Imagine walking through fecund jungle growth and up a precarious pile of stone steps to find a hidden city that used to be the seat of power for an ancient kingdom. Welcome to my week traveling to Ciudad Perdida.
Day 1. Flew to Santa Marta. When I landed and was riding in the cab, it occurred to me out of the blue that I wasn´t cold. The air was humid. It felt satiny on my skin. After being in the dry cold air of Bogota, it was bliss. I stayed in a nice hostel called The Dreamer. I was welcomed by the staff with big smiles and a good deal of hospitality. Even though I was staying in a dorm, there weren´t many people there, so I had the room to myself. I didn´t realize it at the time, but should have: Santa Marta is a beach town on the Caribbean. I´ll definitely have to go back just to hang out and enjoy the tropical weather.
Day 2. Nice leisurely morning as I waited to be picked up by the tour company, Expotur. I got a start on the book I brought and after reading for about an hour, I began to panic: why did I only bring one book with me? What was I thinking? I tried to get the hostel to sell me one from their library, but they would only do that as an exchange. Seriously?
The tour company arrived with the others I´d be spending the next five days with: 4 Germans (2 boys and 2 girls) and a Canadian. Plus our guide, Enar and our cook, Jesus. Yup, Jesus cooked for me. It didn´t take me long to realize that I was the oldest person on our hike. Two of the girls had just celebrated their 22nd birthdays. Our guide was 26.
As I listened to the girls in particular over the next few days, Zelda Fitzgerald´s quote, "Youth doesn´t need friends, it only needs crowds" kept recurring to me. While I think she´s right, I also think I would amend it slightly: "Youth doesn´t need friends, it just needs an audience." The girls seemed to chatter and giggle endlessly for no apparent reason. I´m sure, at one point in my life, I was like these girls, I just don´t remember. It struck me how much of a difference 10 years makes in a person. While these girls were very nice, we had nothing in common. They´re just starting everything and trying to figure it all out. While I can´t say I´ve figured anything out, my perspective has shifted just enough to where I feel like I know myself better and don´t need to seek the constant approval of others or have others validate the decisions I´ve made. Also, rather than feeling like I ought to constantly fight for everything, sometimes just accepting and being content is enough. But I digress.
We rode in a 4x4 to the trail-head, had lunch, and then it began to pour. Fortunately, since we were in the jungle, it was a nice warm rain. Unfortunately, it turned the trail to mud. So the first day of hiking was hard. First of all, because it was almost entirely uphill. Secondly, because it was a constant battle to maintain my footing. I took perverse pleasure or "shadenfreude," (one of the only German words I know which means taking delight in another's suffering) in the fact that one of the German guys had to hire a mule to carry him up the hill. Young guy, but a little overweight and a serious smoker.
When we arrived at our first lodging, I was delighted to find we would be sleeping in hammocks! After a good meal (made by Jesus) we went to sleep under mosquito nets and to the sounds of rain on the tin roof.
Day 3. A short day of hiking surrounded by the lush foliage of the jungle. As we hiked, we saw indigenous people working on the trail. Part of the fee paid to the tour company goes for a permit to hike. Also, one cannot hike the trail without a guide, so it gives jobs to locals in Santa Marta. It´s a pretty cool system the government has set up to boost the local economy and encourage the indigenous Tairona to promote tourism to the area. Apparently it´s the number one source of revenue. The guesthouse we stayed in was right next to a great river for swimming. It was so nice to be able to splash around in the currents after being sweaty that morning. Also, on the opposite side of the river, there was this little cave with a waterfall in it. I only found out about it because Jesus ushered me to cross the river and pointed it out: Jesus showed me the way! Okay, enough with the Jesus jokes.
Day 4. The big day. We hiked to the final guesthouse where we dropped our packs and then headed for the top: the Lost City. We crossed a stream and then began to climb the 1400 VERY steeps steps to the top. It was pretty cool.
What´s left of the ancient city of Teyuna are grass-filled stone platforms that used to hold houses and underneath which they buried their dead. They estimate that the city was built around 800 AD. It wasn´t found until the mid seventies by grave robbers who discovered, after the ruins were left untouched for centuries, that the ancient Taironas buried their dead with gold. Items started showing up on the black market before too long and grave robbers started to gravitate to what they were calling "Green Hell". The government caught wind of the site when, after the looters chose sides against one another and started to fight over the booty, someone got killed.
We also found out that the site is actually occupied by a group of heavily armed soldiers. They were actually pretty friendly as far as soldiers go, and were a welcome sight since in 2003 a group of 8 was kidnapped by a paramilitary group.
Thunder started to rumble before too long and that´s when my little happy bubble burst: the stairs. I don't know if any of you know this, but I've had a fear of steep stairs since I was a little girl. I used to have nightmares about falling down the stairs of the house on Tiffany Road. Nevertheless, there were 1400 tiny little steep steps going down to my bed and a storm coming that would only make the steps worse. This time I let everyone pass me and took my time inching my way downwards. My heart was pounding the whole time and I was near tears, but I made it. Whew.
Day 5. The longest, but nicest day of the hike. In the morning. We trekked to were we stayed the night before the last for a lunch break and a nice swim. As we started after lunch, guess what it started to do: rain. Again, the trail became a ridiculous stew to slog through, but despite the difficulty, I was so happy: I was outdoors, my heart was pounding from exercise, there was greenery all around me ,and the rain was warm. It was later in the evening I paid the price.
I started to feel a bit funny when we reached our camp site. I chalked it up to simply being tired from a long day, had a shower, and sat down to read for a while. It turns out I was getting sick. I didn´t eat much at dinner and went to bed at about 7. I woke up at around 10 puking.
Day 6. Still sick, but with three more hours to hike. Not fun, but I made it. When we reached the trail-head, all I wanted was a cold Coca-Cola. It was what kept me going the entire three hours: the thought of sugar water at the end. I was so happy when the restaurant we stopped at had one. I drank it slowly, savoring it. When the others were served their lunch, I put my head down on another table and slept. After the 4x4 ride back to Santa Marta, I bid farewell to my guide and the trio of 20-year-old girls, while the German boys and I got out at my hostel.
I had arranged with the staff at the Dreamer Hostel to let me shower and hang out there while I waited for my flight out of Santa Marta. I took a nap in one of their pool-side hammocks and tried to eat a little something. By 8pm I was feeling better. While I waited for my taxi, it started to rain.
When I checked my now rank-smelling backpack (it had been wet for the past 5 days --I tried to dry things out, but the air was so humid and it rained so much, there was no way things were going to stay "fresh") the attendant at the counter told me that the flight was delayed and likely to be canceled. Really? Why? "Well, we´re in the Caribbean and what we do is determined by the weather." Granted, it was raining pretty hard, but coming from Northern New York, where planes take off in near blizzards, rain hardly seems like a cause to cancel flights. However, in the end it was canceled. The airline put us up in a hotel, but it meant I was going to miss a day of work. I felt like such a heel text messaging my department head that I wouldn´t be at work the next day, the day after a vacation, but there was nothing I could do.
Day 7. I woke up at 6 even though I hadn´t gotten to bed until 1am, worried because my department head hadn´t text messaged me back to confirm that he knew I wouldn´t be at work. He did confirm in the end, and I felt better, but I was wide awake. So I was up, waiting to hear from the airline when my flight would be. And that´s what the day turned into: a day of waiting. I waited at the hotel for news about my flight, I waited at the airport for a plane to arrive and take us to Bogota, waited on the plane to finally take off, waited after we landed to deplane, waited at the baggage carousel for my foul-smelling pack, waited for a taxi, waited in stop-and-go traffic to get home. When I finally arrived, it was so good to be home. I dumped all my clothes as quick as I could in the washing machine with lots of soap and hot water, ordered in some take-out and went to bed. I was so tired and still sick I just laid in bed and rested the rest of the day.
In summary: a great trip! Despite being sick at the end, I´d totally do it again.
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