Another pleasant wine, food and Temazepam fuelled bus ride brought Kim and I to the Colombian coastine and neighbouring towns of Santa Marta, and the more modest Taganga. Renound for cheap diving courses and tourist activites, Taganga’s heat and cruisy vibe was welcomed by us both! As were the spoils of our funky hostel including private room, dvd collection and swimming pool.
Whilst the beach itself was nothing to write home about, we happily lazed by the pool, worked on our tans and poker skills with our new Irish crew - five delightful lads from Sligo, and Fast Eddie the token Aussie. When I scooped the pot alter one particulary long, hard-fought Texas Hold’em session, there was speculation that the lads had just been fleeced by a pro… to which I could only protest beginners luck, and put my winnings over the bar.
With six strapping lads for support and protection, Kim and I decided we were up for doing the Ciudad Perdida, or ‘Lost City’ trek. Comprising 4 nights and 5 days of jungle hiking, crossing flooded rivers, skirting old guerilla territory and sleeping outside in hammocks, we knew it would be a challenge. But as other travellers had described to us the amazing summit at the Lost City and surrounding native tribes as an unforgettable experience, we hopped onboard.
Alter all, roughing it and having a laugh with the lads for a few nights… what could possibly go wrong??
Day 1 began innocently enough with everyone in good spirits and enjoying a ride in the open aired venga-bus. After signing in with the local Policia, there was to be a 2 hour jeep ride up through the mountains to the starting point. We were warned about the appalling state of the track after days of heavy rain and frequent landslides, so whenthe group wouldnt all fit in the jeep, Kim and I jumped at the chance to go by motorbike. Our guide Wilson recruited two local, seemingly unoccupied gentleman to throw us on the back of their bikes and set off.
Ten minutes into the journey our decision to go on two wheels was proven a good one, when we met the lads waiting in line to pass a particularly hairy spot on the track. Another landslide had covered half the narrow pass (which couldnt have been more than 3m on a good day) and weakened the ledge underneath. A dozen or so local men were industriously digging into the side of the mountain, endeavouring to move the track inwards and out of danger.
Once the newly forged track was deemed safe, a small jeep fired up its engine. The ground was mostly mud and large rocks however, the vehicle would essentially need to ‘skate’ across the pass. I couldn’t bear to watch... considering the 80m drop which was waiting to swallow any wrong move. The engine spurred, everyone collectively stopped breathing… and when I turned the jeep was balancing precariously on the edge, an inch either way the difference. At the last second the driver ‘gunned it’ and screeched across the other side. Phew.
After being assured by our lads that they would not board their vehicle until it was safely across the pass, we jumped back on our Yamahas and took off. I can only describe the next 90 minutes as some of the most exhilarating, breathtaking, white-knuckled adventure fun of my life!! The track was a mish-mash of mud, pot holes, steep climbs and descents and the ocasional creek and waterfall. Then every few minutes we’d build up speed, round a bend and in front would appear the most incredible vista… rolling green mountains and jungle, against a bright blue sky. And here I was holding onto my new best (and most trusted!!) friend Javier for dear life, with my cheeks aching from grinning and laughing so much. An unforgettable experience… and the trek hadn’t even started yet.
By the time we had eaten our lunch, put garbage bags over our backpacks and covered all visible Aussie and more importantly Irish skin with sunscreen and mozzie repellant, the sky had turned a mottled grey and it was obvious we would soon be soaked through. But I have to admit, hiking alongside the overflowing river and exploding waterfalls in rain so heavy we could barely see, was quite novel and we were all having a great time. I particularly enjoyed holding my bag in the air whilst trying to cross said river, negotiating huge rocks and keeping one eye out for snakes!
Whilst the beach itself was nothing to write home about, we happily lazed by the pool, worked on our tans and poker skills with our new Irish crew - five delightful lads from Sligo, and Fast Eddie the token Aussie. When I scooped the pot alter one particulary long, hard-fought Texas Hold’em session, there was speculation that the lads had just been fleeced by a pro… to which I could only protest beginners luck, and put my winnings over the bar.
With six strapping lads for support and protection, Kim and I decided we were up for doing the Ciudad Perdida, or ‘Lost City’ trek. Comprising 4 nights and 5 days of jungle hiking, crossing flooded rivers, skirting old guerilla territory and sleeping outside in hammocks, we knew it would be a challenge. But as other travellers had described to us the amazing summit at the Lost City and surrounding native tribes as an unforgettable experience, we hopped onboard.Alter all, roughing it and having a laugh with the lads for a few nights… what could possibly go wrong??
Day 1 began innocently enough with everyone in good spirits and enjoying a ride in the open aired venga-bus. After signing in with the local Policia, there was to be a 2 hour jeep ride up through the mountains to the starting point. We were warned about the appalling state of the track after days of heavy rain and frequent landslides, so whenthe group wouldnt all fit in the jeep, Kim and I jumped at the chance to go by motorbike. Our guide Wilson recruited two local, seemingly unoccupied gentleman to throw us on the back of their bikes and set off.
Ten minutes into the journey our decision to go on two wheels was proven a good one, when we met the lads waiting in line to pass a particularly hairy spot on the track. Another landslide had covered half the narrow pass (which couldnt have been more than 3m on a good day) and weakened the ledge underneath. A dozen or so local men were industriously digging into the side of the mountain, endeavouring to move the track inwards and out of danger.
Once the newly forged track was deemed safe, a small jeep fired up its engine. The ground was mostly mud and large rocks however, the vehicle would essentially need to ‘skate’ across the pass. I couldn’t bear to watch... considering the 80m drop which was waiting to swallow any wrong move. The engine spurred, everyone collectively stopped breathing… and when I turned the jeep was balancing precariously on the edge, an inch either way the difference. At the last second the driver ‘gunned it’ and screeched across the other side. Phew.
After being assured by our lads that they would not board their vehicle until it was safely across the pass, we jumped back on our Yamahas and took off. I can only describe the next 90 minutes as some of the most exhilarating, breathtaking, white-knuckled adventure fun of my life!! The track was a mish-mash of mud, pot holes, steep climbs and descents and the ocasional creek and waterfall. Then every few minutes we’d build up speed, round a bend and in front would appear the most incredible vista… rolling green mountains and jungle, against a bright blue sky. And here I was holding onto my new best (and most trusted!!) friend Javier for dear life, with my cheeks aching from grinning and laughing so much. An unforgettable experience… and the trek hadn’t even started yet.
By the time we had eaten our lunch, put garbage bags over our backpacks and covered all visible Aussie and more importantly Irish skin with sunscreen and mozzie repellant, the sky had turned a mottled grey and it was obvious we would soon be soaked through. But I have to admit, hiking alongside the overflowing river and exploding waterfalls in rain so heavy we could barely see, was quite novel and we were all having a great time. I particularly enjoyed holding my bag in the air whilst trying to cross said river, negotiating huge rocks and keeping one eye out for snakes!
Forget the Leyland Brothers, Attenborough and even Rusty Coight… a new breed of sexy, blond hardcore adventurers was being born!
Enter the first ascent. The rain went from charming novelty to worst enemy, turning the incredibly steep track into a pure mudslide. Each step was a battle to stay upright, keep your shoes on, and try to suck in a few breaths. It was pure pain! Poor Kimmy, after being violently ill two days prior, soldiered on like a trooper, and being the good friend that I am, I stuck with her while the lads forged ahead. Ha ha yeah right!! My act of selflessness was actually a thinly veiled attempt at going as slowly as possible, to avoid succumbing to the dots before my eyes and passing out cold!
Wet, freezing, with mud on every inch of our bodies and our runners weighing a tonne, we finally reached camp one after four hours. The camp was the remote, mountain-top house of a local farming family. They had very kindly set up a table, boiled some water and put up hammocks in an outside shed, and they greeted us warmly.
The loud protests my body made on the climb up turned out to be more sinister than just extreme unfitness, with Kim’s bug taking over and sending me spiralling into the black hole of sickness. Shivering, shaking and pale I tried to get comfortable in my hammock, which when covered with enormous mosquito nets were like little cocoons… sounds cosy, but they were extremely difficult to make a rapid exit from during the night when one wasn’t very well!
By morning, after little sleep, the prospect of my trekking for 8 hours was looking bleak. I found it difficult to stand let alone walk, and Kim was still not 100% having not eaten herself in days. Weighing up the two options – continue on or bail – my brothers voices were ringing in my ears, with sentiments like ‘toughen up’ and ‘no sister of mine is a quitter’… but ultimately common sense prevailed and we reluctantly pulled the pin. Had I known there would be a 12 hour saga to get home to follow, I probably would have sucked it up and kept going!
Medical evacuation Colombian style envolved a rather uncomfortable donkey ride, four hours stuck in the middle of nowhere, a 4WD, and topped off with an open air bus ride… in pelting rain.
All the while i was thinking, ‘Im being punished for being weak as piss’!!
Enter the first ascent. The rain went from charming novelty to worst enemy, turning the incredibly steep track into a pure mudslide. Each step was a battle to stay upright, keep your shoes on, and try to suck in a few breaths. It was pure pain! Poor Kimmy, after being violently ill two days prior, soldiered on like a trooper, and being the good friend that I am, I stuck with her while the lads forged ahead. Ha ha yeah right!! My act of selflessness was actually a thinly veiled attempt at going as slowly as possible, to avoid succumbing to the dots before my eyes and passing out cold!
Wet, freezing, with mud on every inch of our bodies and our runners weighing a tonne, we finally reached camp one after four hours. The camp was the remote, mountain-top house of a local farming family. They had very kindly set up a table, boiled some water and put up hammocks in an outside shed, and they greeted us warmly.
The loud protests my body made on the climb up turned out to be more sinister than just extreme unfitness, with Kim’s bug taking over and sending me spiralling into the black hole of sickness. Shivering, shaking and pale I tried to get comfortable in my hammock, which when covered with enormous mosquito nets were like little cocoons… sounds cosy, but they were extremely difficult to make a rapid exit from during the night when one wasn’t very well!
By morning, after little sleep, the prospect of my trekking for 8 hours was looking bleak. I found it difficult to stand let alone walk, and Kim was still not 100% having not eaten herself in days. Weighing up the two options – continue on or bail – my brothers voices were ringing in my ears, with sentiments like ‘toughen up’ and ‘no sister of mine is a quitter’… but ultimately common sense prevailed and we reluctantly pulled the pin. Had I known there would be a 12 hour saga to get home to follow, I probably would have sucked it up and kept going!
Medical evacuation Colombian style envolved a rather uncomfortable donkey ride, four hours stuck in the middle of nowhere, a 4WD, and topped off with an open air bus ride… in pelting rain.All the while i was thinking, ‘Im being punished for being weak as piss’!!
(Lucky the lads took a few special pics for us to remember...)
