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Published: September 11th 2007
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Me and the boys
Our welcoming committee to the lost city It began to occur to me that I had lost my mind . How did I think I could do this? I drew another ragged breath and tried to balance on my tired legs. I had never wanted to give up so much. All the scenarious of how I might be able to get myself out of this started to play through my head. Short of getting the hovering skateboard from Back to the Future, none seamed very feasible.
I looked up at the relentless mountain and down again at my clay coated boots. One foot in front of the other is all I could focus on. I walked a few more paces, the agony from the blisters threatning to well and truly surpass my pain threshold. The pack on my back felt like it housed a family of elephants.
It was only the first day.
I looked around at the spectacular valley. Palm trees, coffee plantantions and dense jungle coated the hills creating a canvass of neverending green. Pigs dirtied themselves in the mud while cows watched on with unblinking eyes. A farmer toiled at his crop while I grimaced and continued my climp uphill.
The
air was thick and humid and sweat ran in small streams into my eyes. The sun burned my neck and I slapped at the hundreds of insects intent on tearing my flesh from my bones.
The tough, unrelenting clay hill soon gave way to treacherous mud. Covered by the jungle canopy it never had a chance to dry and every boot or hoof impression was full of water. A veritable minefield waiting to suck your shoes off your feet or send you careening off the mountainside should you slip.
After millions of years of evolution you would surmise that as a human, being able to stay vertical would be a given. Not so. My own genetic makeup was sorely tested as time and again I fell over whilst trying to navigate the uneven terrain or jagged stones that offered the only means of access across streams.
I watched with envy as one of the local indigenous girls gracefully danced her way across the slippery rocks. Why couldn´t I do that? I bit back on my jealousy and slapped at another mosquito.
We were in the shadowy depths of the Colombian jungle undertaking the 5 day Lost
Watching the tourists go by...
Completing their 2 year compulsory military service City Trek. A gruelling adventure that was by no means for the faint hearted. Stragglers were in somewhat serious danger of getting lost or being kidnapped by Guerillas (the last kidnapping had been in 1993 but it was still a good incentive to keep moving).
The landscape changed constantly, each bringing its own unique challenge. The path was often very difficult to discern, sometimes barely more than a thin strip of dirt through high grass, a creek bed running low on water, a series of unrelated stones, twisted tree roots, or perilous rock ledges that afforded million dollar views of the surging water below (and had become the resting point for one soul who had perished earlier this year after slipping).
As is often the case, people take on these challenges to test their ability and so it ends up becoming a race for each checkpoint. The fitter ones storming ahead, with others spread out in haphazard intervals. Thus more often than not, you are on your own, left to ponder whether your consulate was right and you should have gone to Adelaide instead.
Now and again, military boys in green fatigues, AK47s slung casually across their
shoulders, would silently appear to point you in the right direction. Occassionally farmers, casually tending their cows, would ´happen´ to be at a fork in the road to make sure you didn´t go the wrong way - or stumble upon their coacine crop.
Amongst the top three biggest industries in Colombia, the illegal drug trade has a system and govenance all on its own. Money changes hands at all levels and as they say here 'Todo es possible con dinero´.
Given the importance of the industry to the economy we were permitted to view the cocaine making process. The most interesting chemistry lesson I had ever had - a dash of gasoline, a pinch of salt, a pitcher of acid …mix it, drain it, dry it….whala…ready for the streets of the Western world.
To wash the vision of the cocaine lab from our brains, the trek also included the harrowing crossing, or in technical speak ´fording´ of a river no leass than 18 times which you did bags aloft, water gushing above your waist and teeth gritted at the thought of losing your footing and being swept headlong into the rapids (the unfortunate fate for many a
Haviana). It made for a somewhat pleasant relief from the opressive heat of the jungle.
Every day it rains in the jungle. And every afternoon as the rain poured down we would huddle under the wooden awnings, admire the spectacular view, play cards and try to put off going to sleep in damp hammocks that seemed to package you up as neatly as a TV dinner for the bugs.
The climax of the trek was a terrifying climb up 1600 steep stairs to the Lost City. Built by the tiny Indigenous people of hundreds of years ago, they were barely wide enough to hold your toes. Coupled with that was the fact that they were so steep and slick with moss that any false step was guaranteed to break all your bones.
On cue, it started raining as I reached the bottom of the stairs. I tried to squash my fear as I got down on my hands and knees, devoid of any dignity, and climbed my way to the top. When I finally reached the summit, I vowed never to do something this crazy again.
As I nursed my wounds in camp I was faced
with the realisation that I physically and mentally could not go through with the remainder of the trek. The mere thought of going down those steps bought of visions of years in traction. I learned that a military helicopter was coming the next day to pick up one of the infirm military men. Given the state of my battered, bruised and bleeding body, I pleaded a case to get a lift. I was given a small ray of hope. IF it was large enough and IF it arrived before the time we had to set off I could hitch a ride.
Everyone was envious that they hadn´t thought of doing that and I had no shortage of volunteers to come along and ´help´me. Alas, the cards didn´t fall in my favour and I had to stick with the laws of gravity. What comes up must come down and I had to go the same way. Two swollen feet and a pounding heartbeat.
To my surprise, I actually enjoyed the 2 day trip back. Whilst every step was agony, I had to commend myself on making it under my own steam. And not dying in the process.
As
Rain rain go away.....
Every day the rain came down I hobbled my way into the final checkpoint, every muscle burning, bruises, blisters and bumps sustained from the countless falls a visible record of what I had endured, I looked at the fresh and eager faces of those ready to take on the challenge. If only they knew…..
´How was it?´ they asked. I took a moment to consider my reply. ´Fantastic´ I said.
The funny thing was …. I meant it.
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rach scotty
Rachael Hamblin
WOW!!
My boyfriend and I are from OZ. We are in Europe at the moment but late October we head to Sth America for 2 1/2mths. I have read your last couple of blogs and they are amazing everything I ever could imagine Colombia to be. So have you been anywhere else in South America? I would like to hear anything else amazing you have experienced and any tips on where to go (without 1000 tourists) what to do and what not to do - just some general waffle would be fantastic. Keep Smiling and haven a fabbo time! Rachael