suck out the marrow (and the sugarcane)

Week three was the point at which I truly committed myself to finding and doing something new each week. 

We used this log as a bridge.

Early Sunday morning, the Roomie, our friend Brayan, and I sleepily clambered onto a bus to the mountain region of Turrialba, a place I'd never been.

The plan was simple: risk Stendhal Syndrome to take in the splendor that is the mountains of Costa Rica, visit Brayan's grandmother, and explore the uncharted rainforests filled with untold mysteries that surrounded the Central Valley.

Okay. The last part was not part of the plan. But that is the beauty of this experiment--straying from the plan is always part of the plan.

Brayan fearlessly leading the way

When walking up the steep gravel road that would eventually lead to Brayan's grandmother's, we passed a short, barbed fence with a sign reading "Prohibited Entrance: Resticted Area." In our minds, this translated to "Come explore!" The forest beckoned, and we we complied.

After scaling the fence (inching across the chain-link fence bit-by-bit to avoid the barbed wire across the top), we found ourselves engulfed in green, as if the Universe had run low on other colors when painting this corner of the world and had resolved to use them only as accents.

One of the most beautiful butterflies I have ever seen.

We scaled waterfalls, accidentally fell in cold springs, filled our bottles with fresh, running water, and marveled at the variety and awesomeness of animals we had never seen, and might never see again.

We stumbled out three hours later, my jeans worse for the wear (ripped knees, more brown than blue), and my extremities no better--I counted upwards of 17 bruises that night and countless bug bites--but our energies were bursting with the life and beauty we had found.

Gnawing on sticks of sugarcane we stole from the side of the road, we boarded the bus in much the same way we had that morning--blearily, worn, and ready for bed. But with an experience not soon forgotten coming with us.

Goodbye, Turrialba. Until we meet again (and we will). 

going raw

Photo courtesy of the Roomie

After returning home from the market one Sunday, bags bursting with the vibrant colors and flavors of tropical fruits and vegetables, I couldn't amend the disconnect between the fact that my fridge was overflowing with gorgeous and delicious food, and the fact that I was going to contaminate them with the man-made, mostly brown and white poison that we have grown to consider food. 

After researching the benefits of raw food, I knew--my second experience had been found.

I embarked on the raw diet with the goal of 100% raw, for one week, in mind.

When I began this challenge, on the first day, I seemed to know in my heart I would secretly cheat. I did not see myself successfully completing the experience without coffee, dairy, pasta, or, let's be honest, alcohol.

On the second day, my belief shifted completely, and I knew I wouldn't cheat and, what's more, that I wanted this diet to last for longer than one week. How long, I still have not figured out, but the raw food diet has become a part of my life.

The morning of day two I woke up feeling happy, as cliche as a Disney princess waking up singing, and that feeling didn't fade throughout the day or even the week.

It strikes me that this is the second week in a row that I did not think I would finish the challenge, or feel like I would need an exit strategy, but that it is also the second week where I was wrong on both accounts.

Maybe this will be as much an exercise in exploring myself as it is in exploring the world around me. 

Raw pasta with tomato-avocado sauce

Raw mint chocolate pudding--avocado, banana, cocoa, and mint

To do this experience, I did a lot of research, and found a lot of good recipes. Raw foodism is not all salads and smoothies. Check out my raw recipes if you want to try some raw foodism.

living deep

Somewhere between San Jose and Cartago, Costa Rica

One month ago, my roommate and I woke up on a cool Thursday morning, both of us checking our outfits to make sure they were both fashionable and practical (a very hard feat to do, and something at which we both slightly failed--mine being just shy of fashionable, his of practical). 

Had we done this before, we would have known that practicality should have trumped fashion. But that was the beauty of it: this new endeavor was just that--new. Neither roommate or myself had done anything like this before.

August second is a national holiday in Costa Rica, where more than half the population of this small country walk from San Jose, the nation's capital, to Cartago, a mountainous province that houses the country's only basilica, to pay homage to La Negrita, who is said to have had healing powers (so much so that the sick still make the pilgrimage in hopes of being healed).

The Roomie and I, still bright-eyed early on

Before walking the 16 kilometer Romeria, from my house on the main street to the basilica in the mountains of Cartago, I grappled a bit with my reasons. Most pilgrims view the journey as a religious one, but I am not a religious person. Why, then, would I choose to walk five hours, uphill, in the still heat of August, to enter a basilica I admired on a purely architectural level? 

And as more and more people began to ask the same question I was asking myself, I came to realize (through my answers and guesses) that it was new. And different. And why not? 

And so, after one last check in the mirror from each of us, the Roomie and I embarked on a hike of which we could not have fathomed the endurance, length, or determination it would take. 

As early as ten minutes in, we were already taking in new sights that we walked by weekly, but never appreciated, to the point that we were asking each other if a shop in downtown was new, or if we had just never taken notice of it. 

"Spirit and Faith!" urged the road.

As we trekked onward, our sentences became sparse, choosing to concentrate instead on the foliage and mountains that were springing up around us. Living on this planet for 25 years has still not nullified the awe that comes with the fact that, within a 45 minute walk of a bustling, breathing city center, one can find herself surrounded by the completely different bustle and breathe of nature.

We walked through towns, accepted the kindness of strangers, and eventually, listened to music as everything from the the road, to our fellow romeros, to the pair of old women passing out homemade lemonade urged us onwards.

Basilica de La Virgen de Los Angeles

There were points where I thought, if there is an escape route, I will take it. But luckily there was not, because when, after countless false alarms, the basilica loomed over us, and we saw the swarms of people surrounding it--all come to pay their respects, or see their prayers answered, or, like us, become consumed by the religion that is beauty, art, and nature--I felt a sense of unity that would not have been achieved had we not shared our experience with the thousands of others that surrounded us that afternoon.

It was an awesome experience in the truest sense of the word. The Roomie and I arrived home cranky, worn, and aching in places we didn't realize could ache, but there was not a single moment that I would want erased from this new and enlightening experience. 

I had made my first pilgrimage. Though it was only five hours, 16 kilometers long, it was a new and breathtaking experience, and I hope that this experience opens my mind to accept many more in the months--or years--to come.