Ascending the Mountain To the Lost City in the Colombian Jungle (Part II)

Click here for Part I of the trek

the jungle surrounds the river below

thick forests upon the hills

The river remains our constant companion, murmuring below, as we trudge the hills surrounding. While the emerald green vistas of the rainforest are awe-inspiring, the one thing thicker than the forest are the swarms of mosquitoes. Stop for more than a few seconds and you'll be besieged, and these miscreants move like Russian Mig fighter jets, somehow eluding the barrage of heat-seeking missiles I continually fire in their direction, signified by a thunderous mid-air clap ... of my hands.

hiking the dark jungle path

The less I stop the safer I am; yellow fever, dengue, and malaria all exist in this region. I do my best to take in the beauty around me, for no more than a few seconds at time. 

We cross rivers of waste-deep water in bare-feet, the rocky bottoms and strong currents adding greatly to the level of difficulty. Considering my cell phone, which I brought to use as a torch at night, is in my backpack, I tread very very carefully. 

banana flower

the cacoa fruit (where chocolate is derived from)

We arrive at Camp 2 before nightfall. My group hangs shirts, pants, and filthy, soaked socks over a clothes line that had to be a placed there as a practical joke- nothing dries in the jungle.
Here there are bunks with mattresses encircled by mosquito nets. After a strenuous all day hike, you'd imagine we'd all fall right to sleep, but one whiff of the strong mildew and mold is enough to send one's senses reeling.

I move to the hammocks, where the nausea inducing smell of decay is far less. Unfortunately, my neighbor snores thunderously through the night, which, in fairness, does scare off all predatory animals.
Driven away by the sputtering and angry snores, I rise, shining my torch upon the ground, scanning for scorpions and poisonous snakes, mindful of avoiding the fate of a hiker last year who was bit on his way to the bathroom; he barely survived. I wander back to the bunk-beds testing whether I can cope with the mildew- no dice.

rickety old bridge

path through the forest

Sunrise doesn't arrive quickly enough on this tortured evening. We wolf down some food, and begin our final assault on the Lost City. The sun slowly spreads its morning light over the hills, just in time, as it enables our guide to catch glimpse of a venomous serpent on the trail. The expedition comes to a momentary halt as the snake slithers back into the bush.
Today I'm using a walking stick, and while it helps me maintain balance on the steep and slippery terrain, each time I intentionally strike the ground with force, as snakes can sense vibrations of the earth. Call me Dr. Doolittle, it's my way of letting them know I'm coming so we're less likely to have a quarrel.

green, jungle waterfall- beautiful, me

one of our Indian guides

steps up to the Lost City- steeper than they look

the start of the Lost City

After hiking several hours in the crisp morning air we arrive at an ancient jungle stair case, the now moss covered irregular stones placed there by Indians centuries ago. And there are 1200 of them to climb to the top the mountain, to the Lost City. 

One step at a time (as with any goal) we literally inch closer, finally reaching the base of La Ciudada Perdida.
Honestly, it's not terribly impressive. There are no ancient dwellings, and the stones have been reset to mirror the structures of ancient times. 

Our guides theorize in Spanish as to the significance of various circles of stone, while I literally dance to their words, the area being especially mosquito intensive.  

the Lost City

We hike around the Lost City, taking photos, relaxing, eventually departing down the staircase and beginning the laborious, overnight hike back to the starting point of our trek. 

As in life, the ultimate destination pales to the journey, and while every one of us is bitten up, grimy, wet, and likely sleepless, I don't think a single one of us regrets taking this trip. 

You can see photos below, as well as a highlight video at the bottom of the post.

me with my snake stick climbing

atop the Lost City- its in the background behind me 

looking up to the Lost City steps, surrounded by jungle

you can see the large waterfall far away- must be huge (that's what she said)

highlights of the Los City Trek

Click here for Part I of the trek

If you are interested in buying a tour while in the town of Santa Marta to The Lost City, Minca, or Tayrona National Park, I highly recommend my tour operator Mega Sierra. Their service and dedication to intrepid explorers is amazing. 

Mega Sierra Tour
Calle 19 No. 3-74 Centro
Santa Marta Colombia 47001
+57 318 8910741
+57 5 4307729

4 Day Jungle Trek To The Lost City- Days 1+2 (Colombian Rainforest Adventure)

The suggestion of spending four days trekking through a snake infested South American jungle to a "Lost City" (what, we have to find to it?) doesn't play like a siren song to 99% of the world.

Yet, those 1%, those chosen few who hear the music, those society refers to as intrepid (a word derived from the Ancient Greek words- "intre" meaning 'brains of' and "pid" meaning 'tapioca') explorers continue to provide joke fodder, and more importantly revenue, for local tour companies who are able to sell such experiences for actual money.
"Internally we refer to customers purchasing the Lost City Trek as "mosquito bait," explains Colombia's tourism minister, Angel Martinez, "and sure, we send out guides with them who might not exactly have Harvard diplomas, but hey, at least they're getting paid."

the deadly free range South American cow- video

So, armed with canisters of repellent, water, snake serum, and cameras, our group of intrepid explorers began the journey from the small jungle village of Machete (good luck finding it on any map.)

"very poisonous + carnivorous snake" warning
sign along trail

The intense heat and humidity which engulfs us is exacerbated by the lack of shade early on; here fences still cordon off the local ranches and small plantations. I stop to the wipe the sweat and dirt off my face, attracting the stare of a local cow.

Hiking further, the forest cover starts to thicken, the path narrows, and a reminder of the danger lurking around us is prominently posted on a wooden sign- "very poisonous snakes."
While the ups are more strenuous, the downs are far more dangerous. The total trek covers nearly 50 km through these jungle covered mountains, and it's one of the last places you'd want to break an ankle, or even get a slight cut of the skin for that matter; bacteria and infection have big time game in this environment.

We make camp shortly before nightfall. As the sun drops behind a far away hill, the valley is flooded with darkness of a purity city dwellers rarely, if ever, experience. As I lie in a hammock, covered by a blanket and mosquito net, thought leaves with the light, an inner feeling of tranquility taking over. On this moonless evening, there is no difference between between eyes open or shut, and sleep quickly overtakes my body.

Day 2

a macaw joins us for breakfast at camp 1

wading through the forest in the morning

We wake shortly before sunrise, refreshed and ready to go. Breakfast is calorically nourishing, nothing more. We gather our backpacks, lather on mosquito repellant, and begin hiking.
A few miles later we arrive at an Indian village.

the Indian village

We're asked not to photograph without permission, but that's easily gained from the children by bribing them with treats. I'm told the only Spanish words they know are "dulces" (sweets,) "Oreos," and "Pepsi"; we learn what we most desire.
The tribe lives today pretty much as they have for centuries. many miles away from civilization, always wearing white, the color of the morning, the color of life. They live in relative harmony with nature, never abusing it, harvesting crops (ranging from bananas to coca) as well as raising small amounts of livestock. All is for personal consumption, not trade.
It's rumored, from multiple sources, that the Indians here often live in excess of 100 years.

Coca
We come upon a small coca plantation, the leaves not only part of their culture, but sacred to the tribes. Yes, this is the same plant cocaine is derived from.
When we meet people in the US, our custom is to shake each other's hands. When two Indian men meet on a jungle path, they greet each other by reaching into their coca pouches, grabbing a fistful of leaves, and placing it in the pack of the other.

I myself have purchased a bag of coca leaves prior to the expedition. Stuffing larger amounts in my mouth does create a numbing sensation, but there seem to be little other discernible effects. Regardless of my experience, our guides swear by the leaves and continuously chew on them as we navigate the forest.

The coca plant in the jungle

Indian children

jungle river

Leaving our Indian friends, we follow a jungle river until we arrive at a "piscina," an area where the current has momentarily slowed and the water collected. I excitedly dive in, my shirt still on.
With the lush beauty of the South American rainforest surrounding, out of reach of the mosquitoes, I battle my way as far as I can upstream, until the current becomes too strong and I allow my body to go limp, and the flow of water to take me back downstream like a log. Then I repeat.
Unfortunately, the current of our trek leads us away and back up the hill from this momentary paradise. Making the next camp before nightfall is a must.

the swimming area

after the swim- if something gets wet in the jungle, God himself couldn't get it dry

Click here for Part II of the trek

Dangerous Trekking Around Lake Baikal- the world's largest body of fresh water

Lake Baikal and her early morning fog

7:30 A.M.
A voice cries out my name in heavily accented Chinese. I emerge from the cabin and see my Chinese companions behind the small fence. "We must go, it will take more time than we thought," they explain.

I leave the fee for the night on the sink counter and head out. We're leaving an hour ahead of schedule to hike the almost 20km to the next village on Lake Baikal, otherwise accessible only via boat. Given the uninhabited wilderness between, I don't blame them for wanting to allot more time. 

We stop and buy some bread and candy bars for fuel, and head out, quickly finding the entrance to the national park.

Video of Lake Baikal + her early morning fog

the entrance to Baikal national park

A Russian somewhere had a sense of humor
(by the park entrance)

We start our hike, the trail steep, we ascend quickly. It's just us, there's no else for miles. The air is chilled and the silence broken only by our occasional conversation. Aside of birds, we see no wildlife.

Siberian forest

the sea of Baikal

Reaching the top, we now descend back down, a much more difficult task safety wise. We ping-pong from tree to tree, using them to break our downward momentum, praying we don't trip and fall.

we have to hike all that, not a soul in sight

the Lake from above, trees adding perspective

At last we reach the bottom. Due to the challenging topography, it's taken us hours to go 7km. We stop briefly and munch on our snacks looking out over the vast lake.

Noting the time, we start up again. Not more than 5 minutes later, we have our first contact with a human being since we left, and if you were watching us in a movie, it might portend a very ominous fate for the heroes.

A 75 year old diminutive Russian woman with a backpack and a small dog is resting on a stone. 75 years old, in the middle of this long, arduous trek. 

I haven't met a soul in Siberia who speaks beyond a few words of English, and elderly Russians in particular speak zero, and this is the middle of nowhere, and we're talking about the middle of nowhere for Siberia, and I kid you not, she speaks flawless English. 

My Chinese companions are awed, and as she is unable to understand their heavily accented English, I act as interpreter (English to English). 

Not out of rudeness, but out of sheer surprise and amazement my friends are gawking at her as though they've discovered Bigfoot; she obviously feels uncomfortable from the treatment and declines posing for a picture with them. 

Realizing they've overstepped their bounds, my amigos non-verbally apologize, turn, and head back towards the trail leaving me with her. I smile and nod respectfully, half-apologizing for them. She recognizes my intention.

"Take care of them," she implores me, "Be careful, up ahead, very dangerous."

"Dangerous?" I ask a tad surprise, up to this point the trail's been steep, but that's it.

"You'll see, be careful," she warns. 

I thank her, and take leave, walking quickly to catch up to my cohorts. 

Ten minutes later her warning rings true. the trail narrows like an artery in a fat man, and death blows his icy breath in our ear. One slip and you're falling straight down onto jagged rocks 35 feet below and rolling into the freezing water. Even if somehow you don't instantly perish, there is absolutely no way back up, and no one to call for help. (See the video below to see how my friends faced this challenge) 

How my cohorts tried to get through the dangerous part of the trek

it doesn't do it it justice, but that is straight down. Fall and it's bye-bye

the cliffs edge- different angle

Look back and see just how steep the edge of the lake is

here's why no civilization exists on Baikal

I'm not here to tell you it was as dangerous or difficult as K2 in the Himalayas, but it did require every ounce of our concentration to safely traverse.

After 2 long km of treacherous trail, it levels back off and becomes easier. Though periodically the pernicious cliffs return, we kept our pace up, wanting to make it to the village of Baikalskoye with time to explore. 

more thick forest not to be lost in!

a pier, we must be close! 

Almost there- a couple km from the supremely remote village of Baikalskoye

At long last late in the afternoon, the village is sighted. It's not the Columbus expedition perceiving the new world for the first time, but it is a welcome sight.