they were not yet worn by time....