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Finally got this thing up to date, been hanging over me for ages now!
Survived the Lost City, returning with an impressive collection of mosquito bites and minus about a thousand litres of sweat. Five days of walking had us walking up and down hills through the jungle, splashing and swimming our way across rivers and finally reaching the `Lost City`, a six hundred year old city that was rediscovered in the 1970`s. Tucked into the jungle way up on a ridgeline, the city was once home to 5000 people who apparently fled into the mountains when news reached them of the arrival of the Spanish. They`ve never been seen since. Mysterious.
After Guinny came back with stories of wading through mud the entire time I was expecting the worst, but thankfully by the time we arrived it hadn`t rained for a week. Most of the mud had dried out, making for much easier walking. It wasn`t too hard going, what killed me was just the heat and humidity. On the way up one of the hills under the midday sun I found myself counting the drips of sweat dripping off my nose. For a while there they were going at about one every two seconds. Luckily for us the track followed rivers much of the way so it was never too long between refreshing dips.
Our group was the United Nations of treks with New Zealand, Australia, Colombia, Slovenia, Holland, Denmark, France, Canada and the USA all represented. One of our Colombians was even a priest. As someone told him on the trek, Augusto wasn`t your average priest, or at least not what I think of priests as being like anyway. Equally happy to help polishing off a bottle of rum or aguadiente (though with more moderation than the rest of us) or attempt backflips into the river, he even turned up to dinner on our return to civilisation riding a motorbike. Not your average priest!
Three days in and we made it to the base of the ridge below the Lost City. All that stood between us and `re-rediscovering` it was 1260 steep slippery stone stairs. Apparently people back then were tiny, or at least they had tiny feet. I could barely fit my boots sideways on most of the steps. After sweating our way up to the base of the city we were greeted by a series of round stone terraces and a welcoming committee of attentive mosquitos. Another 800 midget steps up through the lower terraces brought us to the main part of the city, looking out across the jungle cloaked slopes to the river below. Up here were a dozen Colombian soldiers who must have drawn the short straw and were spending three months living amoungst the ruins and protecting us tourists from the (slim) threat of kidnapping. Must of been one of the dullest postings they could have got anywhere in the country. The definite highpoint of their day was the arrival of a bunch of sweaty, smelly tourists. Happy posing with everyone complete with guns, there must be photos of these guys looking staunch with people from every country on earth. After our photos they pulled out their own cameras and got photos with all the girls. One of the few perks of the job I guess.
Back down the hill, it was back to camp where rum, cards and bucket drum music filled in the evening. Took two days to walk back out, with slightly more downhill than on the way in. Paid a visit to a `cocaine lab` on the second to last day where a former coke producer now showed tourists how he used to go about, making more money now than he ever did back then. Was interesting to visit and definitely enough to put you off when you see them putting petrol, caustic soda and acetone (amoungst other things) into rusty drums under muddy tarps in the forest. Was all very hush hush with us not being allowed to take his photo or talk about it despite it being mentioned in the Lonely Planet.
Made it back to Taganga mid afternoon on the final day. Muddy, smelly and covered in bites, a couple of hours cleaning myself and gear then we all met back up for a meal and what turned into a rather late, still drinking beer on the beer at five in the morning. Nice to do very little the next day apart from enjoying the sun, giving the mosquito bites time to heal and organising a dive course for the following day.
Taganga is one of the cheapest places in the world to dive, so couldn`t really leave without giving it a go. Actually, after three weeks here I`m feeling very much at home so it was partly an excuss to stay a bit longer. Began my Open Water Dive certification, a three day course which allows you to dive throughout the world. First time under was a very strange feeling that took some getting used too, but after a few more times and practising various emergency situations was feeling much more confident. After some pretty relaxed theory examinations I paid my money and got the certificate. Now got to actually put it to use somewhere.
Really can`t justify staying here any longer so going to take the bus up into the mountains today. Going to be tough going back up to the cold and the altitude after this, after three weeks on the beach. Too easy being here, have definitely slipped into a routine where the toughest decisions each day are how many swims to take and what exactly to eat for lunch. Travelling solo now that Jess is back in the UK and Guin has gone to find somewhere to work down south.
Think next stop for me will be Parque Nacional El Cocuy, a park with beautiful big snowy mountains rising up to five and a half thousand metres. Not an easy place to get to so got some interesting bus journeys ahead to get there, no doubt!
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