Even after completing the trek, I still maintain that the Chiva ride to the beginning of the trail was one of the more challenging aspects of the five days. Squashed in between Forrest, who has absolutely no concept of space, and four burly Australians, we bumped and bounced for two hours until we arrived in a small town where we would have our last meal before setting off on the hike. After filling up on processed meat sugar sandwiches, and waving the giant pig behind, (not Forrest - please see photo for further explanation) it was time to walk.
I believe that when facing a challenging (or what first appeared to be an IMPOSSIBLE) situation, the human race falls in to two categories; those who think 'YES I CAN!' and those who think 'this is impossible...if I give up and roll back down the hill, I wonder whether there will be any sandwiches left?'. I can safely say for those first five HORRIFIC hours of the hike I fell firmly in the second category. The first section of the hike was uphill for what seemed like an eternity, and as Forrest grew smaller in the distance as he powered on (a category one human - who knew?!) I weighed up my options... If I chose to give up and roll back down, I would definitely be back in under one minute due to the steepness of the mountainside we were climbing but the sandwiches would probably already have been eaten by the giant pig. But, if I carried on, despite definite possibility of death by unfitness, there would most certainly be a meal waiting for me at the first camp. Obviously I chose option two.
It would be easy for me to fill this blog with how difficult I found the five days (VERY), but in truth although the walking varied from practically impossible to almost possible, nothing was ever as tough as that first day. For any CrossFitters reading this, let me tell you that I have never been so close to Pukey as during those first five hours! I would like to emphasise here that I was not the only person struggling, and wasn't even at the back of the group, but Forrest did admit that at one point he was worried that he was going to hear shouts of 'Forrest! Bea has rolled back down the mountain!' and that he might not have the strength to come and rescue me! However, when we reached our first camp for the night and we jumped off some high rocks (even having a wash was a challenge at first!) into a beautiful lagoon, I found that I emerged as a category one human and was ready to kick some Ciudad Perdida butt.
Dinner was prepared by our faithful chef Evan (raw chicken, potatoes and rice) as we swam and got to know our fellow trekkers, already bonded by blood, sweat and tears. In our group there was; Matt, Jenna, Josh & Kyle (Australia), Lotte (Belgium), Roberto & Roberto's wife (Colombia) and The Russian (Russia). We were also joined by other groups that became mingled with ours which included a group of multilingual girls from London, Audrey, Katia & Candice. Audrey became our invaluable translator as it quickly became apparent that none of the guides spoke English, and therefore we had absolutely no idea where we were or what we were doing. On the first evening our guide Wilma showed us a map of the next day which was a very basic drawing of a hillside with arrows pointing upwards...definitely time for hammocks and sleep.
The next morning, in order to delay the walking by an hour or so, a select group of us visited a cocaine 'factory' situated two minutes away from our camp. Less exciting that it sounds, the 'factory' was simply a few coca plants and vats of petrol set up in order to show tourists like us how cocaine is produced and to explain the damaging effects of cocaine production for Colombian society. With Audrey translating, the 'farmer' explained the seven step chemical process, which contained enough petrol to run my little ka forever and just the smell of the caustic acid was enough to erode your septum. Despite this, I still seriously considered stealing the final product in order to get me through the next few hours hike (only joking Dad!)
A girl at the hostel had told me that the first day's hike was the hardest by far, and as I struggled through the next three hours my thoughts were mainly filled with regret that I had failed to get her address to send her hate mail. The three hours uphill were just as tough physically, but in my newly improved mental state I managed to crack a smile and even chat a little with Jenna as we struggled onwards and upwards. Our hike followed the river which meant that each camp there was an oppotunity to swim, "wash" and relax. Without this, the hike would have been a miserable experience, but the glacial water washed away the day's grime from the walk and soothed our aching bodies so that we were ready for the next day. Whilst the boys found rocks to jump off into barely deep enough water, I got to know the girls as we discussed the difficulties of the day and berated the boys for not knowing how to relax properly. Dinner that night (beef stew and rice) was accompanied by music and dancing (not us might I add) before we headed to bed around eight exhausted.
A six am wake up on the third day meant that we arrived at base camp in time for lunch, again those delicious sugar sandwiches while another group on their return journey tucked in to pasta; it was time to find the Lost City. After twenty minutes of cliff climbing and yet another river crossing, we finally arrived at the 1200 steps which would take us to the Lost City. Here it is necessary to give you a brief history of the Lost City, as told by Omar and Wilma, translated by Audrey and verified by that ever reliable source Wikipedia. Ciudad Perdida, or the Lost City, was discovered in 1975 when a group of three treasure hunters were chasing a wild boar (probably sick of sugar sandwiches) and stumbled upon a series of steps covered in moss and followed them up where they found the Lost City (now 'found' I guess) and nicknamed it 'Green Hell'. Obviously local tribes have known about it's existence for years, but these fortunate treasure hunters had inadvertently found the archaeological site of the ancient city in Sierra Nevada, founded around 800AD. I can verify the nickname 'Green Hell' for the unsteady 'steps', which were designed to make it impossible for the Spanish to get up, made my legs shake like jelly as I climbed them. It also didn't help that Forrest was trying to get an artistic photo of me as I huffed and puffed my way up, which only resulted in fifty deleted photos of my bottom.
When we ascended on to the entrance to the Lost City, I must admit that I was a little disappointed. There were billions of mosquitos and only one small circular ruin, but as we went up even more steps and emerged in the ancient living quarters of the Chairman and his poor poor wife (basically a sex slave who was used for nothing more than "freaky freaky" with the Chairman and then tossed aside for a younger model) all the hiking was worth it. Not only were the views incredible, but the site itself was pretty breathtaking, and as Audrey translated the Kogi's ancient customs and traditions, it was astonishing that we were standing on such an amazing historical site after three days of hiking. It also helped that an archaeologist stationed up there had a generator and ice cold beers!
Due to potential threat from a guerilla attack, the Colombian army are stationed up at the top of the ruins (not surprising as there is a military presence everywhere in Colombia) and to placate these young guys of 18-20 years old, Omar handed them a big back of weed; I have never seen anyone run so fast in my life, but then again life stationed at Ciudad Perdida must get pretty monotonous. Now stoned out of their heads (probably) the guys all took turns in having their pictures taken with the military, and Kyle even managed to persuade one of them to let him wear his vest, complete with massive gun and grenades. After cold beers, it was time to set off back to camp and thus begin the return journey...
The steps back down were almost as difficult as the steps up but the lure of a cold swim and wash in the river was too great and we all practically ran back to camp. After washing my hair for the first time in the glacial water, we all sat around and waited patiently for our pasta, where spirits were as high as the military at the top of the mountain and it was a great evening. Omar was obviously also feeling the effects of the hike so far, and had perhaps engaged in some form of illicit drinking or smoking,and came in to our sleeping quarters and believing Forrest to be me shone the torch on him in bed saying "Ola mi amor! Freaky Freaky!" to which Forrest replied "What?"!
The next day was our longest walk as we did two days walking in one. The morning went ridiculously quickly and meant that we had time for a swim and a sunbathe before a beautiful lunch of sausages and beans. We had said goodbye to the others, as they stupidly continued for another two days in order to punish themselves further, so we were back to our little group of ten. Despite the mornings jovial walk, the afternoon proved very difficult for me for some reason and I had to put my ipod in and listen to Lily Allen in order to make it to our last camp. After a tough afternoon, it was a delight to return to our first camp and back to the lagoon, where the jump from the rocks was no less scary but even more refreshing four days later!
That night we were given a bottle of 1% champagne to celebrate our success and we played cards and drank aguadiente until very late, around 9:30pm! Obviously the rude Russian did not participate and we got the impression that she could not escape from us fast enough, little did she know our journey with the Russian was not over yet...
The final day consisted of 25 minutes hard uphill and then three hours of downhill, as we retraced our route from that first horrific day. Jenna, Lotte and I walked together pleasantly having girly chats and taking the time to have one final swim before triumphantly strolling into the weird little town where our journey began. The rest of the group were waiting for us with cold beers, and I was so exhausted and happy to have accomplished the five days, I managed to drink a whole beer and no drink has ever tasted so nice!
Back to Dreamers we went, where due to typical disorganisation on the hostel's behalf, the Australians were forced to pile into our private room to create one big dirty and tired dorm room. After an amazing meal of lasagne and ravioli, and copious amounts of red wine, our incredible Lost City experience came to an end. I had nervously asked Josh and Kyle how they would compare the Lost City hike to Machu Picchu, which we had booked for the start of April, and they said that the Lost City was a seven, and Machu Picchu was a nine... I wonder if the giant pig will be available to pick up a category two hitchhiker on April 8th?!
Forrest's Final Thought: Footwear.
The advice from friends before embarking on my travels was simple; travel light. So I was rather pleased with myself when all my stuff was able to fit into one 50 litre bag which included only two types of footwear; havaianas and a pair of converse.
It was to prove a fatal mistake.
The converse began to rub almost straight away and by the start of day three my blisters, I think I had about seven in total, rendered them completely useless; an extra burden to carry if anything. Switch to ye ol’ trusty havaianas. Unfortunately after no more than half an hour trekking it became clear havaianas were not the robust hiking footwear they’re hyped to be; who’d have thought an arduous trek up and down mountains would have been too much for the ubiquitous flip-flops?! So for mathematicians amongst you, two items of footwear minus two items of footwear = NO FOOTWEAR.
Switch to ye ol’ trusty barefoot. Pre-trek, my belief in evolutionary science was unfathomable; however post-trek, this belief has been called into question. It appears that evolution, in all those millions of years, somehow managed to forget the foot and equipping it for a trek along mountainous terrain it most certainly did not. Mr Charles Darwin you have some explaining to do. After less than 20 minutes on barefoot, a slip resulted in a rather nasty gash along my right big toe; seven blisters and nasty gash, awesome. Wilma to the rescue. Much to my delight, our trusty guide appeared behind us and after expertly dressing my wound and in an act of true kindness offered me his shoes, complete with ankle support. You can see the stylish sandals in the picture below. Although many of you will think that the sock was to add just a little more style, the truth is that it was to merely stem the flow of blood from my big toe. The sandals proved to be my battered feet’s trusty companions for one whole day until a tricky downhill slope proved just a little too much for them. A strap broke and consigned them to sandal heaven. So, with my converse and havaianas a no-go and Wilma’s sandals at the gates of Saint Peter, it was back to ye ol’ trusty barefoot for the last part of the trek.
Fortunately, as if by some divine intervention, or maybe it was Wilma’s sandals looking over me, the last part of the trek went without stumble, fall or graze, albeit a little tough on the knees and ankles. Looking back, (although it may not seem so!) I had an amazing five days on the Lost City trek, however I can only wonder how different it would have been if I’d only had my ol’ trusty Y3 mules…
Comedy gold. Pure comedy gold. Love it, dont stop blogging and Forrest, simply dont stop being you! xxxx
ReplyDeleteJust read this blog because I'm doing a project in my Spanish class on an adventure and decided to do La Ciudad Perdida. Your trip sounded awesome. The part with the Colombian military at the Lost City was funny as hell.
ReplyDeleteP.S. I used the picture of you and your friends with the Colombian military in my Powerpoint... the picture filled up an entire slide. I just explained the Colombian military presence at the site. Thanks again. Sweet blog
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