Survival Tales from the Colombian jungle

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This entry comes from the depths of the Colombian jungle, where sadly I left the remains of my feet, much blood taken by mosquitos, any energy or desire for trekking i had left, an unread novel (in English..a rare commodity round these parts) and my travel journal containing tales from three countries. The travel journal, though probably filled with unintelligable rambles, is probably the greatest loss, but I will have to leave it to decay in the depths of the jungle, or to entertain the next weary backpacker who finds it in the hammock where it was left. So I decided to start a blog instead.

Before I give you the tales of my travels, I have to apologise if my English is bad..I believe with every new Spanish word I learn on this trip I lose a word in English. So if my English is not any gooderer can youse tell it to me ok?


So lets go back to the jungle. A girl in the hostel asked me today if I enjoyed the trek to Ciudad Perdida. I told her.."hmm I think 'enjoy' is the wrong word. I was glad when I finished. I guess I felt like I achieved something. I can't really say that I enjoyed the mosquitos and falling in the mud and having all my clothes wet for 5 days, and walking in the heat. It was a challenge."

The third day was when I ended up falling in the mud about 5 times, rain literarly hammering on my head. I got to the point where I was arguing with the path (worrying, I know). I was the last to get to the bottom of this particular section, not in the best of moods when someone asked me, possibly after looking at my face,"are you ok?" My delightful answer was " I can't believe I paid for this shit!" It was at this point that we were supposed to do a river crossing. With the heavy rain it became impossible to walk across. There was however a small wooden cable car operated by rope pulley generally used to transport food. That is how we are getting across??! Indeed we were, but first a problem had to be solved. The cable car was stuck in the middle of the cnayon, at least 15m above raging rapids. The boys pulled the rope tight and our brave chef volunteered to climb across the thin rope to untie the knot. Rather him than me, I could hardly watch. He made it across alive and we were all 'pulleyed' to saftey like bags of fruit, I female guide the last one across, propelling herself into the cable car with finesse.

Our guides were amazing. Our main guide, Ruth was petite but strong. In this machoistic society is is refreshing to see a woman helping a 6ft man across a river. It doesn't happen much in South America. Of course there was our chef, who spent every day running with a pack of food on his back, aswell as courageous feats dangling across rivers. Finally, there was our young assistant. At the ripe age of 13, this boy had given up school to work on the trek. He did seem to love it, especially swimming in rapids and jumping off cliffs and rocks at any opportunity. He was a hard worker though. I don't think you would find many boys in Australia serving up food to tourists and while trekking for five days.

Maybe I am not really the trekking type. I am not one of those hardcore fitness nuts that enjoys pain. AM I glad I did it? ..Maybe...At least I survived, jungle disease and injury free. It was beautiful and an adventure.

Will I trek again..umm does walking to the corner shop count? Ciudad Perdida..not for everyone, but in retrospect, worth it!

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