After the Lost City we figured we´d earned ourselves a few days of R & R so ventured into the Tayrona National Park, just up the coast from Santa Marta. Tropical jungle, amazing white sand beaches. Nice. We found a little campsite in a jungle clearing 10mins from the beach. Massive palm trees dotted the clearing and were stunning to look at – I gave them a rather wider berth after getting tonked on the shoulder by a coconut.

Three days of tanning (ok burning), swimming and living off a diet of tuna sandwiches and crisps. Perfect. Almost. We´d cut our budget very fine and so had about a fiver a day to live off. We burned like true Englishmen! I got an ear infection. And Marcus and I both almost collapsed on the 5 mile walk out of the park. I guess you can´t have everything, even in Paradise 🙂

We had another day of great weather and even better food in Santa Marta before leaving the coast and setting off inland. Our destination was San Gil, a little colonial town where we hoped to get some rafting under our belts.

It got even better though! We checked into Sam´s Hostel, which was ridiculous. Basically a penthouse apartment overlooking the main square. Terrace. Flatscreen TVs. Rooftop pool. And we were then told that Damien Rice was playing a gig that night in the neighbouring town of Barichara. He´d gone to the town with Colombian friends and while there had been told about Barichara´s chronic water problems – their reservoir had stood empty for months. Being the sound little Irishman that he is (and he is little, trust me), he´d decided to put on a concert to raise money for the town.

We headed over to the town, had a few beers in the main plaza and then wandered up to the open air amphitheatre where he was going to play, and were waiting in the queue as, with a delicious yet almost inevitable sense of irony, the heavens opened. It started to bucket it down. This in a town starved of water, where it hadn´t rained for months. On the very night when a high-profile singer was due to perform, outside, in aid of solving the water shortage. 🙂

Just as it was about to be called off they announced the venue was going to be switched, to the adjacent church. Surreal. Amazing. Before long Damien was up in front of the altar playing an intimate little set of all his better-known tunes, all to a crowd of less than 150 people.We´d had a few bottles of rum by this point, and more than a few beers, so it seemed only right to heckle the poor Oirishman. Damo feckin´ Rice.  He didn´t seem to mind.

¨I´d just like to thank whoever it was that enabled us to play in such a fantastic setting, in this church¨

¨THANKYOU GOD!¨

Fun times. Marcus couldn´t actually physically stand by the end. Maybe he´d just been overcome by the music. Spent the next day taking it easy, having a dip in the river up above the town, wandering its ridiculously steep streets and enjoying the panoramas. The day after was bliss- we rented bikes and took ourselves off for a ride. Sunny, a bit of a cooling breeze, and hardly any traffic on the road. It felt like a perfect English summer´s day. Beautiful scenery either side. The river winding its way through the valley below us. We came to a village after 15km and headed up its ridiculously steep entrance road. Sweating, we made it to the top where stunning views greeted us. It seemed way to early to turn back though, so we headed on. More cycling, almost all of it on the flat, with not a care in the world, until we arrived at the Juan Curí waterfalls. 180m of cascades nestled in the valley wall, with a natural plunge pool at its base. Quick dip, bite to eat and then back towards San Gil. A perfect day!

However after three days we´d still not been able to do the rafting. For two days the river had been too high, too dangerous to raft. We were about to give up and move on to Bogotá when I woke up on the third day to be told it was still impossible. And then the phone rang. The river had subsided. We could do it. The only problem- we had 30mins to find at least 2 more people to do it. Time to round us up a rafting posse, get us some recruits! Mission accomplished: a couple of english guys and a couple of swedes. Rafting was on!

The Rio Suarez is the best river for rafting in Colombia, loads of Grade IV and V rapids. Churning white water. Lots of it. And the river was only just safe enough to run. This was going to be fun 🙂

It was everything i´d hoped for. And then some! Big rapids. Massive waves. We´d managed to navigate all the rapids with only one of the English lads, Jack, having fallen out. Great. Except it didn´t feel right. Rafting the Nile in Uganda we´d flipped 5 times in one day. Maybe on the last rapid we were going to get a little wet? A man can hope………..

Well my prayers were answered! The last rapid, La Sorpresa (the Surprise), was massive. Enormous waves. Really long too. We headed into the current and were doing great. Then all of a sudden we weren´t. The raft span 180 degrees. We were now heading for the most powerful part of the rapids. Backwards. 🙂 One of the kayakers was stood on the bank and started frantically blowing his whistle. He obviously knew something we didn´t. Then he hurled a rope into the raft. He said after that if we´d grabbed it he could have hauled us to safety. Well none of us did…

Whoomph! The wave slammed us backwards. Then another crashed into us from the other side. We were stuck in a hole created by the force of the current. The world around me went green. I was still in the boat. Strange.  Then I twigged- the entire boat was underwater. The next second the boat was gone. After a couple of seconds I popped up, a long way further downriver. There were other helmeted heads around me in the water.

Hell yeah! Now this was more like it! Nothing like a good lungful of river water. I swam to the side and, along with a few others, scrambled along the bank to where the raft lay. Everyone else was there. It seems Marcus had had a rough time of it. He´d been trapped in the spot where we´d all gone in and been caught as if in a washing machine. Every time he went up for air the current dragged him back under. He eventually remembered what we´d been told to do, curled himself into a ball and the current spat him our further downstream. Shaken, sure, but not stirred.

Everyone was still alive, still in possession of all their limbs. It was time for a beer..

This is quite a long one, so make yourself a drink and get comfortable……….

Day 1 – After an uncomfortable, sweaty, semi-delirious night´s sleep (if you can call it that) we readied ourselves for the trek. This time round we were stocked up. Rum, sweets, insect repellant etc. After an hour´s driving we turned off the main road and onto a potholed, cracked dirt track that snaked through the jungle up into the hills. Thrown this way and that for what seemed like hours, trying to enjoy the view and simultaneously hold on for dear life.

We eventually arrived at a little village right at the end of the track, truly incongruous with its bars, internet, pool tables and paved roads. A quick lunch and then off. After a 20 minute stroll followed by a plunge in the river we were, despite the horrifically high humidity, anticipating a leisurely 5 days of hiking. Once again, as on the first day of Roraima, we were sorely wrong.

What followed was an hour´s solid steep uphill slog, followed by another two hours undulating our way up and down hillsides before reaching camp. And what a camp! Where Roraima had been all cramped tents and muddy ground on which to pitch them, here we were welcomed by a large open plan roofed area with mosquito-netted hammocks, toilets and showers. Food was already being prepared. We were moving up in the world! Another group arrived within the hour. A great group of Aussies, Brits and Yankee Doodles. Not only that, but we were soon acquainted with Ernesto the irate widower cockerel. Ernesto was covered with fur (they have furry chickens here in Colombia!) and had serious rage issues. They seemingly all stemmed from 6 months previously, when his chicken lady and their beloved eggs had been taken by foxes.

We settled down to a great meal followed by a couple of bottles of rum and a night spent sleeping in hammocks (my first time). I drifted off to the sounds of the forest around me, eagerly awaiting what lay ahead.

Day 2 – Awoken by the sounds of people stirring around me and the morning sunlight filtering through my mozzie net. Awesome. We then had a 15 minute scramble up a little streambed, through thick vegetation, to a so-called ¨cocaine processing factory.¨ It was, in fact, a sheet of tarpaulin acting as a roof over a few benches. Some bottle of chemicals were on the floor. Also there was a small pile of coca leaves and a couple of bags of powder.

Pedro, our resident (and only) cocaine producer, talked us through the process. To be honest, knowing the amount of chemicals used to produce a gram is almost enough to put a man off the stuff. Salt, bicarbonate of soda, hydrogen cyanide, potassium permanganate, sulphuric acid, gasoline, acetone. You get the idea. And all this to get 100% ¨pure¨ cocaine. Maybe ideas of purity are becoming diluted in this day and age.

We headed back, found the tables laid with an orgiastic breakfast of fruit, yoghurt, granola and coffee, and then set off. Within less than five minutes we were all drenched in sweat. The humidity was ridiculous. Beadlets coursed off us. Not the prettiest sight. Anyway, after half an hour we´d found our way off the hillside and into the shady, leafy cover of the jungle. Even better were the frequent pitstops where William the guide would whip out his machete and pass round some fresh fruit.

After a couple of hours, just when we needed it most, we came to a stretch of the river where we could hav e a dip. The simple pleasures in life are undoubtedly the greatest! As we headed on the humidity dropped and the walk became almost enjoyable 🙂 Enveloped by the jungle, we walked amongst mammoth plants, seeming remnants of a prehistoric age. Rivers roared by unseen. At length we came to an open stretch of water with a natural vine swing above some rocks. Playing on it I felt like a playground Tarzan!

We strolled past indigenous Kogi indian settlements that appeared as they must have done for centuries, millenia. Straw and mud brick hut surrounded by livestock and children. We finally arrived at camp for the night to find BUNK BEDS! Luxury I tell thee. Next to the camp the river ran in a series of minirapids and cascades, punctuated by deep pools perfect for top bombing. I loved it!

Day 3 – It rained all yesterday afternoon so I had a swim in the pools in the rain, feeling like Leo in The Beach then spent the rest of the time reading and resting. This morning, as the rest of the camp readied itself to set off I took myself back to the pools. The sun was shining, the birds were singing from up in the forested valley walls and I was all alone. As Gerontius or Tommy might say – just MAGIC! Now for a hike.

Once again the going was tough to start off with. Lots of rivers to cross and a steep uphill hike. Before long however we´d left the open trail behind and headed under cover of the canopy. The heat was much more enjoyable and the walk became infinitely more enjoyable. Surrounded by thick jungle we clambered our way up the verdant valley, stopping once to swim, cool off and enjoy the heart-stopping scenery.

As we walked we came upon yet more Kogi Indians, their huts seemingly utterly isolated from the modern world that lay just a couple of days walk away. The scenery throughout was breathtaking. Lofty wooded peaks towered over us. Valleys yawned before us, and in the jungle birds toads and creepy crawlies accompanied us as we tracked the course of the river. We made it to camp in time for lunch, Marcus and I valiantly bringing up the rear alongside our somewhat rotund and ineffably cheerful guide Archie.

After lunch the rain held off so our whittled down grouplet, of just the two English lads Ant and Sam, Evan the Brooklynite and myself, headed up the valley towards La Ciúdad Perdida. After fording the same river five times we made it to the base of the stairs leading up to Teyuna, the Lost City. 1200 steps in total. If you didn´t know the staircase was there you´d have walked straight past it and be none the wiser as to the presence of the city above.

The stairs weren´t easy, let me just say that. 15mins of head-down no pause slog up the steep mountainside. Yet wha t we were greeted by was worth not only that pain but also all the (relative) hardships of the previous few days.

The Lost City far surpassed all my expectations. From the promo shots I´d envisaged a few platforms and not a lot else. What we found instead was, quite literally, an entire city. Reclaimed by the jungle and overgrown with trees moss and plants, it was vast in extent. It spread downwards on both sides of the ridge we stood on and also upwards,, the direction in which we headed.

I only hope the photos can convey some of the sense of wonderment I felt. We climbed higher, platforms on both sides and paths leading off into the jungle, until we reached a broad stone stairway that beckoned us up. At the top more platforms, yet less canopy cover, until finally we reached the two main plateaux of the whole complex.

My jaw just dropped. The backdrop was a vista that had to be seen to be believed. On two sides the city stretched away below us, on the other two jungle-coated valleys led off. Trees all around, an immense waterfall on one valley wall and moody clouds obscuring the peaks above us. The kind of place even Hollywood couldn’t come up with. Paradise incarnate. We walked on, explored more. At every step more platforms, more steps, more signs of thoughtful human endeavour. What staggered me more than anything was the knowledge that for more than two days we had trekked through thick jungle, were literally in the middle of nowhere, and yet here we were, standing in the midst of a once-thriving metropolis.

We eventually headed back down, forced to leave the land of make-believe behind. Until tomorrow at least. I slept early that night, worn out from the day and also an eager little beaver to get back up to the Lost City in the morning.

Day 4 – The stairs were a lot longer than I remembered them being! Had arepas for breakfast and then set off en masse. The sun was shining. Time to see the other face of the city. As with Roraima the first encounter was cloudy and brooding, the second was going to be inviting and radiant. It was time to find out about the history of the place.

Founded in the 8th Century AD, Teyuna had never been constantly inhabited but served rather as a ceremonial site, centre for the Tayrona people´s religious activities and a cemetery in which to bury and honour their ancestors. For over 700 years the city flourished, home to over 200 in times of religious conviviance. Until in 1525, as the case with all these civilizations, the Spanish arrived. They coveted their gold and, having subdued the coastal tribes, forced them to lead the conquistadors deep into the Sierra Nevada mountains, to where the Lost City lay. The Tayronas, despite their best efforts at concealment, were betrayed by their coastal allies. The Spanish scaled the stairs, killed the chieftain, raped all the women, sacked the city and then left, leaving in their wake a whole raft of STDs and European diseases against which the Tayronas stood no chance.

Within a year they were virtually wiped out and the city was abandoned, lost for over 400 years until its rediscovery in 1975. Columbus´¨discovery¨ of America in 1492 is shown in a rather different light after hearing tales like this. He didn´t bring civilization with him, it already existed here. What he and his fellow conquistadors did bring with them was death, disease and genocide.

Anyway, lighten up Tom. Enough of that….

The city was awe-inspiring. It led on and on and on. We followed stone paths for hours, through silent, almost oppressive vegetation and out into sunny glades, all the while traipsing along paved trails and alongside stone walls and platforms. It blew us all away. Even words can´t do it justice. The place will live very long in the memory. Without a doubt one of the most reverential, magisterial sites I´ve ever been to.

At times I was totally alone enveloped both by the ubiquitous jungle and the grandeur of the city. Feeling like Indiana Jones. Lost in thoughts. Happier than Larry. A true privilege of an experience.

We ended up at a waterfall that fed into a pool. Surely the Tayronas´ bathing spot? Bliss. After that the tricky descent back down the stairs, lunch at base camp and the three-hour walk back to Day 2´s camp. More pools along the way, a 7m high rock to jump off to satisfy the inner child in all of us, and then rest time. We were left to reflect with incredulity on what we´d been fortunate to bear witness to earlier that day.

Day 5 – To bed early and up even earlier. Marcus and I had a quick plunge in the pools before brekkie and then off we set. A long day. We had to do the reverse of the first two day´s walking, and do it all before lunchtime. Time to stick heads down, grit teeth and forget about the pain.

We made it to Day 1´s camp about 9.30am, said our goodbyes to Ernesto the chicken and headed on. By lunchtime we´d done it, cold beers in hand as we toasted our arrival. Beer has never even come close to tasting this good!

Highlight had to be our ride back to the main road on the back of motorbikes. Hanging on for dear life, able to enjoy snatched glimpses of the scenery. Fear of falling turned to wonder as we rounded a corner and saw the cerulean sea twinkling off in the distance.

Ok I tell a lie. The real highlight was the after party. Almost our entire little group headed down to a private little cove where the music played til the sun came up! Beautiful women, dips in the sea. Amazing seeing everyone really letting their hair down. And Marcus definitely enjoyed himself. ¨Barman I´ll have your finest Swedish cocktail. On the rocks…In fact you know what, make it a double.¨

These treks were fast turning out to be the absolute highlights of the trip. More please!!

For this story to make any sense to people who aren´t either Marcus or I, ie everyone else, I first have to explain something. Given that we had 6 months of travelling we´d figured we needed some travelling companions. Not real ones mind you. Alter egos would do. There were the two rude boy scallies (feel me get me); the two camp Germans (think Arnie); and then there were Tommy and Gerontius, the two geriatric Jewish pensioners from Brooklyn. Old timers who liked nothing more than a good bit of tuna in brine, some cannelloni beans, tofu, houmous. And boy did they love a good Wiener Schnitzel!

This probably all seems a bit odd. It is. It´s also very funny once you´re in character. We were able to have whole hour-long conversations as these two. It confused a lot of people on meeting us 🙂

Anyway, that morning Tommy and Gerontius had been having a good old natter in the minibus on the way to Santa Marta when we stopped to pick up more people. We couldn´t believe it. Outside on the wall stood unmistakable linear letters and a cobalt blue star.

The star of David itself. We were outside a Jewish hostel.

Wow! We couldn´t believe our luck. Yet also a little nervous. Israeli travellers come with a certain infamous, yet well-earned reputation. And yep. This lot lived up to it.

There were nine of them, two more than expected. Suitcases with wheels. Who backpacks (the clue´s in the name) with suitcases as a part of their accoutrements? We waited. They weren´t ready to leave yet. We waited some more. They wanted food for the trip. Eventually it arrived. Hot food. The kind that stinks out an entire minibus. They got on and immediately put their seats back, despite our legs being in the way. We politely explained our pierna-related predicament. They ignored us.

We went five minutes and realised we couldn´t actually handle 4 hours of this. We paid up and got off. They sarcastically bade us farewell as we did so. Horrible. Yet as we caught a taxi to the bus terminal to get on a normal bus we both just started cracking up. What I´d missed while arguing with the woman in charge was that they´d all been eating schnitzel A good Viener Schniiitzl! So it wasn´t just Tommy and Gerontius that were fans. One of the guys had even offered his around. Neither of us understand Hebrew but Marcus had heard a stream of indecipherable babble followed by the immortal words. Wiener. Schnitzel.

It made our day. Hell, it made our week. They´d been horrendous people. Not one ounce of consideration for others. They´d lived up to the stereotype and then some. Yet it was fantastic! And to top it all off on board the bus we had Liam Neeson in a film exacting some brutal vengeance in a very un-Liam Neeson-esque fashion. Life was good. From sour to sweet. Thankyou, Tommy and Gerontius´religious brethren, for providing us with unintentional hilarity. We owe you

PS we´re not anti-Semitic. I promise. It´s just that there are some aspects of Jewish life that are quite funny….

Cartagena de Indías. One of the most breathtaking and beautifully preserved colonial cities in the world. We spent three amazing days and nights there, spent way too much money but had a whale of a time! Cultural and arty by day, party by night.

In colonial times the city served as the exit point for virtually all of the gold, silver and jewels the Spanish took from the continent; initially plundered from the local populace and then, that avenue of commerce exhausted,  latterly mined from rich seams by the innumerable indigenous and African slave populations.

So far so good.

Then along came Sir Francis Drake, El Dragón. Ok so he might just have been a pirate, a privateer, but hell he was an English pirate! In 1586 he besieged Cartagena for 100 days, eventually leaving with stacks of booty and forcing the Spanish, after his departure, in commencing construction of the gargantuan city walls that stretched for over 11km and still stand, intact, to this day.

Enough of the history. Not only is the city beautiful, it´s also very much on the up. I´d been there four years previously and it had had a slight air of menace after dark. That was now gone. It was safer, cleaner and livelier than before. It also had an astonishing number of beautiful women walking the streets. Marcus and I wandered the calles open-mouthed!

So sights by day. We traipsed around the old town, a pretty pastel-coloured maze of colonial mansions, leafy plazas and immense Baroque churches. Seemingly every house boasted a bevy of beautiful balustraded balconies and an immense wooden portal that, if open, revealed a stunning courtyard within. It was like wandering around an 18th century Spanish town.

And the walls. Once completed, no one was ever again able to hold the port to ransom. And God knows us English tried. Encompassing the entire original city and over 10m thick in most parts. As dusk set in and the cooling sea breeze picked up there was nothing nicer than strolling the ramparts, beer in hand, watching the sun set over the Caribbean.

The nights weren´t bad either. Salsa bars. Watering holes actually located up on the city walls, where cannons could be used for seating. Afterparties out of town where I was the only non-Colombian face. Also realised we´d been a little naive as regards the beautiful women in the city – they all came at a price. Oh well. They were good to look at anyway!

Fun times. Glad to leave though. We´d spent too much and the Lost City awaited. First, however, we had a bus ride to Santa Marta which turned out to be both horrific and absolutely hilarious….