Upala: a weekend of learning

La Piñera

I eat this just about everyday, and yes, everyday it's delicious. For those of you who have never seen a piña plant, here it is. It almost looks as though someone just plopped a pineapple in the middle with the hope that someone would just pick it up. And someone did. And then they made a farm full of them so that the whole world could eat the piña.

But then that someone got too greedy and only wanted the biggest and most perfect looking piñas that all ripened at the exact same time. So they used chemicals to achieve these results. He didn't care if the chemicals harmed his neighbors or the water or the air so long as he could sell his piñas. He also didn't care if his workers were paid little or worked in the scorching heat among the culebras (cobras) so long as he got his piñas to the market. And so the piñas were harvested, sprayed with chemicals, and sent in large boxes to Walmart and Del Monte all so that you and I could have a perfect pineapple sitting on our tables today.

Something is not right.

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Campo Vida

Meet Don Orlando. He loves God; he loves people. He shares all that he has so that someone can have a family. He lives with little so that he can give a lot. I don't know him well, but what I know only leads to respect. I hope to meet him again, whether here or above, for in such a short time, I experienced the love of God in this humble, Tico man. 

He farms with care and shares what he has

and uses the land to love those around him.

Even his dog. Good Macho.

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Rio Celeste

It's almost like paradise, almost... minus the mud.

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Cuatro Cruces

The land of the humble.

I learned a lot here. The people that I met here were humble, kind, and gave of all that they had. I spent the night in a house made of wood and cement where bugs came and went freely and where my host mom cooked with a wood stove. They didn't have much, but they gave. I have much, but I don't give like they do. I want to be like them.

Doña Rosita. My host mom for a day. She has 9 kids and mothers them alone. She cleans the church, makes food for people, and dances when she worships God. She is petite, quiet, but strong. She exuded love and care, even though she hardly knew me. Though our conversations were limited, I feel connected to her. Perhaps this is what it looks like when someone walks so close with God that others experience that love just by being in the same room. 

I want to be like her.

I must have had my picture taken by these girls about fifty times: I'm not exaggerating. I was finally able to get them to be in a picture with me just before I left.

It's strange how strangers can come into contact with one another and share a moment of life and have an impact on one another only to part ways and never see one another again. 

But perhaps I shall see these girls again. 

God only knows.

A little blessing on the bus ride home. A family travelled with us back to the Meseta Central and brought with them their new puppy. Needless to say, everyone was in love with this little friend.

And so our journey ended. All was well and everyone left this small country town changed.

I think that's what traveling is supposed to do to a person: change them.