Indiana Olson in the Ciudad Perdida

Well we figured out within 48 hours of being in Colombia that we may not have come at the right time. Why not you ask? Well, we decided to roll in on a Tuesday before a dry weekend (ie no alcohol - gasp). Why was it a dry weekend you ask? Well, because there was a major election cycle coming due, and they wanted to make sure that no one was drunk when their candidate lost. Drunk Colombians taking out their political rage on the nearest Americans would be bad, but no alcohol is almost equally as bad. So Dave and I decided that if we were going to torture ourselves we were going to do it right and in a safe area. So we signed up without reading the contract and were swept away on a six day trek through the jungle to Ciudad Perdida (Lost City) into the heart of the Paramilitary strong hold. We would find out after the fact from our guide that a portion of the price we paid actually went to make sure we did not get kidnapped by the Paramilitary. How did the guide know that a portion of the money went to the Paramilitary? Because he worked for them of course! But more about that later.

First, an interjection on the current status of the Paramilitary and the Guerrillas in Colombia. Traditionally the Paramilitary is a band of soldiers hired by rich Colombians (read drug lords) as mercenaries to fight anyone including the Colombian government and to police the coca producing areas. The Guerrilla has its roots in politics on the communist side, but these days is basically the same thing as the Paramilitary. The big difference these days is that Guerrilla's drug of choice is heroin instead of cocaine. These two factions are at odds against one another, but mostly keep to themselves.

Enough about politics, the group we went with was awesome! In total there were eleven people on the trip, two of which were host country nationals in our guide (Omar) and cook (Ever). Of the nine on the tour, nine different countries were represented if you include Peace Corps countries (which I do). Canada, USA, Peace Corps Panama, Peace Corps Bolivia, Spain, Germany, Chile, Belgium, and Ireland were all represented, a majority of which spoke Spanish very well. I estimate that 50% of the conversations were in Spanish and a large portion of them were interesting cultural exchanges on vulgar slang. The others topics ranged from how the cook survive a fall down a waterfall, drugs, the likelihood of survival, and how to trick the Irish guy into saying ¨They're always after me lucky charms.¨ We had no luck with the lucky charms quote, but we got a consolation when he mistakenly said thirty three and a third which came out ¨Tirty tree and a turd.¨ In addition to being an interesting group we all turned out to be pretty good hikers reaching Ciudad Perdida in the rain on day three.

When I say it was raining, I'm not talking Oregon drizzle, I'm talking about time to build an ark type rain. Dave and I were lagging behind with the guide asking questions at the base of the city when the PC Bolivia guy comes running up saying Ever (the cook) had fallen down a waterfall and had not been found yet. We went running up and as I looked at the waterfall I immediately though that he was dead. The waterfall has to be crossed to get to the camp where we stayed, but under normal circumstances there is a shallow pool that can be waded through with ease. At this time, with the current state of rain, it was awash with nothing but white water that cascaded back down to the river where we had begun our assent an hour earlier. I stood their dumbfound, knowing that I could not cross where he had tried, and looking down the water knowing that he was dead. After another 15 minutes of searching he was discovered in the middle of the torrent 70 ft below, and still precariously hanging over another series of cascading and rocky waterfalls. If that was not enough, he was in the middle of the whitewater holding on with one hand to a rock and holding on to the 60 lb bag of food with the other. When the rope was thrown to him, he started to tie the bag of food on to the rope. He was told to abandon the food (all the food for the entire party) and save himself, which undoubtedly was the right call to make. He was pulled back up the steep embankment without the food or his pants. I carried back to a house we had passed on the way. He was in obvious shock, injured, and wearing only a tank-top. As I carried him back to the house I asked him how he survived, and between his chattering teeth all he said was ¨I held on to the rock.¨ Back at the house, we stripped him, dried him as best we could, and put him under 4 sleeping bags that we had. After a couple of minutes of watching him in uncontrollable shock, Dave made the ultimate sacrifice and crawled into bed with him to share his body heat. It may not have been necessary to do, but then again, no one knew, maybe it was necessary. Whether or not it was necessary is irrelevant, I think Dave enjoyed it a little too much.

We sat around talking for the next hour about the fact that there was no food, a hurt cook, and a guide who had no idea what to do. Rescue methods were discussed, but amazingly, within an hour of tumbling off the waterfall, Ever was up and walking around. There was another group at the site we were going to, and they were kind enough to share their dinner and breakfast the next day.

Needless to say the next morning we only got the abbreviated version of the tour of Ciudad Perdida. The original name in the native dialect was Teyuna and the first people to rediscover it called the area the Verde Inferno (green hell). Before our stomachs started us back to the previous camp 6 hours away Omar showed us some of the most interesting land marks of the city that was built on a mountain surrounded by primary forrest. It was still interesting to hear about how the indigenous had used the city as a refuge/last stand/hospital as the Spaniards came pushing inland up the mountains. They finally abandoned the city that covered a mountain because they thought it was bad luck and cursed as they could not cure the new diseases that rampaged though killing close to 90% of the population. Because the city was abandoned before the Spanish reached it, the knowledge of its presence was lost to history until 1975. Anthropologists and archaeologists would later discover the entire hillside city that was home to more than 3000 FAMILIES, gold, running water, and mill stones. There is still much more to be discovered in the area, but the descendants that did survive still prise the area as a sacred ground (they alway knew it was there) and are generally opposed to further excavation.

The indigenous that are from this area are a prideful bunch and are generally opposed to ¨westernization¨. They still choose to live in the small primitive communities without any of the creature comforts including cheap clothing, medicine, not to mention electronics. that they could buy in a near-by town. This flabbergasts me because it is the exact opposite reaction all the indigenous groups in Panama.

Fortunately we had left food at all of the camps for our return trip, so in all we only missed maybe two meals (out of a potential 5). On the last night of our adventure, we had found some cold beer, consumed it and were ready for bed. I was in my hammock trying to sleep when the guide Omar showed up with more beer. Not willing o turn down a free beer, Dave, the Irish guy, and myself all got back to drink a beer and echar cuentas. Omar, as we discovered on the first day, is a jovial short Colombian with a quick Scooby-Doo laugh, a jokester, a free talker all rolled into his lovable five gallon beer gut. It was at this point that we extracted the information about a portion of our payment going to the Paramilitary and him having worked for the Paramilitary for several years. The most baffling part of the whole encounter (Dave and I have discussed it at length) was not that he had worked for them, but that he could talk about being in gun battles it so nonchalantly, and the direct follow up was him talking about how he liked to bicycle with his kids to go get ice cream. Personal safety is a whole different ball game in this area of the world. It is something that I don't understand but was happy that $35 was all that it took to keep me from knowing.

There is still a chapter left unwritten about our trip, but my research is still incomplete on the topic, and will come at a later date. All in all it is always interesting to reflect as I tell a story afterwards (especially a true one like this). When all this was happening it did not seem so heart poundingly thrilling, in fact most the time i was numb from the tiredness of walking. There was no background music, narrator, or disembodied voice. There were only the background noise of the jungle and the thoughts in my head which seemed normal, unidealized, and unromantic at the time. I realize only now what an unforgettable experience it really was.