Hiking to the Lost City, River Crossings, Kidnappings, Sandflies and The Lost Beer

Day 3 was the day to finally see the lost city. The guide called us at 6am upon which I dismounted the hammock like a drunken gymnast and fell on my arse. Breakfast was extra strong Colombian coffee and 2 toasted cheese sandwiches accompanied by advice from the guide to eat up as today would be a toughie. Great.

It was all action straight from the start. As dawn was cracking we were already clambering over a slippery ledge with a 20 meter drop. Minutes later we were being ferried over the river in a very rickety lift contraption and then it was all uphill for at least an hour. But at the top and out of the blue there is a mini tuck shop with an Indian lady (not Apoo's wife) selling coke (black) for 3000 pesos (1 dollar 50), quite a few people cracked but I remained firm.

A tricky downhill section was then successfully navigated and at that point we could hear a roaring sound in the background. This was apparently the raging river that we were going to have to wade across 9 times in the coming hour. We survived and only one person was nearly washed away. Feet soaking and more blisters preparing themselves to appear on blisters we emerged at the beginning of the 1500 steps up to the lost city.

The steps were mossy, wet, broken, tiny (made for Indian feet) and bloody steep - a perfect combination for breaking one's snot. The fun was increased by attack mosquitos which would clamp themselves on to your leg by the dozen as soon as you stopped to catch your breath. Which given the steepness of the climb was every couple of seconds. 1478 steps afterwards (I counted) we emerged at the top to find a lost city but also a piece of very modern technology - a military helicopter perched on one of the stone circles. The army was everywhere and so was a film crew. It gradually emerged that Channel 4 was filming a documentary about the last group to be kidnapped from the lost city in 2003. A group of Israelis, Germans and English were woken up at 5am and were marched deeper into the jungle at gunpoint where they were held hostage for just over 3 months.

We hung around and watched the "hostages" jump in the helicopter and watch it take off, which was quite incredible as even though we were sitting 50 meters away, the force of the blades was like a hurricane. We marched on and finally made it teary eyed to camp around 2pm where myself and the Irish girl could stand it no longer and dived into the beers that the porters had brought for "special ocassions" and at $2.50 a pop they were worth every penny.

The afternoon was killed by drinking beer and rum and playing charades (what one does to pass time). At one stage some of the ex-hostages came by to revisit the camp. The German girl went up to the "bedroom" (a room covered in matrasses and mosquito nets) and came back minutes later crying and quite visibly shaken. The English man seemed to take it all in his stride. It was another early night and a little bit of an uneasy sleep, wondering if it would be a 6am wake-up call with hot chocolate and toasties or an AK-47 in the face.