Hiking to the Lost City, Part 1

A misnomer if ever there was one, the Lost City is indeed not lost. Perhaps it was mislaid at some stage or even temporarily forgotten, but it is now certainly found. A better name would be "The really remote and bloody hard to get to city", but that might put people off.
After booking the trek for the next day I did the sensible thing and went out drinking till 4.30am. But still in fine form I teetered back home to a chorus of roosters. On my merry way I heard a little yelp by the side of the road. I peered down and discovered to my bemusement a puppy, barely 3 days old, rolling on his back with his eyes still scrunched closed. I look around and see no sign of mother dog. Wait a bit. Still no mother dog. Trek leaves at 8am. Conundrum. The Gods doth test me once again...

Nothing else to do but pick him up and bring him home. After carefully negotiating the barking stray dogs (could they not see I was helping one of their kind?) on my way back to the hostel I stagger in and contemplate the next step. Sleep I decide and think about it in 2 hours. So being mr. nice, I fashion a bed for Homeless Rover out of the only thing to hand - toilet paper. So there it is a lovely bed of TP on my bedroom floor, a water bowl made from the wastepaper basket lid and the little bugger won't settle down. Yipping like a chipmunk. 5am. Feck.

Pick him up and hold him in my palm (he fits perfectly), instant quiet. So I have the choice of staying up and holding him in my hand or go search for the mother. Need sleep, so it's option 2. Put my clothes back on and whilst pulling my t-shirt over my head, forget that the ceiling fan is about 8ft off the ground, so my pinkies go straight between the blades of the fan (and dog lovers, no, Rover was not still in my hand). I am surprised that my fingers are still attached when I look at them. Only a small gash and some up and coming bruising. Find Rover under the bed and storm out the door. Growl back at stray dogs, I am in no mood to be trifled with. Walk down the road and next it is a group of drunken Colombians who make all kinds of belittling remarks about a Gringo taking his puppy for a walk at 5am. Make a face at them that somehow infers that I am not in the best of moods. Jeers stop.

Back to the scene of the crime and at this stage Rover is sucking my fingers. Heart wrenching stuff, that is until I realise that he is sucking my bloody finger. Make mental note, must google rabies transmission mother to child. Look around and finally see a likely candidate close to the spot - a female dog with a six pack of milk hanging down. Put Homeless Rover down on the ground near her. Visibly grateful she launches into a headlong attack which I narrowly avoid by doing some Matrix like ducking and weaving. Do the manly thing and run for my life, leaving Rover to his destiny with his crazy mother. Walk back up road, past my drunken Colombians, who have a common question mark above their heads as to the location of the puppy. I do not stop to explain.

Back to my room. 5.30am. Bright outside. Nothing better than an hour and a half's sleep and hey it's only an easy gringo hike tomorrow?