Cows on Stairs

"Well that's why you never see cows going down stairs; their legs lock up."

"What are you talking about?  Sure they can."

"No, they can't.  Have you ever seen a cow going down stairs? They can only go up them."

"Well then I'll have to check the upper floor of my house to make sure there are no stranded cattle up there to be sure.  Why would a cow even be near stairs?"

Tell me, vaca: how do you feel
about stairs?

Take four college swimming friends going on over ten years of friendship, add in thirty miles of mountain jungle hiking over five days and you're bound to get conversations like this.  We never solved the mystery of bovine agility on terraced surfaces - and frankly I don't care - but we did experience an exhausting and rewarding journey through a beautiful and relatively unknown corner of Colombia.

The week before leaving to hike through the jungle in search of the "lost city" of the Tairona indians in the Sierra Nevada mountains northeast of Santa Marta, I discovered that many of my Colombian colleagues and students had not heard of this "ciudad perdida."

Mike, Peter, and Matt arrived to Cali on Friday.  I showed them around the city and on Sunday we hopped a flight to Santa Marta.  After a great night at the hotel Casa Aluna, we were met Monday morning bright and early by our machete-weilding guide, Juan Carlos.  From there we picked up the rest of our hiking group - two Czech girls and a German girl - and drove three hours into the mountains as far as the bumpy dirt road allowed the Jeep to go.

The first part of the hike is through campesino land; cultivated country-side, sparsely populated by farmers, donkeys, and chickens.  The second half of the hike was through land designated for the Kogi indians, a group of indigenous people who have cautiously embraced tourism while remaining fiercely private and holding to their ancestral way of life.

Some Kogi children in the hills.

The Kogi, dressed in white tunic-like clothing, were present at various turns, either walking the same trails we were - though often barefoot - or hidden in the forest and would whisper a quiet response when greeted.  The children seemed most interested in the hikers, but as a way to barter for sweets, bracelets, or bandanas.  Kogi villages are relatively small, but not terribly far from other settlements.  The grass and sugarcane-constructed circular houses have two points at the peak of the roof, symbolic of the two highest summits in the Sierra Nevadas, both over 5,500 meters.

"Juan Carlos says the 'lost city' is over there."
~Peter on day #1

We took three days getting in to the base of the mountain where the "lost city" was located and two days getting out, including day four when we doubled back and covered around 10 miles.   Juan Carlos was impressed with our drive; I hesitate to use the words "stamina" or "fitness" as some of us are nowhere near the fine physical specimens we were in the pool-days.

Most of the hiking was either up, down, or, as Juan Carlos prepped us, "varied."  Most of our uphill exertions were rewarded with oranges or watermelon wedges and our assents started with a banana and a "good luck."

1,200 steps to the top!

Even to get to the actual "lost city" one has to climb approximately 1,200 ancient stone stairs which begin along the banks of a river and go essentially straight up the mountain-side.  Likened to Peru's Machu Picchu, but older, the "lost city" was originally called Teyuna and was one of the most important settlements for the ancient Tairona indians who were driven out of existence by the year 1600 through a combination of wars with the Spanish conquistadors and retreating into the mountains and beyond.

Also like Machu Picchu, the Spanish never found Teyuna.  However, in the mid-1970's a breed of grave-robber known in Colombia as the guaquero, did.  Archeologists followed, attempting to salvage the damage caused by the guaqueros destructive search for gold.  Add to that the various para-military groups hiding in the area, the Kogi communities, poor campesino farmers, and the secret illegal marijuana and coca plant fields and the Sierra Nevadas are not a place you want to find yourself!

The top foundation belonged to the Shaman's house.  The adjacent one on the same level
is believed to be where his wives lived.  Since he was the most important individual in
the community, his house was at the highest point; only tombs of the ancestors could be
located higher (ie: where this pictures was taken from).

"Ciudad Perdida" far exceeded my expectations.  I had no idea how expansive it was and as Juan Carlos took us to the various sections of the once-spralling mountain town, every painful step along the trail became worth it.

Morning sunrise from hammocks at Camp Alfredo.

Kogi hut used in the processing of sugar cane
at one of the summits along the hike.

Most of the Kogi men carried a poporo with them.
The bottom is a hollow gourd filled with powder made of
ground shells and coca leaf.  They put the stick in through
the hole after applying saliva and then rub in on the
outside, causing it to grow slowly over time.  This is
meant to demonstrate a man's responsibility and his
readiness to "keep" a woman.  It is also a bit sexual.

Taking a break with the guides "Pollito" and Juan Carlos.

Welcome to the "lost city" of Teyuna!

Did I mention three helicopters landed while we were at the "lost city"?
The third one stayed.  Supposedly the President was coming later.  Hmm...
Really happy about that being in my picture.

 Juan Carlos was incredibly knowledgeable, having both grown up on his grandmother's farm in the area and guided tours for close to twenty years, he was always prepared and overflowing with knowledge.  Thankfully I have intelligent and inquisitive friends who were more than happy to sit around after dinner most nights, lit only by candles waxed to the tables and test my translating abilities.

The one question that never got asked concerned those stair-climbing cattle.  However, if we managed to haul our sorry selves all over that terrain, I'm sure a cow can tackle a few steps.  Just let's all agree never to bring this conversation up again.  I beg you.

A Colombian Superbowl

Eli Manning and I had a lot in common this past weekend, namely that we both went to and conquered a superbowl.  Only Eli got a nice trophy and ring while I got nauseous and windburned.

Volcán Puracé

Despite the misconception that all of South America is beaches and rainforest, people may be surprised to know that I keep a supply of winter hats, gloves, fleece jackets, and thermal underwear on hand in the event I go somewhere cold.  Last weekend four other teachers and I joined a tour to the Parque Nacional Natural Puracé, which straddles the southern departments of Cauca and Huila.

While the park's main draw is it's namesake active volcano, our tour also included visits to two of its other unique natural attractions.  On the first day we stopped at an overlook of a deep valley where Colombia's only population of condors habitually exist.  Condors apparently mate for life, can live up to sixty years, and only lay one egg every two years - a few reasons condors in many parts of the world are endangered.  The park workers set out raw meat on a rock outcropping to tempt the enormous birds from the sky, which eventually worked, but only after vultures came and tried to take their food.  Vultures, not small birds themselves, looked like little crows next to the majestic condors when they descended to claim the baited meat.

We also made a brief stop at the sulfury-smelling San Juan thermal springs, so named for the river they eventually supply.  The river is composed of the confluence of mountain spring water and volcanic minerals mixing together at the site of the thermal springs.  This is said to be the second most beautiful river in Colombia.

Superbowl Sunday began with a 4am wake-up call and breakfast, followed by a "¡Vámonos!" rally call and a steady march uphill in the pitch dark.  Our ultimate goal: the park's namesake volcano, Puracé, at an elevation of around 4700 meters (about 2.5 miles above sea level).  From our lodge at 3200 meters we hiked through some hillside pastures - cows and all - and over some fences until we reached a relatively flat stretch of muddy trenches and moss fields.  This part of the hike took us through a unique biome that exists in very few parts of the world called a páramo (English: paramo).  Found mostly in Andean locations throughout Colombia, Ecuador, & Venezuela characterized by higher altitudes coupled with cold, wet weather, the páramo is both lush and desolate.

The frailejón, a shrub plant, is characteristic of the páramo biome.

A little after sunrise on the way up; still smiling.

After a brief pit stop at an old geological monitoring station to take shelter from the chilling wind, we began climbing again.  The green landscape turned quickly and dramatically to nothing more than lichen-covered rocks and boulders.  The clouds around us thickened until we were walking in an endless expanse of white, the wind began blowing the droplets of water in the air horizontally so that it whipped any exposed flesh on our faces, and the oxygen thinned noticeably.

Mandi being blown off the mountain a little over half-way up.

My "I paid for this?!?" face.

Over an hour later the ground had gotten less stable and was less like hiking and more like scrambling up an ashen sand dune while only taking tiny half-steps partly from altitude exhaustion and partly from a completely rational fear of being blown clear off the volcano.  By now the hikers had all been spread pretty thinly and one cluster could barely make out the next by their ghostly grey silhouettes severals dozen yards distant against the suffocating white.  I will never again look out an airplane window and think "what nice fluffy clouds!" without remembering how one tried beating me to a pulp.

Finally reaching a semblance of flat ground, my two remaining friends and I found one of the guides with about five other hikers crouched behind some large rocks.  The guide then took us about 100 yards more, across what I imagine Mars looks like, to the mouth of the volcano; even this took considerable effort and coercion from my fellow hikers.  Feeling equal amounts of exhaustion, nausea, and frustration, we looked into the nothingness, took one quick picture, and headed down to base camp as fast as our weary legs could carry us.

What we were supposed to see (left) versus what we saw (right).

Our guide later said that the weather we experienced was more on par with the turbulent season of August, when there are no tours.  Predicting the weather atop the volcano is impossible and nothing below can accurately predict what will happen above.  While the National Park itself was gorgeous, the páramo enchanting, and the climate a refreshing change from Cali, our volcano hike was more or less one of the more trying and uncomfortable experiences in recent memory.  Actually I am not exaggerating when I say that the only sustained event I can think of in the last five years that was worse was when I contracted Dengue.

Manning and I both may have felt like we were on top of the world on Sunday, but I'm pretty sure I was the one who felt like vomiting.

This Is Too Hard; Let's Just Quit! (Part I)

Nicaragua - A Visit In Two Parts
These were the proclamations uttered as we trekked and, as the guide book adequately put it, "scrumbled" our way toward the top of the Maderas Volcano, comprising the eastern side of Isla Omatepe on the expansive Lake Nicaragua.  While they were meant half in jest and half as perverse motivation, they seem to ring true to my impression of the tangled history and complex ppolitics that make up this fabulous country. After years of political strife, conflict, and wars, the people here seem tired.  They are seem happy to be in a time of peace and calm and want nothing more for things to remain that way, slowly improving towards a better future.

Isla Omatepe's twin volcanoes: Concepción (L) & Maderas (R)

Conflict is hard.  Death and war and poverty and locked doors and politics are hard.  Let's just quit and live our lives.   Take a break from civil wars and work on establishing a working government.  Smile and work and raise families and laugh.  Sounds like a good idea to me!

The "muddy scrumble" up Maderas.

Upon arriving at dark to the capital of Managua, I did not know what to expect.  After my taxista, who had a fondness for Johnny Cash, warned me that "eating trout from the lake would cause me to die from a tapeworm with three heads" I was even more perplexed as to what this week would bring.  However, I thoroughly enjoyed my six day vacation in Nicaragua, visiting with friends, both new and old.  An ex-colleague from my Manitowoc days, Lynn, just completed her two-year Peace Corps service in the Philippines and was visiting a couple other volunteers in Costa Rica for the New Year, so we decided to meet up across the border to the north, knowing little and expecting nothing.  It turned out to be one of the most rewarding "random" travel decisions I've ever made.

I met their foursome in the "cattle town" of Rivas on the Panamerican Highway - me coming from Managua, they from the southern border - and promptly boarded a ferry in the port town of San Jorge to reach Isla Omatepe on the enormous Lake Nicaragua.  The island was formed from the eruption of two volcanos, creating a disfigured "eight"-like shape.  One of the volcanos, Concepción, is still active though the last activity was a sputtering of red non-toxic gas a few months ago; it has since settled down.  We, however, stayed at a rustic lodging on the part of the isle dominated by the Maderas volcano which has a lake in it's crater as evidence of any recent activity.

A sunset dip near Mérida on Isla Omatepe.

Since it initially took a good 90 minutes to get from the dock on the other side of the island to our lodge, we stayed on our part of Omatepe the entire three days, filling the time with excursions to the San Ramón waterfall and the aforementioned beautifully strenuous climb up Maderas.

The hike to the crater ridge was one of the most stunning and challenging I've ever done.  It resulted in two sore legs and a left knee that is showing signs of not being twenty years old anymore, but the vistas and flora along the way were incomparable.  As we literally climbed hand over foot using cloud dampened roots as ladder rungs, the mist of the forest gave way to a secret world filled with ferns and dew-dropped, moss-covered vines.  Taking a breather on the narrow pathway up on the volcano's ridge, you couldn't help but notice the contrast in temperature between the breezy and moist cloud forest around you and the hotter summer-like lake shore a mere 1300 meters below.