La Ciudad Perdida
My first night's sleep in Columbia was better than expected. Jetlag took a night off, and I slept like a log, probably due to being extremely tired - the second night is always when jetlag kicks in proper for me. Where better then to battle the jetlag than on a gruelling four-day jungle trek to an ancient mountaintop city?
La Ciudad Perdida ("The Lost City" in English) is an indigenous city built by the Tayrona. The Tayrona are the local equivalent of the Aztecs of Mexico or the Incas of Peru - they are the original inhabitants of this part of the continent, whose civilisation was slowly wiped out after the arrival of the Spanish conquistadors back in the 1600's. They were murdered and enslaved in the masses, their gold was taken to be melted down and sent back to the Spanish crown, and their way of life was destroyed. La Ciudad Perdida was one of their major cities, one that was lost to jungle growth for 400 years, until some scavengers hunting for lost indigenous riches stumbled across it in 1974. They informed Columbia's archaeology office that "they had found something", and two intrepid archaeologists followed a scavenger with a machete through the jungle for eleven days to analyse and confirm the find.
Luckily for me, these days the trek is only four days, that began in the chaos of a packed trekking office (45 trekkers in total were starting at the same time). I asked the random person next to me where the queue to store your bag started. The conversation went as follows:
He wasn't a Hynes. That would have been too weird, but it was nice to hear a familiar accent. This was his holiday, before he travelled to Medellin to meet his Colombian girlfriend's father (she was also trekking, but actually lived in Cork too). "Best of luck with that" was the most sympathy I could muster for the man who was stepping into the Columbia father-in-law unknown.
We were eventually divided up into groups. In mine, with 15 trekkers, there was a whole load more familiar accents, with six Dubs and a couple of Aussies (who all knew each other and were travelling together). Not only that, most of them were doctors or surgeons, and one of them even sidelined as a trekking medic. I hit the jackpot. I could fall and break my leg and get the kind of help in the jungle that you'd probably have to wait six months for in Ireland.
Besides that sound gang, the group was rounded off nicely by a French couple, a Belgian couple, and an awesome American/Colombian couple.
When we started to get closer to the first night's rest stop, we got our first taste of the mud we would encounter a whole lot more of later. In hindsight, I laugh at how careful we all were trying to avoid getting our shoes dirty at this early stage. Little did we know.
The accommodation was basic but everything you need when you're in such a remote place - a bed with mosquito net, toilets and showers, dinner served to you, and water and beer for sale. Of course with a big gang of Irish, a couple of beers were had. Just a couple though, tomorrow the first big day of hiking awaited us, and the low level of light in the camp meant everyone was struggling to stay awake beyond 9pm. Jetlag jolted me awake again at 1am, so I had a broken night's sleep.
After powering through an hour long uphill, the track got a lot more technical. By the time we were approaching the second night's rest stop, we were scrambling over wet rocks. I was really starting to get into it now. This was the biggest trek I had done since Everest base camp in 2009, and I had got my trekking groove back.
Crossing a big river in my sandals put a big smile on my face that was still in place as we reach the night's accommodation around 5.30pm. With the early start and full day of hiking, I was absolutely shattered, and struggled to stay awake as soon as I had finished dinner (which was decent - the food is better than Everest base camp for sure). I just about stayed awake with the help of three beers until 8pm, at which point I collapsed into bed. I fell asleep happy that I'd managed to be assigned to a good group - everyone got along well, with decent chemistry and no assholes.
Post-breakfast it was straight into another awesome river crossing, followed by a steep climb up the final 1020 steps to our goal - La Ciudad Perdida. The steps we were climbing were put in place over a thousand years ago, and they still worked well.
At the top, first impressions were, to be honest, a little underwhelming. We were at the entrance to the city. Looking at the map though, this was only a little part of a much larger complex. Once we had traversed the "queen's steps", the main section of the city had the breathtaking views you see on every brochure for this hike.
We had made it. A relaxed hour or so was enjoyed wandering the top, taking a lot of pictures and taking it all in. It was hard to imagine now, but at one stage there were 2000 people living in wooden houses on top of the rings cut out of the mountainside that were were now sitting on. Pretty epic stuff.
It was also good to know that we had reached the end of the trail, and that from now on we knew what to face, just in reverse. It was going to be easier from here on out, or so we thought.
After a history lesson that dragged on way too long (it felt like being at school again, including sniggering Irish children) we descended the same steps (much dodgier going down than up), had lunch, then started the long trek out. Then the rain started. A trickle at first, then a little heavier as we crossed a river. Then the heavens opened. We took refuge in the shade of a local's shack, but there was no point - this rain wasn't stopping any time soon, and we needed to get to our next bed before nightfall.
What followed was an epic four-hour slog clambering upstream over rocks, hopping over stepstones across rivers that used to be streams, and slithering up and down rivers of mud. It's not as if there were barriers in place to stop you from tumbling town the hillside if you took a wrong step. The hiking sticks saved my arse on at least three occasions (thanks Miro!) There are no pictures because it was simply too wet to take my camera out (I had it in a dry bag). It was the most intense hiking I've ever done. It was awesome.
Like everyone else I was elated to make it to the rest stop for that night, where a few well earned beers were had. During an extended monologue, our guide Antonio opened up about his own life, and revealed to us that he used to be a paramilitary in the jungle prior to being a trekking guide. He was so genuine and gentle, it was hard to believe - but I wouldn't like to cross him.
Thankfully, despite being long the last day was more straightforward and drier than the previous, being a long slog straight to the finish. I decided enough was enough and took off on a mission to complete the hike. The last hour was glorious - sunshine, scenery and the finish line in sight. A friendly conversation with a passing guide entirely in Spanish only added to my happiness. I bounded through the village to the restaurant where it all started, had a quick shower, and shared a delicious beer with the two girls of the Irish gang who were next over the line. We had done it.
All that was left to do now was celebrate. On the jeep back, Yuber was trying to convince me to join him for dinner and a big party. I had already been invited for dinner with the Irish gang, and didn't want him to come to be honest (I was sick of him at this stage - he was a pretty lousy translator and didn't seem to engage with the group) so I discreetly declined saying I was too tired and wanted to sleep for the night.
Cue the scene about three hours later when I'm at the lovely (and expensive by Colombian standards) restaurant in the centre of Santa Marta. The Aussie pair are late. After a short while they turn up with - Yuber! It turns out I didn't wnat to sleep at all - I "found my second wind". I don't think he even knew what this meant. He had bumped into the Aussie pair randomly and invited himself along to dinner (via Andre being a good person).
He invited his friend along for some drinks as well. Of course we paid for him and his friend. He knew how to get an extra tip out of us.
Fuelled up with superb food and lashes of delicious Chilean red, the group moved the party to a nearby salsa bar (losing Yuber in the process). Irish aren't the most natural movers at the best of times, but things get even worse when you can barely stand after four days of trekking. I tried to explain to the Colombian dude who was trying to teach me some salsa moves that the chain of blisters and bites on my feet meant any kind of movement caused pain, but I'm not sure if he got the message. An ill-judged round of tequila killed off the night, and a messy end to the evening didn't even end with goodbyes.
Once I got back to my room, I crashed on the bed and conked out with my clothes and the lights still on. A hectic, exhausting, action packed start to Colombia, but a thoroughly enjoyable one all the same.
More Ciudad Perdida photos
La Ciudad Perdida ("The Lost City" in English) is an indigenous city built by the Tayrona. The Tayrona are the local equivalent of the Aztecs of Mexico or the Incas of Peru - they are the original inhabitants of this part of the continent, whose civilisation was slowly wiped out after the arrival of the Spanish conquistadors back in the 1600's. They were murdered and enslaved in the masses, their gold was taken to be melted down and sent back to the Spanish crown, and their way of life was destroyed. La Ciudad Perdida was one of their major cities, one that was lost to jungle growth for 400 years, until some scavengers hunting for lost indigenous riches stumbled across it in 1974. They informed Columbia's archaeology office that "they had found something", and two intrepid archaeologists followed a scavenger with a machete through the jungle for eleven days to analyse and confirm the find.
Luckily for me, these days the trek is only four days, that began in the chaos of a packed trekking office (45 trekkers in total were starting at the same time). I asked the random person next to me where the queue to store your bag started. The conversation went as follows:
(Recognising the accent) "Where are you from?"
"Ireland. You?"
"Ireland! Which part?"
"Cork."
"Me too!"
"My name's Adam."
"Ah jaysus! Me too!"
He wasn't a Hynes. That would have been too weird, but it was nice to hear a familiar accent. This was his holiday, before he travelled to Medellin to meet his Colombian girlfriend's father (she was also trekking, but actually lived in Cork too). "Best of luck with that" was the most sympathy I could muster for the man who was stepping into the Columbia father-in-law unknown.
We were eventually divided up into groups. In mine, with 15 trekkers, there was a whole load more familiar accents, with six Dubs and a couple of Aussies (who all knew each other and were travelling together). Not only that, most of them were doctors or surgeons, and one of them even sidelined as a trekking medic. I hit the jackpot. I could fall and break my leg and get the kind of help in the jungle that you'd probably have to wait six months for in Ireland.
Besides that sound gang, the group was rounded off nicely by a French couple, a Belgian couple, and an awesome American/Colombian couple.
Day one
After a cramped three hour jeep journey to the start point, and a decent lunch, away we went. The first steps of four days of hiking were in blistering 33 degree heat and drenching humidity, but it felt good to finally get underway. The first day was relatively gentle, with only four hours of hiking and a few stops to hear about local indigenous culture from our Spanish-only-speaking guide Antonio and his bumbling translator sidekick Yuber (more on him later). It was mostly just a hike up a rocky road initially, with uninteresting terrain, but some excellent though misty views.
When we started to get closer to the first night's rest stop, we got our first taste of the mud we would encounter a whole lot more of later. In hindsight, I laugh at how careful we all were trying to avoid getting our shoes dirty at this early stage. Little did we know.
The accommodation was basic but everything you need when you're in such a remote place - a bed with mosquito net, toilets and showers, dinner served to you, and water and beer for sale. Of course with a big gang of Irish, a couple of beers were had. Just a couple though, tomorrow the first big day of hiking awaited us, and the low level of light in the camp meant everyone was struggling to stay awake beyond 9pm. Jetlag jolted me awake again at 1am, so I had a broken night's sleep.
Day two
Heavy rain overnight meant we were straight into thick muddy sections as soon as we left the next morning (Miro had donated hiking sticks to me in Auckland which were a godsend on these parts). Being woken before sunrise at 5am was compensated for by a decent breakfast with coffee, so it wasn't all bad. After the mud there were a few slippery crossings over streams and rivers via stepping stones (these were far more treacherous on the way back). At our lunch stop, we had a refreshing break from hiking to cool off in an adjacent river.After powering through an hour long uphill, the track got a lot more technical. By the time we were approaching the second night's rest stop, we were scrambling over wet rocks. I was really starting to get into it now. This was the biggest trek I had done since Everest base camp in 2009, and I had got my trekking groove back.
Crossing a big river in my sandals put a big smile on my face that was still in place as we reach the night's accommodation around 5.30pm. With the early start and full day of hiking, I was absolutely shattered, and struggled to stay awake as soon as I had finished dinner (which was decent - the food is better than Everest base camp for sure). I just about stayed awake with the help of three beers until 8pm, at which point I collapsed into bed. I fell asleep happy that I'd managed to be assigned to a good group - everyone got along well, with decent chemistry and no assholes.
Day three
This was the day where it all happened. It started with me being woken before the 5am call by some idiot's phone alarm that was annoyingly set to a cock crowing. "Turn off your feckin' phone" was all I could think for five angry minutes before I realized it was a real cock that was crowing outside the camp.Post-breakfast it was straight into another awesome river crossing, followed by a steep climb up the final 1020 steps to our goal - La Ciudad Perdida. The steps we were climbing were put in place over a thousand years ago, and they still worked well.
At the top, first impressions were, to be honest, a little underwhelming. We were at the entrance to the city. Looking at the map though, this was only a little part of a much larger complex. Once we had traversed the "queen's steps", the main section of the city had the breathtaking views you see on every brochure for this hike.
We had made it. A relaxed hour or so was enjoyed wandering the top, taking a lot of pictures and taking it all in. It was hard to imagine now, but at one stage there were 2000 people living in wooden houses on top of the rings cut out of the mountainside that were were now sitting on. Pretty epic stuff.
It was also good to know that we had reached the end of the trail, and that from now on we knew what to face, just in reverse. It was going to be easier from here on out, or so we thought.
After a history lesson that dragged on way too long (it felt like being at school again, including sniggering Irish children) we descended the same steps (much dodgier going down than up), had lunch, then started the long trek out. Then the rain started. A trickle at first, then a little heavier as we crossed a river. Then the heavens opened. We took refuge in the shade of a local's shack, but there was no point - this rain wasn't stopping any time soon, and we needed to get to our next bed before nightfall.
What followed was an epic four-hour slog clambering upstream over rocks, hopping over stepstones across rivers that used to be streams, and slithering up and down rivers of mud. It's not as if there were barriers in place to stop you from tumbling town the hillside if you took a wrong step. The hiking sticks saved my arse on at least three occasions (thanks Miro!) There are no pictures because it was simply too wet to take my camera out (I had it in a dry bag). It was the most intense hiking I've ever done. It was awesome.
Like everyone else I was elated to make it to the rest stop for that night, where a few well earned beers were had. During an extended monologue, our guide Antonio opened up about his own life, and revealed to us that he used to be a paramilitary in the jungle prior to being a trekking guide. He was so genuine and gentle, it was hard to believe - but I wouldn't like to cross him.
Day four
Thankfully, despite being long the last day was more straightforward and drier than the previous, being a long slog straight to the finish. I decided enough was enough and took off on a mission to complete the hike. The last hour was glorious - sunshine, scenery and the finish line in sight. A friendly conversation with a passing guide entirely in Spanish only added to my happiness. I bounded through the village to the restaurant where it all started, had a quick shower, and shared a delicious beer with the two girls of the Irish gang who were next over the line. We had done it.
All that was left to do now was celebrate. On the jeep back, Yuber was trying to convince me to join him for dinner and a big party. I had already been invited for dinner with the Irish gang, and didn't want him to come to be honest (I was sick of him at this stage - he was a pretty lousy translator and didn't seem to engage with the group) so I discreetly declined saying I was too tired and wanted to sleep for the night.
Cue the scene about three hours later when I'm at the lovely (and expensive by Colombian standards) restaurant in the centre of Santa Marta. The Aussie pair are late. After a short while they turn up with - Yuber! It turns out I didn't wnat to sleep at all - I "found my second wind". I don't think he even knew what this meant. He had bumped into the Aussie pair randomly and invited himself along to dinner (via Andre being a good person).
 |
| Everyone so happy that Yuber is there |
He invited his friend along for some drinks as well. Of course we paid for him and his friend. He knew how to get an extra tip out of us.
Fuelled up with superb food and lashes of delicious Chilean red, the group moved the party to a nearby salsa bar (losing Yuber in the process). Irish aren't the most natural movers at the best of times, but things get even worse when you can barely stand after four days of trekking. I tried to explain to the Colombian dude who was trying to teach me some salsa moves that the chain of blisters and bites on my feet meant any kind of movement caused pain, but I'm not sure if he got the message. An ill-judged round of tequila killed off the night, and a messy end to the evening didn't even end with goodbyes.
Once I got back to my room, I crashed on the bed and conked out with my clothes and the lights still on. A hectic, exhausting, action packed start to Colombia, but a thoroughly enjoyable one all the same.
More Ciudad Perdida photos
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