The Lost City
Colombia
La Ciudad Perdida, aka the Lost City, is a roughly 1,200-year-old archaeological site set within the Sierra Nevada mountains of northern Colombia. After being lost to the elements for centuries, the ruins were rediscovered in the 1970’s and then reconstructed over the next few years. In the 1980s it started receiving visitors and has been a major tourist attraction ever since. The chance to combine hiking and history appealed enormously to us, so we signed up for a 4-day tour into the steamy jungle (independent trekking was forbidden).
It was a 2-hour drive from the main city of Santa Marta to the rural village of El Mamey. As a group of 9 trekkers, a local guide and an English translator, we sat down to a huge lunch before commencing the trek at midday. We followed a part dirt, part paved road up a long hill, being pushed to the sides by motorbikes, trucks and mules. Occasionally there was a break in the trees, where distant mountains came into view, but mostly we stared at our feet. The pace was extremely quick, the air was hot and humid and we were sweating profusely. I was loving it already.
Half an hour in it started to rain. Not just a passing shower, but a full-on drenching accompanied by thunder and lightning. The only way it could have been worse was if hail stones started falling from the sky. There were several stops along the way where we could buy refreshments from wooden huts, but each break brought goosebumps to my skin as I rapidly cooled down. The track turned into a muddy mess, with streams running down the centre (not so much fun on the descents). Our shoes were immediately waterlogged so we didn't even bother trying to sidestep the puddles. Needless to say, views were non-existent. The rain stayed with us for the next 3 hours, all the way to camp. My bag cover had done absolutely nothing, so not only were the clothes and shoes I was wearing soaking wet, but so were all my spare clothes. With the high humidity in this region, they didn't dry at all overnight.
Camp was a peaceful site along a gurgling river, with open-air bunk beds lined up next to each other under a corrugated iron roof. There wasn't much to do for the rest of the afternoon except get to know each other, then eat an early dinner at 5 p.m. Both frogs and moths loved our lights, and we ended up completely mobbed by insects as we listened to our guide telling us the not-so-pleasant history of the region (drugs and murder featured heavily). Once this was over, it was straight into our mosquito net-covered beds for safety. It was 6.30 p.m.
5 a.m. wake-up call. It helped that it was already light, but putting on soggy clothes and boots didn't boost our morale. At least it wasn't raining.
Once again our guide set a fast pace, getting us up and over the first hill in no time. The path wasn't too slippery and we were granted the occasional view out to the surrounding hills. After 90 minutes we stopped at a traditional house of the Wiwa tribe, one of 4 tribes in the Sierra Nevada mountains. It was an open-sided structure with a thatched roof and a fire pit in the middle. We sat and listened intently to an indigenous Wiwa man describe (through a translator) his tribe's beliefs, language, ceremonies and interactions with the other 3 tribes in the area. He also demonstrated how to make a mochilla, a colourful woven bag, using local plants. While he was talking, I continually wondered how some of their traditions started (e.g. that men and women must live in separate houses) and found it surprising that they developed customs similar to Western culture before ever encountering a white person (e.g. marriage).
A little further along the trail, we passed by a small village of the Kogui tribe. A dozen or so huts were packed closely together, although these ones were round as opposed to the Wiwa's square shape. As we continued on, I was constantly in awe of the surrounding jungle scenery - it was completely different to anything I trekked through back home. Along with the absence of rain so far, today was a much more enjoyable experience. The mud was stable, river crossings were manageable, and there was a good mix of up and down. I was in my happy place.
Our lunch spot was at a camp beside a river. A few hikers jumped in the water to cool off, doing their best not to be swept away by the strong current. We laid a few clothes out to dry in the sun, which looked like it might work. Then the clouds came across. We knew it wouldn't be long.
The next challenge on the trail was a hill known as 'happy hour', because that's how long it usually takes hikers to climb it (although I’m not sure how happy they are about it). Our group took half that time, desperate to beat the impending rain. At the top was an excruciatingly long snack break, during which time the rain commenced. It was a stead downpour, not as heavy as yesterday but enough to turn our descent into a long mudslide. It was slow going as we did our best to stay upright. At least we were more proactive about keeping our bags dry. Nothing was going to keep our bodies dry.
Dripping wet, we plodded into camp, again beside a river but this time with a view straight out to a waterfall. Once again, we hung up everything we were wearing, but at least we could put on somewhat dry clothes. Then it was dinner, briefing and bed, with no moths or frogs to annoy us.
It rained. All. Night. Long. Every time I woke up it was pelting down. I was hoping it was just the sound of the river or the waterfall outside, but no such luck. We all sat and stared miserably at the skies during breakfast, wondering how much we would actually see of the Lost City.
By some sort of miracle, the rain stopped 5 minutes before we left. We were elated, but it didn't stop the path being treacherous. We clamoured up and down wet rocks beside a river for 15 minutes before crossing a precarious bridge. Then it was time for the fun part: 1,200 slippery steps directly up the side of a mossy mountain. The steps were so short that we ended up skipping many of them, and we arrived at the top much faster than expected. We were finally at the Lost City.
From the top of the steps we could see various platforms ahead of us, with circular stone rings on each. Our guide slowly led us through the site, climbing more and more steps as we went (we ascended a lot more than 1,200 by the end). Each stage provided increasingly higher views over the lower platforms, with more popping up in front of us. Cloud-dotted mountains appeared to the sides. When we eventually made the highest lookout, we turned around to see the iconic image of the Lost City used in all the advertisements. The sun came out briefly, and patches of blue sky poked through. If there was going to be a time on this trek that it wasn't raining, I was glad it was now.
Our guide gave us an in-depth history lesson of the site as we wandered though. It took 200 years to build, from 700-900AD, and was an important city for the various mountain tribes. In the 1500s, the Spanish arrived in Colombia. Although they didn't reach the Lost City, their diseases did. So many people died that the locals believed they had been cursed, so they left the city and moved further into the mountains. It wasn't until 1972 that it was re-discovered, at which time nearly all the gold and ancient relics were quickly looted and sold on the black market. Buildings were reduced to rubble, and only the stone outer ring of each house remained. Once tourists began arriving in the 1980s, the Sierra Nevada tribes realised the area wasn't cursed after all, and so they began to return. Today they use the site for traditional ceremonies, particularly in September when the trail is closed to tourists for the month.
Going back down the 1,200 stairs actually took us longer than it did to climb up. My feet were far too long for each step, causing me to turn sideways to descend. Also, the overnight rain had made the stones incredibly slick, slowing us down further. At least the sun was still shining, and it wasn't long before we arrived back at camp.
As feared, the rain arrived in the middle of lunch. We watched with dread as it bucketed down once again. The thunder soon arrived, and the weather was basically a repeat of day 1. The muddy paths we descended yesterday had turned into raging rivers, and we had to fight against their force to reach the top of the hills. Murky red-brown water rushed towards us, completely obscuring the ground. There were times when the water was shin-deep and we had no idea what we were stepping on underneath its surface.
The downhills were worse, with the trail covered in a thick layer of sludge that sent us skidding in all directions. Often our feet sank straight down, the mud filling our boots. At this point we didn't care how we got down the mountain, we just wanted to get down as quickly as possible. There was no tiptoeing around to find the most stable parts, no careful foot placements to prevent sliding, it was just go go go. At the bottom we crossed the river, which was a fierce beast compared to what we saw yesterday. Several waterfalls had swelled and were flowing over the path; new cascades had also formed. At times we required the support of 4 crew members to help us cross over them in a somewhat safe manner. Safety barriers didn't exist. There is no way this would be allowed in Australia.
We reached camp early and attempted to dry off, but as usual everything stayed damp. The whole group was shattered after the hike, but we tried to look back on it as a wild adventure. Understandably, not a single person had been able to take photos during any of this, although I wish there was some evidence of the torture we went through. It was hell, but a fun sort of hell that we were unlikely to forget any time soon.
Every time I woke up during the night, I was sure it was raining. I presumed the same when the 5 a.m. wake-up call came through. Danny provided the relief by telling me it was just the river, there was no rain in sight.
Pulling on our damp clothes and waterlogged boots for the final time, we set off from camp at record pace. The first stretch had us climbing up a long, steep ascent, and everyone was panting and pouring with sweat by the time we reached the summit. Continuous patches of mud kept our eyes focused on the ground, but at least we could see where we were placing our feet today. My shoes were giant mud cakes by the end.
Two hours after setting off we reached the halfway point, the camp where we spent our first night, allowing us to stock up on water and snacks. Music was blasting across the site, giving us our first taste of civilisation in 3 days. The sun was shining, and there wasn't a single dark cloud in the sky. It was time to hike out of the Sierra Nevada.
The final stage consisted of one manageable ascent before a long downhill back along the partly paved road. For much of this section on day 1 we were walking through the rain, but today was much more scenic. On either side mountains lined the horizon, with almost no evidence of human impact. As everyone was eager to finish quickly just in case there was more rain, we began jogging down parts of the road.
I had survived 4 days of hiking on perilous trails with only minor slips and skids, but 5 minutes before the end I had my biggest crash on the trek. To allow a motorbike to pass, I moved to the side of the road. In doing this, I stepped on a slimy, algae-covered section of concrete. I fell straight down, grazing my knee, thigh and elbow. Blood flowed down my leg, but all I could think about was reaching the end.
Back in the village of El Mamey, the group ate lunch in silence, utterly exhausted. Miraculously, it was still sunny, and we wondered where this sun had been for the last 3 days. We also knew that if it had been clear and dry the whole time, it wouldn't have been nearly as adventurous or memorable. As punishing as it had been, we wouldn't change a thing.
