II.III.V – Reconnected
II.III.V
RECONNECTED
The long-awaited third day was finally upon us. The day we’d get to see the Lost City. I couldn’t believe we were almost there. All battered, bruised and blistered I had persevered. It would still be a long way to go and really, we had only covered half the trek so far. But I felt reinvigorated. My body had already grown accustomed to the trail, my stamina now not so elusive. I was Indiana Jones reborn.
At the break of dawn, we had already left camp and started on our way to the promised land. The Buritaca river was now waist-deep and as fast-flowing as ever. We had to cross its twists and turns over and over. I think I lost count at six – and, let it be known, not once did I fall! Might’ve been amateur’s luck, or perhaps I was actually getting better at this whole trekking thing. I kept my spirits up. We sang as we climbed, and we climbed as we sang. By now we were all a family, bound together in adventure, blood, sweat and tears. And so we kept on going.
Then, the foliage suddenly gave way to an opening that would mark the start of the trail. “We’ve made it! We’re finally there!” we cheered. We were only 300 meters away from the goal! Only we knew it wasn’t going to be so easy. We were warned about this from day one. While it was in fact just around 300 meters, these 300 meters where at an incline as straight as a stud’s back. There would be 1,200 steps to climb, each a slab of slippery, moss-covered rock. And so we got on it.
Step, step, step, step, step. The air was now starting to get thin and cold, every breath I took felt like it was skinning my lungs raw. I know lungs don’t have skin, but that’s as best as I can describe it. My heart was pounding in my chest as sweat dripped into my eyes. “Almost half-way through” I said to myself on step five hundred. Little did I know how much hard work went into that ‘almost’. With every step I started regretting every cigarette I had ever touched with my lips. “I’m such an idiot! I’m a medical student for Christ’s sake!”. This is something you’re told over and over if you study or practice medicine. Now it made sense.
The others were all far ahead and I was left alone, damning and cursing every single step that wouldn’t allow me the pleasure of slipping off it to my inevitable demise. The Taironas going about their business kept on running past me like lightning. “Older brothers my ass”… There I was, actively dying, every fibre of my being in pain, my calves now as solid as the same steps I was climbing, mosquitoes feasting on whatever blood I seemed to have remaining. But still I climbed. I climbed and climbed and then climbed some more. And finally, I was there.
La Ciudad Perdida; the Lost City – I was there! I was finally there! I had read about all its glory and as I laid there, I realised that no description nor photo could have ever done it any justice. It was like something straight out of the “El Dorado” movie. I was left in tears. I could breathe in the history and the magic of it all. There was just something about the atmosphere. It was eerily peaceful, pure, a place untainted by the scourge of mankind. All the pain and exhaustion? Gone, extinct, vanished into thin air.
We sat down by the entrance and were told that the city consisted of a sequence of terraces carved in rocks, connected to each other by tiled paths. Smaller circular plazas dotted the city; covered in grass and encircled by the same moss-covered slabs used to build the steps. These, we were explained, are what remains of the huts that were previously inhabited by the natives before the city was abandoned.
As we roamed about, we were oddly silent. There was no need for words. It felt as if words would take something away from the sanctity of the place. We walked on and listened to Hugo as he recounted the tales that had been buried away from humankind for so long. He told us about their traditions, their culture, their customs. So different yet so similar to ours in principle. It made me think of that village on Isla del Sol. Happiness in simplicity…
This is what I had been missing. I was too enthralled in things that were now evidently unimportant. I grew up running around my father’s field, surrounded by all kind of plants and animals. I’d climb trees and go on hikes with my dad and grandpa. I had forgotten all about this. I was finally reminded of my old roots, of where I had come from. Somehow, against all odds, against all logic, I had known that this was where I’d find my answer. That I’d rediscover myself in the depths of the jungle in the middle of Colombia.
My feats in self-awareness didn’t end just then. We finally got to the highest point; a ledge overlying the entire city. A vista unlike any other which words fall short in describing. Surrounded by the lush, verdant mountains of the Sierra Nevada on all sides, one can see a series of five circular terraces, each wider and more elevated than the previous, linked together by a tiled trail hewn in all shades of green. The moss and grass-covered patches at the centre of each plaza do not give an impression of the wilderness one would expect to have befallen such an ancient city. Instead, I wondered how even though this was a remnant of a once great city, the architecture still stood unchanged, withstanding the test of time. As we made our way down to the terraces we couldn’t help but stare in amazement at the paradise that surrounded us.
But it wasn’t until we were standing on the biggest terrace of all that it suddenly occurred to me; to all of us really. A thought, or a feeling more like, that seemed to resonate with us all, in unison and in harmony. “We really are nothing in this world” we said, some of us at the same time.
Standing there, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a mountain range we had come to call home after just a couple of days, we felt like we were absolutely nothing. Not in the nihilistic sense; that all we are neither matters nor leaves an impact. More in the sense that in being nothing, we were also everything. I don’t mean to sound vague about it, and it’s not really something one can experience just by reading about it, but that’s exactly how we all felt. We were part of a ‘great something’ – that we as individuals are nothing, but together we are whole. And nature is a part of that wholeness. What our older brother had told us suddenly made even more sense.
I felt alive for the first time in years. I could feel the raw, untapped power of everything that surrounded me. I laid flat on the ground, rolling on the grass, absorbing all of it. Every breeze seemed to be giving me energy, the sun on my face giving me a warmth unlike no other, the earth underneath an extension of my being. I felt connected. I was in my father’s field once again. I could hear him calling me. The voice I had missed so much was now so loud in my head I burst into tears.
We had reached our goal. I had gotten all that I had come for. And now we had to walk all the way back. There was no drive now. We’d be passing through the same paths with nothing new to see. We’d be saying goodbye the following day. We’d bid adieu to each other and to our new home. I had moaned and groaned and wanted out from the very first minute, and at that moment all I could think of was how it would be possible for me to go back to normal life. Nonetheless, I was now equipped with this new-found knowledge about myself, about my existence. I would be okay. I knew that. And so we started our path downwards.
The descent was just as gruelling as the ascent if not more. Although, by then, it had felt like my stamina had grown. I was no longer the one at the end of the trail. Sometimes I could also keep up with Pedro. I had barely seen much of him during the trek and I actually missed him. That said, I was actually fine with it. I knew I needed to do this on my own if I were to get something real out of it. But finally we had time to hike together and reconnect. My feelings for him were now purer and I felt as if our love had somehow deepened. I was there because of him. Had I never met him, I would’ve never had gone there.
Slowly but surely, we made our way back to the second camp where we would spend our last night in the jungle. Everyone, except for Pedro (who had finally succumbed to the runs), gathered on a table next to the beds. We played cards and drank beer until we could barely hold our eyes open. We laughed the night away, knowing it would be our last. We all knew how we felt. We were all so incredibly lucky to have embarked on such an adventure together. Really, it was such an amazing group. We clicked on so many levels, and at the end of it all, we started calling ourselves the “Ciudad Perdida Family”.
And so, with heavy hearts, we woke up the next day for the final part of the trek. Partly because of my now disfigured feet and mostly cause of Pedro’s bowel troubles, we decided to opt for the easy route.
We hired a motorbike on our way back to El Mamey, and let me tell you, I’m so glad we did. It was one of the most exhilarating things I had ever done. Imagine having to hold on to the driver for dear life, as they speed through the middle of the jungle, over roots and rocks and puddles and streams, in between mules and pigs and humans alike. Dangerous as hell, but friggin thrilling. Plus, for the first time we were at the front of the group.
When we got to El Mamey, it was unsurprisingly the same as it had been four days prior, though somehow, it was all different. The map of the Sierra Nevada now seemed less threatening. Now that I had managed to brave this, everything else seemed possible. The Inca Trail? Easy. Mount Everest? Sure. Pacific Crest Trail? Peanuts. My delusions were cut short as the rest of the group started showing up.
It was time. That was it. That’s all folks. Everyone had different plans now. Some would continue travelling around South America, some would stay in Colombia for a few days before going back to their country and some would spend a few days in Tayrona park. And speaking for Pedro and I, we still had a lot of touring around to do. So with that we said our goodbyes. Till we meet again Ciudad Perdida Family!