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We shared the customary traveler takes on where each of us was coming from and going to. After sharing a few of these memories, an Australian in the group delivered those fateful words: Did I hear them correctly?
It was time to listen. The quotes are used because the local descendents of the Tayrona Arhuaco, Kogi, and Assario indigenous groups already knew about the city through the ages. I was decided, but then the first concern voiced itself: I am a backpacker i.
I speak the local language and understand the culture. I will be fine. Settling into my hostel in Santa Marta, I learned that we would spend three days of trekking into the mountain range in order to reach the lost city, then another three days to return. There would be a guide, a cook, and seven of us travelers. While the itinerary did seem lengthy for a hike, it sounded a bit luxurious having a personal cook tagging along.
But please rea d: There is nothing too luxurious about the tour — except for the beers drunk after the return.
Johnny Mack Brown at Brian's Drive-In Theater
The expedition began with a breezy jeep ride from Santa Marta in the morning, and then climbed higher into the flora-filled Sierra Nevada peaks. Fairly quickly upon the ascent, the ride proved not to be a leisurely one. We were repeatedly needed outside of the jeep to push the struggling 4X4 out of sizeable mud holes landed upon in the unpaved road. A few times I thought that we would have to call it off after five minutes of rocking the vehicle forward and backward in battle against a particular mini-muddy-crater.
A village passed by along the route on day two But finally, luckily, we reached a community. We were an international group of eager, nervous, and questioning adventure-souls ready to embark on whatever was out there — or at least most of what was out there.
With our local guide, Edwin Rey, leading in his quiet confident manner, the pathway we were to follow for the next hours introduced itself. Adventure Times Begin Two rivers had to be crossed within the first hour — our shoes and socks were soaked with an oozing mud that would self-crust itself to form new hiking boots. Trying to get through yet another river crossing — with rope and some teamwork We quickly learned to be little Indiana Jones characters via traversing, swimming, swinging, and rock hopping across obstacles while at times being pelted by cursory rain downpours.
For other segments the vision field yielded no more than seven feet ahead due the abundance of water falling from the sky. This description is not written negatively or regretfully, but much rather with pride and warmth in remembering a lavish land allowing its visitor to experience its bountiful beauties… along with its tough personality.
The freshness of the region opened up engagingly. View along the way of the mountain range and lush hillsides When the trail allowed us an open view to the land, we were consistently exposed to valleys and peaks exploding with unobstructed trees and vegetation. It was as if we were being swallowed up in an untouched dreamland. Along the trail, the group also passed several small hut villages inhabited by the Tayrona descendents -— the Kogi and Assario indigenous people — who have, for the most part, remained unchanged for thousands of years.
The cook consistently prepared savory snacks and meals which we devoured instantly —- although we could have eaten anything after burning the five million give or take 4. The Arrival After three days we had become one with the land. Sounds dramatic, I know, but we were visibly caked in dirt, mud, and other non-distinguishable building blocks of the journey. Staircase of the Lost City Then came the magical moment: We had jumped, scurried, fallen down, endured and more along the route; it was a bit surreal to actually arrive.
As we climbed the reported although I was very far away from counting my steps at this point 1,plus steps, the exaggerated closeness to the ancient town grew. Once on top, Edwin sat us down on one of the central terraces to share his knowledge of its people, its culture, and its past.
Much like Machu Picchu, not too many facts are known about the people of La Ciudad Perdida or its history. The commitment taken in order to arrive runs full of ever-changing emotions, unbelievable vistas, sequential struggles and ultimately sincere satisfaction.
It was frightening to be so close to the nightmare we had heard of. But it was oddly comforting to hear the details from someone trustworthy and, more importantly, still returning to the area.
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My pre-trek logic ran along the lines that with an increased risk awaited the higher return. La Ciudad Perdida did not disappoint. Back in Santa Marta, after a hot shower and wearing dry socks, I had my first reflection of the adventure. I immediately understood that the past week was something that I would never forget. Hut at The Lost City for travelers to sleep under If you are looking for an incredible adventure placed inside a gorgeous, testy, and rewarding package, then La Ciudad Perdida is awaiting to be opened.
And please tell Edwin that I say hello. Hostel I stayed at and bought my tour with: Casa Familiar Street 10C, No.