Colombia
We had decided after 48 hours of no washing with salt water clinging to our skin and hair to splurge on some nice accomodation that night. We took a taxi past the stone, canon mounted walls of the old city to the Lonely Planet recommendation and found that not only had the price more than doubled, they required a prior booking. With our limited Spanish abilities we decided to pass as the front desk was being less than helpful (maybe because we looked so rough), but the doorman helped us out by directing us to a smaller boutique hotel named the Casa India Catalina. It was beautiful. The rooms were set in a hacienda style around a cental patio with a pool and our room was spacious with fresh, clean, white sheets and air conditioning. Even here though, the shower only ran cold water! Since it was permantly hot outside this wasn´t really a problem. The room wasn´t ready immediately so we went for lunch over the road to a nice pizza pasta restaurant with the most delicous herbal oil to put on the pizza. Finally we could go into our room and relax. After cleaning up and feeling human again we went back to the yacht club and collected our passports with no incidents.
We had dinner with our old boat friends. It was almost quite flat as we were all so tired. We ate at a small restaurant with a set menu of pasta and fresh fruit juices. THe waiter was having huge problems dealing with a group of 7 people and when Marty and I went to pay he thought we were ordering againg and brought us more juices instead of the bill. Once we had that sorted out we went back to our room and slept the sleep of the dead. It was so nice to be in clean sheets with room to move around.
The morning began late for us. We had intended to change over to a cheaper hostel room that night but didn´t have the heart to leave our comfortable room behind so booked for another night. The breakfast included with the room was fresh fruit followed by scrambled eggs with orange juice and coffee. We went out and found the tourist information office to see if we could find information about hiking to Ciudad Perdida or the Lost City. They didn´t know anything about it so we pushed our way back past the hustlers waiting outside and walked back through the sticky heat to a park where we sat down and made a plan of attack. There are so many beautiful buildings and places to visit in Cartegena, so we decided to wander around and take in the sights a little. We went into the cathedral. It was being renovated but it was so peaceful in there. The walls were stark white with frescos. It was a nice place to pray and rest from the bustling streets outside.
At 1:30pm we met a gentleman with an eyepatch who had lent us some money for lemonade at the yacht club until we could go out and change our money. He took us out to an emerald factory where we had a tour of the back room where about 17 jewellers worked at desks carving out emeralds, then we learnt about the history of the mine that supplied the emeralds and how emeralds are made etc. Of course the tour ended up in a shop and I was able to try on a huge emerald worth $40,000 US. We regretfully declined the offer of buying it, but had lots of fun looking.
The next morning our hotel helped us to get a shuttle bus to Santa Marta where we would be able to find out more about the Lost City. After looking on the internet it seemed like it would be safe enough to do. Driving north to Santa Marta was quite an experience. The first leg of the journey ended up being in a taxi that took the 80km road at 140km overtaking anything and everything in our path no matter what corner we were on. In a small town we were transferred to a shuttle in which the other passengers seemed to be quite wealthy older Colombian women. On the last leg before we came into Santa Marta we passed through the worst slum I have ever seen in my life. Little shacks made of driftwood and at times plastic, no bigger than the size of a double bed served as family homes. It was right on the beach and next to a salt plant, so I suppose the locals could work there and catch fish to live on. I felt irrational anger at seeing a coca cola truck parked up at the store. It seemed wrong to market to people living in this sort of poverty, but, they still deserve free choice to spend their money on what they want. Being deprived of buying soft drinks is possibly worse ethically.
Santa Marta sits on the Carribean Ocean, but the harbour wasn´t clear and though still warm, the air wasn´t hot like the other Carribean beaches we had been to. We stayed in a hostel called Casa Familiar who booked us onto a the Lost City hike for the next day. As we were in the process of doing so, a couple arrived back from the hike and they raved about it so we felt any last uncertainties laid to rest. We didn´t really hang around on the beach at all, instead preparing for the hike the next day.
We were picked up at around 9am in a Landcuiser base with the usual cab replaced with a garish colourful deck. We sat up in the back, Marty´s head hitting the padded roof as we bounced over potholes. We stopped next to the Tayrona National Park entrance to pick up the rest of our hiking group. They were actually a group of people on a Dutch tour through Colombia and were quite an interesting group. There was one American with them, Kevin, a doctor, who we enjoyed some great conversations with. The two ladies, Erica and Ana, were both Colombian born and adopted by Dutch families so were on the tour to learn a little about their routes. The remaining guys, Norman, Arch and Martin were either with the ladies or just there for a holiday. We all had guanabana juices before hitting the road again.
We were driven to the start of the track over a 13km 4 wheel drive road that was like nothing else I have ever been on. Frequent rain meant the clay road had lots of corrosion and we must have come pretty close to rolling on a couple of occasions. But, to my surprise, we made it in incident free - though Marty might have gained a couple of bruises on his arm from me hanging on to him so tightly.
We began our walk along a river, at one point stopping to swim in it despite some nibbley fish and spiders on the rocks. We had to walk up a hill to our first camp and no words could have prepared us for the continual verticle climb up a muddy clay track. This walk soon decided the places we would all walk in. One of the ladies was extremely driven to walk/run as hard as she could till she reached her destination and the single guys tended to keep up with her. Marty and I walked in the middle at a more moderate pace that allowed me to breathe and one of the Dutch guys walked at our speed also. Taking the end was the Dutch couple, Ana and Martin, who were on their first hike. This was a tough one to begin on.
At the top our guide, Wilmar, caught up with us riding a mule. Later on we discovered it was his farm we were walking over. He pointed out coca fields to us and a coca processing hut lying unused at the time of sight. We continued walking up to our first stop and in fact over walked it into a huge mud bog before our guide picked it and called us back. We had a small room with buckets of cold water to shower with - a relief as we were pretty hot and sweaty. Up here in the jungle covered mountains it was a lot cooler than Santa Marta and I wore a sweater for the first time in months. We were given a delicous dinner of rice with chicken in a tomato sauce and salad followed by cookies and a coca tea known as mate de coca. Hammocks were strung up on a balconey for us to sleep in. A few of us stayed up until 8pm playing cards then retired to the balconey. I read my Wilbur Smith book for a while. Ocasionally Marty would turn on his torch and move around a bit. I asked him if he was ok every time and he muttered he was. After a midnight bathroom mission I finally fell asleep - strange animal sounds from the livestock around the house having kept me awake.
We breakfasted on scrambled eggs and sweet white bread followed by home grown Colombian coffee. As we packed up our bags one of the guys suddenly yelled "get it off me!" I went to help, but seeing a gigantic, hairy spider on his back I screamed and ran away instead leaving Marty to beat it off with a t-shirt. After the excitement died down Marty admitted that a giant cockroach had kept crawling up the inside of his mosquito net the night before and flying onto his face, hence the torch and moving around. He didn´t want to tell me as he knew I would freak out and wake everyone if I knew.
Soon (at 7:30am) we were on the road again. We walked around the side of a hill through farmland. After an hour or so we were stopped for a break next to a couple of scrubby bushes. Sandflies or No-see-ums attacked me vicously despite a solid coating of insect repellant. I was going crazy until Marty picked me a branch of leaves which discouraged the biteys as I waved it around madly. It was so humid and I was sweating so much that any repellant must soon have been washed off. After a snack we moved on again. The front party soon left us behind and Marty and I found ourselves walking alone. We saw a coral snake on the path - a rare and perhaps dangerous sighting. At one point we thought we may have somehow become lost but finding some freshly cut pineapple under some leaves at a river let us know we were on the right track. This snack had been promised us earlier. Later we walked past an indigenous farmstead and some little girls ran out to say hello. I asked them in Spanish if our friends had walked past and they told us `yes`which was a relief. We moved on up past a village. The round houses were made of adobe with thatched rooves and the traditional white dresses/tunics they wore were spread out to dry on some bushes. We didn´t see anyone though so kept on walking. At this point we had been almost 5 hours without seeing someone we knew and barely taking a break so at the next river we stopped and took a swim. It was such a relief to get rid of the sweat and heat in the cold mountain water. I was feeling a bit cranky that we had been left to ourselves for so long and not sure of how much longer we needed to walk. Marty said with conviction it would be less than half an hour. I mocked him for being so sure but he was right - 20 minutes later we walked into our second camp. This one was two open sided shelters with cooking fires and room for hammocks to be strung as well as some picnic tables and chairs. We went down and took a swim in a swimming hole under a water fall in the big river that thundered past. Refreshed I came back up, needing to put on long clothes as anytime I stopped still mosquitos and no-see-ums would begin to feast on me. We had all just got into clean dry clothes and set ourselves up at a picnic table to relax when a curtain of rain began to fall. It was unreal how much water came down and it lasted for hours. The couple who took the rear of our hike hadn`t arrived yet and I felt really bad for them that on their first hiking experience they had to walk through such rain. They didn´t arrive for a couple of hours and rumours were rife that they may have turned back as the trail was pretty steep and tough. The relief on their faces as they walked in was obvious and we gave them a big cheer.
In the morning I woke cozy and well rested, snuggled in my hammock under a Bob the Builder fleece blanket. Marty swung my hammock until I finally dragged myself out. In the frenzy of packing up I lost the blanket to someone else and ended up with a smelly sleeping bag. I tried to take it in good grace but inside felt a bit ripped off and my mood swung downhill fast. I snapped at Marty and generally made things worse for myself. The start of our walk was quite fun over rocky ledges that dropped away to the churning river below. Our first crossing was chest deep on me and I carried my pack across on my shoulders. From there we had a steep uphill that kept going up. I was determined to keep up with the front group but no matter how fast I went the leading lady needed to be at the front and eventually I gave up. I was feeling really anxious about being left behind and my throat constricted so I couldn´t breathe. It was all a bit unecessary. Marty tried to be supportive but I was so grumpy it was hard for him. At the top of the hill we had pineapple then descended down to do a group of 7 river crossings in the valley that contained the Lost City. Before beginning the crossings we had lunch. A salad, the cook, Jose, whipped up right on the side of the river on giant leaves. The crossings were fun and I began to cheer up a bit. It was nice to have cold water soothe the itchiness of the bites on my legs.
The final leg for the day was climbing the stairs to the Lost City. 1900 slippery, downhill sloping, tiny stairs. My whole foot was too big for most of the stairs and I think Marty must have only been able to fit his toes on them. We got up safely and I actually enjoyed the climb up. Emerging onto the terraces of the Lost City did feel like arriving into a lost jungle paradise. Clouds and drizzle acentuated the remoteness of it. The city itself is stunning. The main plaza or terraces were immaculately manacured with green grass. Apparently dignitaries are able to visit and land there in helicopters. Originally tourists did the same, but they pilfered so much of the ruins that now it is forbidden.
We went and showered and Marty and I made friends again after he read my dairy entry and worked out what my problem was. We went down into the Lost City and made videos of each other to send our parents. The mosquitos were unbelievable. Marty joked that Australian mosquitos are quite snobby - if they come across insect repellant they won´t bite it. Ciudad Perdida mosquitos were only deterred by layers of fabric they couldn´t reach through. After a very early dinner, the cook and guide left to spend the night with the caretakers and we played cards by candlelight for a while before retiring to the bliss of mattresses laid out on a multistoried building´s floor for us. I felt claustophobic under the insect net but being out from under it was worse. Eventually I fell asleep.
I woke up on the right side of bed - a blessing for everyone concerned and after fish and cheese tomales for breakfast, we packed our bags and followed our guide down to the Lost City for a tour. Wilmar, spoke Spanish so Norman, who could speak Spanish better than us, translated for us. The people who lived there had buillt such a steep staircase so the Spanish Inquistadors couldn´t ride their horses up. People who lived in the river valley below were killed by the Spanish and the inhabitants of the city were driven higher into the cloud forested mountains where they died of dieseases. I could easily see why as the jungle is a ferocious and unfriendly place for people. The Lost City was only discovered in the 60s by grave robbers and their squabbles over the spoils grabbed the attention of the government. Soon it was policed but after a few years when the police attention was needed elsewhere, tourists took what the grave robbers hadn´t. Now only a few broken mortars and pestles remain along the foundations of the round houses. Beneath the undergrowth many more ruins remain to be uncovered so there may well be more undiscovered treasure there.
The chief of the village we had seen the day before walked through and told our guide there would be a lot of rain so we left the city behind to try and get as far as possible before heavy rain hit. Actually the heavy rain held off and it was more of a soaking drizzle that began as we departed the beautiful lush terraces. Some clouds moved and we saw a waterfall above the city completing the idea of paradise - though one with serpents.
Going down the stairs wasn´t as bad as I thought it would be. Crossing the river in the valley below wasn´t too bad either though the rain was clearly swelling the waters. Going back over the steep clay track was slippery and hard work but quite fun. Water ran over the clay and it was a challenge to stay on our feet. Eventually we reached the big river near our camp. The rain by this time had swollen the river and we didn´t want to tackle the place we had crossed earlier without the guide to show us where. There was a cable car that some of our party had used earlier to cross but it looked completely dodgy. To get into it you had to jump into it off a ledge. It was made of a square metal frame with some rotting boards at the bottom. On the other side there was a steep slippery rock to step out on that fell to the river quite far below. We finally made up our minds to cross and Norman made it safely. He was going to help me out from the other side. I was about to step in when Wilmar came around the corner. He laughed when he saw what we were doing but said it was safe. He took the rope off Marty and when I got in he let it go really fast. I made the mistake of looking down at the churning waters below, but made it across safely with Norman´s help. Marty came across with our bags - then Wilmar crossed the river!
What a relief to get back to camp and put on dry clothes! Nothing that had got wet had dried out at all despite hanging it all out every night and it smelt like our things - including our packs were growing mushrooms. A couple of the local village people came and looked at the photos Marty had taken of the Lost City with me. It was really special for me to have local people want to communicate with me about something not involving money. Everyone went to bed after bean casserole adn pork sausages at around 7pm. I stayed up a little talking to Kevin about not much before retreating to my donkey urine soaked sleeping bag to read myself to sleep.
Marty swung my hammock to the accompionment of strange dreams before I tore myself from sleep. We had a more relaxed start this morning with a later breakfast. Two local village ladies came and talked to us. One introduced herself to me asking where I was from and telling me her name was Alicia. Her friend had a baby that was really ill and they were looking for medicine. When I saw the baby I cried as it looked quite horrific, Kevin also had a look and told them to take it to hospital straight away. They didn´t seem to understand the enormity of the illness. The mother was happy and laughing and it was soon obvious she wasn´t going to Santa Marta. The jungle truly is a harsh place to live.
We walked back down, then up, then down to our next camp. Walking up the hill was tough and when I stopped for a much needed water break I was swarmed by mosquitos. They bit me so ferociously I cried. My legs were a mass of welts that only cold water relieved. Fortunately for me, after that hill the going wasn´t so bad. We stopped at a lady selling coca cola and indulged ourselves. Ten minutes on we stopped for a lunch break. While we were waiting for the last people Marty and I walked down the river a little and found the best swimming hole. A waterfall poured into it - you could probably ride it down, and a rope ladder hung down the side of a huge rock to get back out. We both jumped in before returning for a hearty vegetable soup.
After lunch we visited a cocaine factory. It consisted of a little wooden shelter with a smooth dirt floor on which a large pile of coca leaves lay. A man talked us through the entire organic chemical process of extracting the cocaine. Although we had heard of other travellers trying the white paste they make, we weren´t keen to try. Apparently it numbs your mouth. We met another traveller later on who had smoked some and said it left his whole face and throat numb on two puffs. Leaving the finca, we walked back to the same place we had stayed on our first night, pausing at a small store on the way. There were rumours of an army patrol in the area so we were relieved they hadn´t found us on our illegal tour. Just after reaching the farmhouse it began to rain again. Despite a good dinner, it felt miserable with so many insect bites, wet smelly clothes and for Marty donkey urine smelling and for me BO smelling hammocks to bed down in. After a few rounds of cards we went to bed extremely late at 8:30pm!
A noisy rooster woke us well before dawn. It was the most leisurely morning on our hike and we stood around chatting. We were fed big, fatty, egg stuffed, corn tomales. I ate all of mine sure in the knowlegde it would all be burnt off on our walk out. Walking down the steep hill we began on, we met the army platoon in full fatigues. The poor guys! It was such a hot, humid day. Fortunately for us the soldiers were friendly and we exchanged greetings with most of them. Down at the bottom of the hill we swam in the town dam. Down here the water was a lot murkier but still great on the insect bites!
Wilmar´s entire family joined us in the bright landcruiser for the ride out so we packed in like sardines with a few guys up on the roof also. With the rain of the day before the road out was worse than ever and there were some pretty hairy moments, once again it was a relief to make it out. After fruit juices we drove back into Santa Marta and ran around trying to do errands but failing miserabley before we met our fellow hikers for one last dinner before going our separate ways. We had big juicy steaks with side plates of french fries and they tasted great!
Our final morning in Santa Marta was spent trying to get hold of funds to purchase tickets out. The travel agent who was dealing with us didn ´t know how to authorise the use of Marty´s visa so we spent hours trying the bank and a large string of non-working ATMs before we finally found one that let us take cash out. We were just in time to catch a 3pm flight to Bogota. The plane we ended up on was obviously for well to do Colombians and the extra leg room afforded us was put to good use by Martin with his long legs. The airport at Bogota was surprisingly modern and a travel agent there helped us book an early flight from Lima to Cusco in Peru for the following morning. After a delicous though small portioned salad and pasta meal, we boarded another plane full of business people and good looking women, for Lima.
