Ciudad Perdida

There is a lot to write about. I'll do it out of order, because the five day trip to Ciudad Perdida was the highlight. The pictures are here:
http://picasaweb.google.com/108723329678166020807/CiudadPerdida#

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Day 1

After a long bumpy ride from Santa Marta, we arrived in Machete, a small pueblo just before the path leading to the Sierra Nevada. There was a group of young men playing 'tejo,' a game where you throw round stones into a mound of clay with a packet of gun powder in the middle, that explodes when you hit the target.

And off we went; the guide Cesar, a Dutch couple Richard and Marika, a couple from Jackson Heights Christian and Jess, and me. Cesar's son, Cesar, took a mule ahead with our food for the trip. I went with a company called 'Turcol.' There was another group from 'Magic Tours' running at the same time as us: a couple from Oregon and a British fellow. We didn't walk together, but we usually ended up staying at the same sites.

As I mentioned in my previous entry, I was well prepared for this trip. That turned out to be to my detriment. My bag was quite heavy.

The first day was the toughest. It was actually the shortest day of hiking, 3 hours, but there was a lot uphill, and I certainly struggled. Marika was unlucky enough to fall into the first river we crossed, leaving her shoes soaked for the remainder of the trip.

There were lots of little tiendas along this part of the trip; selling gatorade and such, or with running water to fill up our bottles. Cesar also gave us fruits at most rest stops. Oranges and pineapples never tasted so delicious. At the first rest stop, the home of a Kogi family, we ate oranges, and there were some chickens tossing dirt around and pressing their rears against each other to mate. At the second, we fed the centers of our pineapples to a stray dog. The magic tour group caught up with us, and there was a different dog following them, which joined our group when we left the tienda. Later, when we tried feeding pineapple centers to this stray, he refused them. Thus Richard gave him the name 'No-Pina.'

The clay changes colors like a rainbow on the walk. Giant blue butterflies soar about. Ants carry leaves across the path and up tree trunks.

At the first campsite we took a dunk in a natural pool. That night Cesar told us stories of the jungle, and of awful groups in the past. By the river next to our open cabin, there were upside down hanging flowers called Borrachero, which apparently make you flip out if you eat them. Our group took them, stripped, and ran rampant all through the night. He told us to check inside our shoes in the morning for scorpions and spiders before putting them on.

I read Juan's copy of "This is IT" by Alan Watts during my nights in hammocks.

Day 2

We woke up early to watch a full demonstration of how cocaine is made. Apparently almost every tourist group goes to see this, a little off the beaten path. Coca leaves are picked, mashed, add salt and cal (a type of rock), push around with a shovel, dance on it, add gasoline, stir, add water with a small amount of sulfuric acid, let sit for the gasoline to rise, add iodine, filter until liquid is clear, add baking soda little by little, filter again, what remains on top of the filter is the coca paste, which requires the final step, not shown, of drying and adding acetate.

The young man who gave this demonstration had been making cocaine for twelve years, since the age of fourteen. But he said he never touched the stuff himself, neither did almost any of the farmers, because they knew what went into it. He said a farmer growing corn, or some other crop, makes the equivalent of about $3 a day, while making cocaine would earn about $15 a day. Not a lot for the farmer for a good deal of risk. But cocaine is no longer prevalent in that region; its production has moved to other parts of the country. He has a regular farm now, and gives these demonstrations to show tourists how disgusting cocaine is, and to talk a little about how the drug has effected his country. He said Paramilitary groups protected his family and farm. They made things secure, but had very strict rules. If someone making it began using, the Paras would kill him if he wouldn't stop. In the era of Pablo Escobar, if people made cocaine without going directly through him, they were killed. Guerillas would take over towns in order to seize the fields. Rampant death as a result of the money made from this drug.

There was a large breakfast of eggs and toast. The hike was easier, but still quite strenuous. Not so many tiendas anymore. We passed by a Kogi village used for rituals and meetings. No-Pina continued to follow us the whole day. Passed by some interesting creatures: a spiny caterpillar, some cricket-beetle mix like thing, a crab.

That night we played a vicious game of spoons, with the losers having to make animal sounds and movements, and the winners consuming tasty Gol bars.

Day 3

The next day we had to cross a number of rivers, not walking over rocks like before, but fording. There was a cart some Kogis used to cross at one point, but Cesar said it was much easier, since we would be getting wet anyway, to go through the water. I meticulously dried my feet after every crossing to avoid blisters, but somehow still got a big one of the second toe of my right foot.

No-Pina decided to leave with the other group this morning. At the river crossing, he tried to follow them, and ended up being tossed down stream, back onto the same side. They tried to summon him towards the cart, but eventually had to keep going.

Day by day I worried about the water less and less. Initially, I only drank bottled water. Then, I started to purify water filled up at various homes/campsites. Then, I purified water from clean flowing streams. Then, I would fill my water bottle from campsites without purifying. Then, I would fill up water from the clean streams without purifying, if Cesar said the water was safe. The process of purifying is tiresome, and seemingly unnecessary, since I did not have any problems with my stomach on the trip. Once Cesar lent me a lemon to squeeze in and that seemed to work fine. But clean mountain water is clean mountain water. It's delicious.

We passed by a gigantic 1,200 year old tree. There were many huge trees, but this topped them all. We encountered spiders, snakes, and a strange shiny-aqua bellied butterfly-winged insect.
After arriving early at the next campsite, we played cards for a bit.

Day 4

I awoke from odd nightmares. My pocket light had remained in the on position close to my hammock.

A different dog followed us. No-Pina Two. He would stand whimpering and shaking at the riverside, and lift his paw asking to be carried across. Clearly tourists had fallen for this before. Jess carried him across once, and I helped him across another time.

Ciudad Perdida was gorgeous. We ascended 1000 steps, constructed in the year 700, to the ancient city. From the moss covered stones of the old market place, to the open landscape of the Shaman's thrown room, it was otherworldly. I dreamed of a life long passed and secrets never to be told. I felt centered as a myriad of fantasies passed through me. I thought of Hermann Hesse's 'The Glass Bead Game.' I wondered if I had found what I was looking for coming into the jungle? I encountered my own will, simply walking there. I pushed myself hard when I might otherwise have rested. I considered my attitude towards group dynamics as I walked with strangers. The group would unhesitantly leave someone moving slower behind temporarily. This bothered me, not just because it was the jungle in Colombia, but it seemed a simple matter of respect for the needs of others. I was usually in the middle of some running ahead and some drifting behind. I went deeper into my attitude towards empathy with this, wondering at its potentially as a reflection of unity, or a mask to avoid full asserting my own strength. What makes me stay behind with those moving slowly, or burst ahead and push myself with those trying to race the jungle rather than experience it. When I wonder how to confront a snake in the forest, I feel I might really be wondering how to confront my own fear in general. Or even my own hesitancy. I determined this would be a journey to my center. In that I confronted these truths, or at least questions, thoroughly and dynamically, I find this was a successful trip. An experience of connection; in moments of genuine questioning, in moments when I surprised myself with the negative feelings and judgment that emerged, and in moments of genuine comfort, looking out over the vista. All of it was good.

I sat by 'the fountain of youth,' and considered the delight and naturalness of being a child playing in a pool such as this out in the jungle. When leaving, there was a snake on the path. I believe Cesar said it was a 'rabe amarilla,' but I was unable to find a snake of that name when I looked online. It was yellow and small, but Cesar said it could kill with a bite. The dog wanted to play with the deadly serpent, and walked right over it. Someone had to pull the dog away, it was a close call, as Pedro, the other group's guide, tossed a giant rock onto the snake, crushing its head. The 'natural' life no longer seemed so simple and delightful for the child by the pool.

We walked a lot that day after visiting the city. I walked and daydreamed more on this day.

Day 5

A day crossing somewhat familiar territory backwards. The first two days worth in one day. Luckily we had a chance to go for a dip before the final chunk. I only hopped in and hopped out of this one. The water was murky and loaded with fish. We spit our orange seeds into the water, and rushes of fish would surface for them. Then they went at the peels like piranas.

Back at Machete we were glad to see No-Pina had returned safely.

On the way back, after the bumpy bit, some police flagged us over and detained us temporarily for having one too many people in the vehicle. They seemed to be expecting money, but the driver wasn't giving, so after a frustrating wait, they sent us on our way.

I had a quick nibble, went into a hostel, wrote some, read some, and watched 'Anchorman' with Spanish subtitles.
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Before Ciudad Perdida I was in Santa Marta and Tanganga. The sunset in Santa Marta harbor was nice. The cliff-side ocean-side walk from beach to beach in Tanganga, the fresh mango juice and snorkeling, were also enjoyable. I couldn't go to Parque Tayrona because I had to spend a number of hours renewing my Visa.

I spent a couple hours layover in Bogota, and tried to do some exploring, with little success. A woman at the airport recommended 'Gran Estacion.' I got there only to find it is a large mall. I particularly dislike malls. I got on a bus for a bit, then returned to the airport.

All in all, a great little vacation before my final weeks of work here in Colombia.