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Published: April 6th 2010
The Crew
Emy, Me, Andy & MylesExiting the plane in Santa Marta, it was evident we were back to the temperatures and humidity I had become accustomed over the last couple of months. Bogota was a nice change from the relentless sweating, but at the same time it was good to be back by the coast and revert back to just a pair of shorts! I’d arrived with Andy and Myles, the two guys I met in Uruguay 7 weeks previous and who had unexpectedly showed up at my hostel in Bogota, and Emy, who the boys met at Carnival in Florianopolis…a great group who all had the same intention to visit Ciudad Perdida (the Lost City), which meant trekking through the jungle of Colombia’s north eastern region, taking 5 days (though you could also chose the 6 day option). We were aware of 2 companies and on finding the premises of one of them, the 4 of us were booked onto a trek, leaving the following morning at 08:30. We checked into a hostel - La Brisa Loca - and packed a small bag according to instruction; trekking shoes (or Asics running trainers), trekking shorts, t-shirts, swim shorts, towel, toiletries, first aid kit (thanks Mum) and
underwear…3 pairs of boxers should be sufficient!
Day 1
After an early night we were back at the Turcol office (the company we booked with and whom I totally recommend) and boarding an open air jeep to take us the 2 hours to the start of the trail, taking in the sights along the way, arriving at a ‘café(ish)’ for lunch, before the trek began. Our guide was a guy named Omar, a short little fella with a pot belly and very few bottom teeth, and our chef, Evan, who for the next few days who we nicknamed ’Cookie’…very original I know!
Not really sure what to expect of the terrain, the 4 of us set off about midday passing a couple of groups who had booked with other agencies. We immediately felt the effect of ‘group envy’, with them jealous of the fact there was only 4 of us and at least 10 of them. It really felt as though we had landed on our feet with the trail pretty much to ourselves. Being the only ‘Pom’ in the group, I had already been warned about excessive whinging, which made me even more determined to complete
this with a smile on my face and increased my discussion levels regarding the current ownership of the Ashes and Australia’s inability to overcome England in successive World Cups. An interesting few days!
Within half an hour we had stopped at the first of many swim spots, where we changed into our ‘swim wear’ and spent a good half hour jumping off the metre high rock into the cool water, laughing at how easy the trek must be if we had stopped already. How wrong we were!! Shortly after leaving the swim spot and after the first river crossing, we stopped at a hut for a banana and some cheese - weird I know - which was made fresh by the lady who lived there. I’m not sure of the energy provided by a lump of cheese, but it was certainly needed as what followed was totally unexpected and a big shock to the system! For the next hour and a half we had to hike uphill on a gradient over 45 degrees…a relentless climb that never seemed to stop. Every switchback resulted in yet more climbing, culminating in a lot of colourful language, a lot of perspiring and
a lot of negativity towards the trek…what had started out so easily was now proving a real challenge and I know I was concerned at how the next few days would pan out! We finally reached some level ground to ‘enjoy’ some freshly prepared watermelon, but the looks on our faces told the same story. I’m not a very religious bloke, but a short prayer was said in the hope that the rest of day 1 would become easier, which thankfully it did. A couple more up hills led to a relatively long downhill, which ended at our camp for the first night and after 3.5 hours, we were all looking forward to refuelling. Omar showed us another swim spot close to camp and again we enjoyed jumping from the 3 metre rock into the refreshing water, taking pictures under the waterfall.; an idyllic spot in the Colombian jungle.
When we returned to our ‘hotel’, Omar had put up our hammocks and Cookie had prepared a chicken curry type dish that didn’t take too long to dismantle. We sat around talking to Omar (albeit in broken Spanish) about his life and he told us that he and Cookie used
3 Amigo's
...at the start to process the cocoa leaves into pure cocaine paste, before the military gained control of the area about 10 years ago, forcing him into another line of business…a tour guide. To those of you who are unaware, this region was the main area for cocaine manufacturing up until a few years ago, with the farmers having little choice but to produce pure cocaine paste as they had no other means of income, especially one that guaranteed that level. I got the impression that they only did it for the money and not to be involved in the drugs trade, which I doubt many realised was booming outside of Colombia. Omar explained that we could visit a cocaine factory the next morning if we were interested, which we all were, along with some members of another group who were also staying at the same place.
Day 2
After a relatively good sleep we were woken by the smell of Cookie making coffee and hot chocolate, a theme to be continued over the next 3 mornings and a welcome start to the day. We packed our kit and followed a chap to the ’cocaine factory’ which was only a 10
River Crossing
...Emy flirting with Omar was a constant theme throughout the week! minute walk away and literally at the back of our camp. If we’d known about this the previous night, we might not have been in bed so early the previous night! Just joking Mum!
The ‘tour’ was actually very interesting and provided a good insight into what life had been like only a few years ago. Although very profitable, it was very dangerous with a lot of corruption, a lot of violence and a lot of killing…and in many ways the reason why Colombia has such a negative stigma attached to it and why many a traveller decides to stay away. Sad really, as my experience so far, couldn’t be further from this perception. The guy, who was only 26, explained that up until a few years ago he had been producing the pure cocaine paste as a full time job, but had had to stop when the leader of the paramilitary party (who looked after the cocoa farmers) was captured and gave up all known information to the military (the official Colombian army), putting a lot of people out of business. This lead to a stronger military presence in the area and a lot of the cocoa farms
were destroyed, with the government providing the farmers the opportunity to harvest other commodities such as coffee, as it was recognised that they were only doing this as it had become their way of life and nothing any more sinister. The guide told us he thought it was a fair trade off and resulted in a lifestyle he preferred.
We were then showed how to make pure cocaine paste, albeit in a tiny amount, which is actually a very simple process, but would take years of honing in order to produce the quality required for trade. He told us that to produce 1kg of pure cocaine paste, you would need the following ’ingredients’, which for those of you who like to dabble in marching powder on a Friday or Saturday (or both) night, may think twice before hovering your next line up your hooter!
Ingredients!
The leaves of 6,000 cocoa plants 2 metres high
200kg of salt
Powdered paint chemical
Sulphuric acid
700 litres of petrol
Water
Potassium
Bathroom cleaner (aka powdered bleach)
Recipe!
Grind cocoa leaves into a mulch using a ‘strimmer’ (the same as you’d use to trim the edge of your lawn)
Mylse, Emy & Andy
...at the end of day 1 Add the salt and powdered paint chemical and combine thoroughly
Place mixture into the petrol and stir for a couple of hours, extracting the ‘goodness’ from the cocoa leaves.
Dilute sulphuric acid in water and add to the petroleum mix.
Siphon the petrol from the water (oil floats on water) and feel free to reuse
Add potassium to the liquid which neutralises the effects of the acid.
Pass mixture through muslin. (The residue forms ‘crack cocaine’ (which is basically the remnants from what is already a process containing highly toxic chemicals. No wonder crack addicts are not the easiest people to warm towards!)).
Add ’bathroom cleaner/bleach strength powder’ to the clear liquid until it goes cloudy
Pass through more muslin
The resulting layer of paste on top of the muslin is pure cocaine!
If chemistry lessons had been this interesting at school, I’m sure we would have a few more ‘scientists’ amongst us now.
This paste is then collected by the paramilitary and taken to the dealers who would dry out the paste before adding the final ingredient, acetone (nail varnish remover). If you were to snort a line at this stage, you would be likely to talk
an extended version of gibberish, increase your drinking capabilities tenfold and not feel like sleeping for quite a while!
For this process, the paste producer gets paid about US $4,000 which once costs are taken out and divided by 5 (the amount of man power it takes to produce this much), leaves him with a cool US $300. Not a massive amount to us, but a considerable amount to them, especially if they are churning the stuff out in vast quantities…which I am assured they were just only a decade ago, to fuel the demand of the western societies.
Some of the plantations were/are enormous with production once on a vast scale. The guide told us he only shows these demonstrations to tourists to try and discourage the use of the drug, by showing us what goes into it. The cocaine is cut (adding something to it i.e. aspiring/detergent which would bulk it out and increase the volume which would then earn them more money) by the first dealer and made ready for distribution. It is subsequently cut by the next dealer and so on and so on…so you can imagine the ‘quality’ of the gear sold on
the streets of the UK! The guide says he has never taken it and has no desire to do so as he has seen what it can do to people, although when the military presence in the area is low, he still visits his ’secret farm’ of 400,000 plants and produces a kilo whenever he can. I guess old habits die hard, or the financial attraction is simply too much of a pull to walk away from!
We went back to camp, picked up the rucksacks and headed off for camp 2, which we would reach in little over 3 hours, feeling much fitter than the day before and thankful that there were no inclines as steep or as long as the first day. We arrived a little after a group already returning from the Lost City and managed to squeeze in another swim, before the rain set in for the afternoon. The remainder of the day was spent playing cards and eating the soup Cookie prepared for lunch and the hearty lentil stew he dished up for dinner. This also saw the moment that the group were affectionately assigned nicknames, for which we would answer to the rest
of the trip. Emy, an Australian blonde of 23 years of age was by far Omar’s favourite and who he would hope to become his second wife at some point along the trip. Emy became ‘Lolly’ and she took his advances with the humour it deserved, although it was obvious she wasn’t overly impressed with his excuses to continually touch her, or help her along parts of the trail my Nan would have handled had she still been with us, God rest her soul. I have mates back home who use this technique in trapping victims of the opposite sex (step forward Alex Gotch and Chris Brown) and it makes for horrific viewing, however Omar carried it off in a way that only made us laugh (well, the lads anyway). Emy typifies the Australian spirit and is an all round sweet girl with a cracking personality, throwing herself into things head first and not moaning once, even when it looked as though the trail had her beaten. Myles became known as Mr. Coker, not for his desire to experiment with the local produce, but because his surname is Coker…an unoriginal nickname, but an apt nickname all the same considering the
environment. Andrew was fondly given the title of ‘Grandpa’, which I think is because he chose to use a stick to help him along the trail and not because he is only 25 with the ability to pass as a 35 year old. And for my nickname! For the first time in a long time, I enquired about the possibility of potentially having a second helping of dinner, which was granted. Omar, on witnessing this request, decided on the nickname of ‘Piggy’, which is pretty ironic considering my racing frame and washboard abdominals! The fact that I ate no more (or no less) than anyone else was insignificant, Piggy stuck and I was woken every morning by Omar with little snorts, as though he was trying to communicate with me!
Tonight we would have bunk beds and the mattress was a welcome surprise!
Day 3
We were told that if the weather was good we would reach the Lost City today, which was enough incentive to get on the trail early, which we were by 07:00. We had a couple of stops along the way, eating fresh pineapple and bananas - the fruit tastes amazing here -
and for more photo opportunities at another waterfall, before arriving at the base camp just after 11:00. After lunch we were able to head for the Lost City - the sun was out and the sky was clear - and from what we could make out, we would be the only group up there! Big result!
It took about an hour to reach our destination, with an unexpected climb of over a thousand steps to contend with however, on reaching the summit, excitement took place of the pain we were feeling in our limbs!
“Ciudad Perdida (literally the Lost City) is one of the largest pre- Colombian towns discovered in the Americas. It was built between the 11th and 14th centuries on the northern slopes of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta and was most probably the Tayrona’s biggest urban centre. During their conquest, the Spaniards wiped out the Tayrona’s and their settlements disappeared under the lush tropical vegetation. So did Ciudad Perdida for four centuries, until its accidental discovery in 1975 by ‘guapures’ (robbers of pre-Colombian tombs). It sits at an altitude between 950 and 1300 kms. (Thanks Lonely Planet!).
Omar showed us where houses and
huts would have stood; where sacrificial circles and different other archaeological remnants lay until only recently. The whole area is set on different levels with stone paths connecting one another. It is not possible to reach this area by vehicle and is easy to see how it can lay undiscovered for so long. Having said that, it was easy to see how far the other way the place has gone in becoming a tourist attraction. Whilst walking up to a different level, we could hear a familiar noise from above, but couldn’t put our finger on what it was. We got there to find that some guy was cutting the grass on one of the levels with an industrial strimmer, that would not have been out of place in the tool shed of a local council! Had it not been so funny and so totally out of place, it would have probably spoilt the occasion…we had to take a photo!
It was an amazing place and meant I am one of relatively very few people to have visited the area, which I feel is a real privilege. Doing this trek and getting to this point was something I had
planned and looked forward to back home and it was a massive ’pinch yourself’ moment, looking around and realising exactly where I was. Simply breathtaking! The views were incredible, especially from the top tier when the sun really shone - I just hope the pictures do it justice. There was quite a strong military presence there which reminded us that trouble can still occur, having heard of kidnappings along the trail, however I never felt in danger and don’t think it should be a reason to put people off. I’m sure there are more dangerous things I will do on my travels! The military guys were happy to chat with us and let us have photos taken with them. Myles even managed to buy one of their standard issue caps for the price of 3 pints of beer in London…a memorable investment! We spent a good 2.5 hours looking around admiring the surroundings and were grateful to be the only group up there on a completely clear day. How different it would have been with numerous other people and with overcast conditions. Someone was smiling down on us for sure.
This night was again spent in a hammock and
I was ready for bed a little after darkness descended, which was about 18:30. I don’t think I have been to bed that early since I was about 6 years old and complete with iPod, was asleep in no time. I woke up during the night, looked at my clock on the iPod and noticed it was 01:30 - not too bad considering the awkward sleeping position I was in - until I realised that it was UK time and it was actually only 20:30 and I had only been asleep for 2 hours! Bollocks! It took an absolute age to drop off again and to say that that was the worst nights sleep of the trek (and probably trip so far) would be an understatement. I arose the next morning in not my best mood ever!
Day 4
The day was off to a bad start, compounded by the tinned tuna empanada (a deep fried pasty) that Cookie dished up for breakfast...not providing me with any nutrients required for the 3.5 hours back to the camp we stayed in the previous night. It was going to be a pretty chilled day and in hindsight would have been
better had we been allowed to continue to the camp where we spent the first night. We made the halfway point which was atop a pretty steep incline, to be greeted by more fresh pineapple and the chance to chat with another group who were on the last leg before getting to the Lost City. The highlight by far of this 20 minute stop was the emergence of a tiger snake (unsure where he ranks on the venom scale but I sure as hell didn‘t want a bite from the big fella), who happily cruised through where we were congregated and disappeared up a tree to get on with whatever tiger snakes get on with. I had not seen a wild snake in the Amazon and only seen the tail end of one in the wild before, so was over the moon to see a 3 metre (NOT small) reptile in its natural environment…a real reminder of where we were and a big tick in the box of my list of things to see! Later that day, another snake of the same species was also seen, this time right where we would be going to sleep…sweet dreams!
We got
The Crew
...at the start of day 3 to camp in good time and after tackling a big plate of rice and beans it was off back down the track to a 6 metre rock Omar had told us was safe to jump from. Myles chose to be the guinea pig, which was fine by me, and after one Australian survived, Emy fearlessly chucked herself off. If she were a guy, she would have a rather large set of testicles! Andy went next and I went last, (I had volunteered to take photos up until this point) which was a decent adrenalin rush, met with a refreshing sensation of the clear river. We chilled out there for a couple of hours, enjoying the surroundings and getting in a few more jumps, which by the time we had finished, left a numb sensation on my arse (and 2 days later, now have the bruise to prove it)! After another good day it was early to bed as we were to walk out the last 2 legs in the morning.
Day 5
We left camp at 06:30 with the prospect of 6 hours walking in front of us. I’m not sure of the reason for leaving the biggest
day until the end, but by the end of 90 minutes I was blowing out my arse and cursing my physical state, having just climbed the first quarter of the days walk, almost entirely up hill. I had not remembered the decent being as steep or as long and it came as a nasty surprise to not only me and my ’rugby player thighs’ but the majority of the other groups as well, who had by this point virtually combined as one, allowing individuals to walk at their own pace. Grandpa had strained his neck whilst cleaning his teeth that morning - soft Aussie - and it was evident that he wanted to get through the pain on his own…and without water. Myles and I left him at what had seemed like an ideal place to briefly rest and after 5 minutes and a decent amount of water, continued together at a decent pace. That was until about an hour later, when Omar crept up behind me stealth style, grabbed my hand and impersonated the sound of a wild dog. Needless to say, I screamed like a girl and almost lost control of my bowels, leaving the pot bellied Colombian
Me
...on a chair in the Lost City rolling around in the grass, laughing his gap toothed head off. Funny guy! We waited for Emy for a while and then started towards the camp we had stayed at on day 1, which would also signify the half way point for the day.
When I got there, Grandpa had his head under the tap, lapping water like a dehydrated animal, without a care that no water treatment tablet had been added to it. He didn’t look in the best of shape, but after a cooling off session in the water, his energy levels were back up and we left the rest of the groups behind and started off towards the finish line. We didn’t leave the group with the mindset of not being team players, but because we were both conscious of knee injuries sustained in previous times. I picked mine up whilst completing a RBS sponsored walk in Scotland 9 years ago, putting pay to a promising career as a professional footballer and justifying my reason never to visit Scotland again!
Leaving camp provided us with yet another incline, which got the heart rate up and the sweat pouring again. The talk was minimal between us
but the solidarity of knowing we were close to completion kept us ploughing on. We reached the top of the severe incline (now a decline) we suffered on the first day and was happy to find out that going down was nowhere near as hard as coming up. It went on for quite a while though and in places I even broke into a jog, just to take the stress off of my knees (only athletes can jog along this trail). After a good 20 minutes we were back at the cheese shack and taking a well deserved break, before discussing how far we were from the first swim spot which was where we would wait for Lolly and Mr. Coker, agreeing on little over half an hour. We were pleased to find we were jumping off of the rock and cooling down inside 10 minutes - a nice surprise. We had all but completed the trek and the relief on Grandpa’s face would have most definitely been replicated on mine. Myles and Emy joined us about 15 minutes later, cooled off in the water and then we walked the remaining 30 minutes together, eventually sitting down at the ’café’
The Hills are Alive...
...with the Sound of Whipper Snipper! where it had all begun 5 days earlier. A real sense of achievement was felt between the group and I personally was very proud to have spent 5 days in a truly unforgettable place with 3 people who I am sure will remain good friends.
The ride back to Santa Marta was long, bumpy and crowded (in the back of a 4x4) and it was a relief to check back into the same hostel and present a bag of sweat and clothing to the receptionist, which he assured us would be returned by 17:00 the next day. We took a well needed shower and I removed ticks from my bum and the inside of my thigh, not far from the twig and berries - not sure how they got there in the first place, but was mighty relieved to locate them before they buried themselves into my skin and recreated! We went for dinner at Ben & Joseps, a steak restaurant that was recommended to us and was mightily impressed with the steak put in front of me. Washed down with a couple of beers it was the perfect end to a perfect 5 days!
In all seriousness
(and for those of you considering doing this) the trek is not going to be the most challenging you could ever do. Sure, certain parts will have you breathing heavily and the sweat will be pouring, but depending on how you cope with this will depend on how much you enjoy it. We opted for the 5 day trek which meant only the last day would be of any real length, however we got through the last 2 legs in under 5 hours. Depending on the size and fitness of the group, you should never take more than 4 hours to complete a stage, which is broken up with pit stops anyway. We were lucky with the weather, in so much it only rained at night or after we had completed a stage and I am sure it would be very different in the tropical rain. On that basis I highly recommend trekking between the 17-21 of March! I am by no means an athlete and the fact I have removed C and V from my alphabet should go some way to explaining my fitness level, however I didn’t really have too many problems and in fact I really enjoyed
the challenge - the psychological side as well as the physical. I like a challenge and like the personal sense of satisfaction it gives at the end.
We went with Turcol (recommended in LP) and it cost $500,000 pesos.
I also kept in mind the image of my very good mate, Bryan Hilton, puffing his way up Adams Peak in Sri Lanka 2 years ago. It was amazing to see a 14 stone mass of sweat and hair almost instantaneously change his physical state when presented with an impeccable pair of legs and beautifully pert arse! Alana, an Australian girl of 21 years, also on the walk that cold December morning, transformed Bryan into an athlete in a split second, and the remembrance of his determination to reach the summit kept me going to the end of this trek...whilst also providing me with a masive grin. That was a funny few hours mate and well worth the pain!!
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non-member comment
Very nice travel. I'm from Colombia, I wish I could go there and visit ciudad perdida, maybe one day. Nice you guys made it.