Colombia: Ciudad Perdida

This post will probably turn into a long ramble. But it's a post about a long ramble, so I suppose that would be apt...

I wasn't going to do the trek to Colombia's Lost City. I'd already spent nearly three weeks in the country and felt it was time to move on. I'm so glad I changed my mind.

Gerard (aka Chewie) and I were picked up early in Taganga on the Monday and met our travelling companions for the next few days:

Left to Right:

Anne - American
Stevie - her travelling companion, also American
Martina (in green) - German
Simon - Welsh
Dieter - Martina's husband
Wilson (in front of me) - our tour guide
Me
Kalle - Belgian
Mila - Korean
Bailey - American
Gerard/Chewie - Australian

Eight of us were bundled into a rickety old jeep, driven by a large smiley bloke, and we set off from Taganga. We had an hour on the road, passing the entrance to the Tayrona National Park on the way, before pulling off onto a dirt track.

The next hour was spent being bumped and shunted around as we climbed slowly up to the small village where the trek would start. The driver was an expert, guiding us round muddy hairpin bends - sheer drops down the mountain within inches of the wheels.

Relived, a bit squashed, and slightly nervous, we set about doing final preparations for the days ahead. Because I decided to do the trek at the last minute, my preparations up to that point had been virtually nil.

With an hour left of trading hours before leaving Cartagena I had frantically rushed round the shops and bought a bit of sunscreen, a small rucksack (for four quid) and, after chatting to Welsh Simon (who I shared a room with in Cartagena), bought some sandals that would enable me to walk through rivers.

I hadn't checked the weather forecast. First mistake.

As we were digesting our Last Supper (or lunch) of sandwiches in the village, another tour group returned from their five days. They were exhausted and looked like they'd spent the week in toe-to-toe combat with a wall of mud.

I asked them if they thought my sandals would do the job. They laughed. Luckily I had bought along my trainers which I was planning to wear in the evenings. Would they do the job? They laughed, again.

As it began to dawn on me that this would not be a walk in the park - or the rainforest - I thought it would make sense to take a 'before' picture. And here it is:

Note the fake 'I'm shitting myself but trying not to show it' smile.

Before we set off, I re-arranged my bag as it was bursting at the seams. It then literally burst at the seams. Before I'd even set off a tear had appeared along the zip of the main pocket. Second mistake: buying a bag for four quid off the market.

The first part of the walk took us out of the village, through some fields and across some streams. All well and good. Then the real stuff began: a mammoth hike up a slippery, muddy mountain.

It was a struggle, and sweat was pouring. The ascent probably took the best part of 45 minutes and Mila at one point felt nauseous and looked close to fainting. No, definitely not a walk in the park.

My shoes were holding up ok though, and we eventually reached the top where there was a fruit stop (which would become a common theme). We ate lots of watermelon, met another tour group, and I got a couple of pics:

Mmm, sweaty.

The rest of the first day was a good walk across a mountain ridge and then an evil final descent down into Camp 1. My trainers are over a year old, have no grip left, and when faced with a muddy, slippery path like this...

...they throw in the white towel.

Several comedy slips later and we made it to the camp. Hurrah! We immediately dumped our stuff and walked a couple of minutes to an amazing waterfall and swimming spot. Unfortunately I didn't take my camera, but it was a perfect way to soak knackered bodies.

We had hammocks to sleep in, and the camp was in a beautiful spot at the bottom of the valley:

Our chef rustled up some chicken and rice, we had a couple of Aguilas to wind down, and were all in bed by 9pm. Rock n roll!

Day two started with mud. It then featured some more mud. And we finished off with a load of mud. In Sesame Street style, the colour of the day was Brown.

But in amongst the mud, it was also a brilliant and challenging day of trekking across mountain ridges, down a humungous hill (more of which later) and swimming in freshwater pools:

We got to Camp 2 at about 3pm, and saw we had beds to sleep in. I enjoyed sleeping in the hammock, as a one off, but after a couple of days on the road a bed was fantastic. We got stuck into some beers straight away and settled into camp.

Anne had brought along a stack of stuff to give to local kids (putting the rest of our meagre offerings of sweets and crayons to shame) and they had fun playing with the balloons, particularly when filled with water:

They weren't as sweet and innocent as first appeared though. It felt quite uncomfortable to see kids as young as 6 and 7 drinking beer. This photo, including several sets of dead eyes, probably says it all:

We played cards and dice, chatted to other tour groups, compared battle scars and I took my Day 2 picture of the shoes:

Nice hole! Luckily the American girls came to the rescue, as they did several times, and I patched up my bag and shoes with Duck Tape.

Trekking boots? Who needs them.

Day 3 in my diary reads like this:

Good walk. Legs getting stronger. Last 30 minutes excellent - scaling boulders, negotiating mammoth tree roots, river crossings and narrow paths. Led into camp by guide's dog. The new Littlest Hobo. Sarnies and juice for lunch at Camp 3, then set off for Ciudad Perdida. Steep steps. Legs like jelly. Wilson does guided tour at the top. Final arrival at peak of CP incredible. Wow!! Views, paramilitaries, fascinating archaeologist. Speedy descent, rain back at camp, drunk Anne's rum, no generator so candlelit evening, more games of rummy.

Probably sums it up fairly well. Well, in my head anyway! Here are some pics:

Bingo butterfly

Chewie making friends

Ants crossing a wire above a river with their leaves

At the top of Ciudad Perdida. Like the socks?

It was a great day.

On day 4 the aim was to walk all the way from Camp 3 to Camp 1 in one day, stopping at Camp 2 for lunch. And that's exactly what we did.

By this stage my legs and lungs were feeling good and I enjoyed going fairly fast. We weren't being shepherded along the route like schoolkids, so if you wanted to go ahead of the pack Wilson was fine with that. There was one instance on the final day where he caught up with me and asked me to slow down, but it was understandable as the group had spaced out a lot.

Anyway, back to Day 4, and we got to Camp 2 for a lunch of sausages and beans (cooked by our ever-smiling chef) and had a great dip in the river.

The afternoon was mainly spent walking up a beast, a bastard, a joke of a hill. It was the same one we'd come down on on Day 2 but I didn't remember it being so ridiculously big and steep. It was almost farcical as the sweat flowed off our faces, our legs on auto-pilot, our lungs praying for the end. One of the most exhausting things I've ever done, but also one of the most rewarding.

The walk back along the mountain ridge, with amazing views and now-packed mud (following some sun. Woohoo!) was great.

We got back to Camp 1 and headed straight for the piscina by the waterfall. Never in the history of man has a more refreshing dip taken place. We dived in, washed, exhaled. A mammoth day of trekking but the sort of day I have taken a sabbatical for.

The evening, our final one, was a mix of good food, a few drinks, some unrepeatable conversations and staying up waaaaay past our bedtime. I think we turned in at 10.30pm. 

The final day was a relatively easy 3hr walk back to the start. We passed through some amazing butterfly swarms, crossed more rivers, descended the last huge hill. I walked back into the village accompanied by the three dogs that had been with us for the five days. I'm not a big animal fan, but they were great.

We had lunch, met the next tour group (fear in their eyes), had a quick game of football with the locals and met the cutest little girl in Colombia:

All that was left was to take an 'after pic' of Chewie and I, and of my battered shoes:

Chewie wore those fetching thermals all the way back on the final day after making a drunken promise the previous night. I wore the same clothes every day because I'm a scruffy bastard.

Seriously though, it made sense to wear the same shirt every day as within 15 minutes of trekking each morning I was caked in sweat. When I got back to Taganga, I hung the T-shirt on the line to dry and by the morning, the hostel staff had obviously decided it was an unwearable specimen and had chucked it away!

We had a bouncy 2hr ride back to Taganga, including carrying Wilson on the roof. Spot the feet:

That evening, most of us ended up in an outdoor disco/club place that had zero other patrons in for the first couple of hours. We shared some rum and gave our legs one final piece of punishment, this time on the dancefloor:

It was a great week, and the trek was one of the best things I have ever done. It was far, far better than I had expected, and in hindsight I'm glad I didn't know much about it, hadn't seen any pictures or read up on what was going to happen.

We got quite lucky with the weather - a bit of rain here and there, and then some sun - and I got really lucky with my tour group. My shoes just about held out, as did my bag, and even the lurgy (that I'd had at the start of the trek) cleared up. Spot on.

This post is already huge, what with all the pictures, so I'll only add a couple more below. I've just put over 200 on my Flickr page though.

I'll do another post soon, as I'm now in Quito, but that's the Ciudad Perdida covered. I could have sat here and written all night about what a fantastic time I had, but attention spans can only sustain so much.

Job done. Aaaaaand relax.