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).