Do you wanna drive?

We hit Colombia knackered after a long day's travelling, flying direct to the coastal town of Cartagena in the north. It was 11pm when our taxi driver eventually brought us to a fairly dodgy looking neighbourhood, drove down a street with all the power out, stopped right next to a rowdy group of drinkers, scraping the car next to us, and points to a pitch-black doorway, saying "in there". We thanked him and paid, opting instead for the first well-lit hostel down the street, as we were feeling somewhat vulnerable wandering round the area with all our bags, being hassled by various drunks.

Cartagena is a stunning town once you get inside the old city walls - surely the colonial gem of Colombia. Fortified walls protect the well-positioned city that was ransacked by pirates (English and French, mostly) several times back in the day.

Our dodgy neighbourhood wasn't actually as bad as it looked at first - there is a heavy police presence but they mostly wander around eating pizza and hotdogs, rather than arresting anyone. Subsequent nights we went out drinking and eating street-food around there and found a much nicer vibe, chilling with the locals outside a small church booming gospel choir songs.

Making our way to Taganga, a few hours east along the coast, we found a beautiful French-owned hostel "Casa de Felipe" with the best feature by far being its restaurant, run by French chef Dominique. There I was in a sleepy fishing village on the rural Colombian coast, enjoying the finest filet mignon with ratatouille and delicious mash... heaven.

The local fish market

We had planned to take a trip to try and find (or re-find, in my case) the Cuidad Perdida - the Lost City of the Tayronas, on a 5-day jungle trek, however we were enticed by a local tour agency selling downhill mountain biking tours up in the Sierra Nevada (which, incidentally, is the steepest mountain range to rise out of the sea in the world - from 0m to 5,200m+ in just 30km). The day consisted of an hour and a half uphill by taxi then back-of-motorbike (on dirt roads with lunatic Colombian drivers) then several hours downhill on dusty tarmac, gravel tracks, sand patches and towards the end of the day a particularly steep bit down an old river bed, where I was hugely impressed by Beth's newly found skills as she skidded and flew over the boulders. Unfortunately our guides were somewhat lacking, the first coming acropper after just 10 minutes in the morning, flying over the handlebars whilst showing off how to get flames from grinding the pedals on tarmac around corners... the other guide, not quite as reckless, still gave us the impression he'd much rather be out on his own. And matters weren't helped by Beth's bike 'exploding' under her feet - the derailleur bracket snapping, sending metal parts flying around her legs before plowing into the back wheel. Overall though, an awesome day out, with Beth pleased to have held her own in a group of 6 guys!

An added bonus to the day's riding (although not in Beth's eyes!) was a spot of canyoning halfway through, where trusting our guide's somewhat dubious assurances we jumped and slid off various rock faces into narrow pools, all in the name of fun.

Leap of faith

Throughout the Lost City trek I had the distinct feeling of deja-vu - flashes of the same trek I did in 2004 kept coming back to me the whole way, even though many things have changed. Back then, there was 1 tour group a week if that, now there are 4 or 5 a day. The steady increase of tourists ever since is surely a sign that Colombia is shrugging off it's menacing reputation on the international scene - indeed, where last I remembered being shown the various stages of cocaine production, the land is now covered in coffee plantations (a stipulation of the ceasefire between the paramilitaries and the guerilla in that area, as coca plants always attract armed forces in need of easy cash).

Our tour guide Miguel, at only 24 years old, was definitely the youngest of all the tour guides (most being ex-paramilitaries), however had his share of stories to tell, not the nicest of which was the story of how he came to be living in the jungle - his family were forced from their old city home by the guerilla when he was 12, and all they could afford was a small jungle farm so they moved out here. Him and his brother have been forced to work for their food and clothes ever since, as their father's $5-a-day wage could not cover it.

Miguel's jungle home

The first few days of the trek were easy, 4-5 hours walking a day through lush woodlands and jungle pastures.

With us in our group were a couple of Aussie guys, Hugh and Lewis, who were a right laugh and kept us entertained many a time with their ant obsessions and firefly adornments!

The first night's sleep was in hammocks with “mosquiteros”, quite a novelty but not something we could do every night!

The rest of the time we slept in damp bunk beds, trying to sleep amongst the deafening sounds of the jungle 'disco-frogs' and the even worse sounds of fellow snorers (not me of course).

The Lost City itself was, as before, stunning, the only difference from back in the day was that there's a heavy military presence now - I'm told they get paid 60,000 pesos a month for this - a sweet deal you may think? Not really, as that's around £20, however their wage goes up considerably after they've proved their stamina by enduring 8 months of jungle life.

Beth's dream hut

Our final day's trekking we awoke to torrential rain, so donned our custom-made raincoats (black binbags) and headed off. This was always going to be the most difficult day at 7 hours walk, however the rain had turned the clay hills into some kind of nightmarish FunHouse mud-slide. A proper challenge at last! After picking off several tics, we endured a final bumpy ride back to Taganga where many well-deserved beers were waiting for us, along with a slap-up steak dinner and a mad night out on the Medellin Anejo 3yo rum, eventually finding our dry, clean beds at 4am... ahhhhhh.

Modelling the latest jungle-wear

Moving on from Taganga, the taxi to the airport was going to take a while to get to us so we accepted a ride from a guy in the street we knew worked with the hostel (no, not just a random!) - a somewhat unorthodox taxi driver, he asked us if we wanted to drive...? That day was a long day travelling - 2 taxis, 2 flights, a bus and a pickup, however well worth it to arrive at the beautiful San Agustin. So at 10pm I led a knackered and somewhat wary Beth up a pitch-black path on the hill overlooking the town (I would have been wary too had I not been there before), eventually finding and warmly welcomed to the exceptional Casa de Francois.

We spent a beautifully tranquil 6 days there in total, soaking up the small-town vibe and the slow-paced way of life on Francois' mini ranch, complete with a horse and new foal, 2 cats with a tiny kitten and 7 dogs including 5 three-week-old weimorana puppies (much to Beth's delight).

Francois' place was a delight to stay in - the rooms were beautifully built with mud and bamboo, and bottles in the walls to let the light in. The food they served up was also beyond expectations - chocolate brownies to die for and fabulously cooked steaks and crepes every night. And the coffee, grown next to our room, is just too good not to drink.

A random piece of street-art

Tearing ourselves away from our hammocks for a day we found a local guide with a few horses and went for a chilled ride in the countryside – chilled, that is, until the horses – completely of their own accord – decided to start racing each other. Luckily they knew the way as we had minimal control! We rode along the valley tracks at varying speeds to visit some other-worldly statues dotted around the countryside, of which we know very little about.

Our time in Colombia came to an end in rainy Bogota, visiting the impressive gold museum and the now-sold-out Salt Cathedral in Zipaquira, featuring an unbelievably cheesy light-show in a darkened cavern, lending itself more to a nightclub than a miners' place of worship.

Boobalicious Colombian mannequin

On our final wander through Bogota we got picked on by a professional street comedian with a 100-strong crowd – keen to pick out the first gringo that approached!

Hornet vs. Spider - my money's on the hornet

Sad to finish Colombia, but excited about a manic 2-week itinerary we have planned through Bolivia and Peru when Jacques joins us, we hopped on a flight to La Paz – the hectic crater on the roof of the world.