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.