The heat in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta does not just sit on you; it hunts you. It is a physical weight, a suffocating blanket of 90% humidity that turns the air into a soup of vapor and botanical decay. Here, the jungle breathes louder than you do. As you trudge through the mud, the cacophony of cicadas sounds less like nature’s choir and more like a circular saw cutting through metal—a relentless, high-pitched scream that pierces the brain.
This is the preamble to Teyuna, the "Lost City" of Colombia. In the glossy brochures found in Santa Marta hostels, the Ciudad Perdida trek is sold as a backpacker’s rite of passage—a tropical walk leading to a majestic photo opportunity. But to treat this place merely as a scenic hike is to misunderstand the ground beneath your feet. You are walking on a graveyard, a crime scene, and a temple, all layered into one vertical kilometer of jungle.
Before the Gore-Tex boots and the filtered water bottles arrived, this region was known to the locals not as a tourist park, but as El Infierno Verde—The Green Hell. It was a place where the mountains swallowed men whole, where yellow fever and leishmaniasis rotted the skin, and where the silence was often broken by the crack of a gunshot. To walk here is to traverse a timeline of violence, moving from the blood of modern grave robbers back to the imperious silence of an ancient civilization that watched the Spanish Empire rise and fall without ever being conquered.
The Sepúlveda Discovery: A Turkey, A Stone, A War
The "discovery" of Ciudad Perdida did not begin with a university grant or a pith-helmeted explorer. It began with a wild turkey and a gunshot.
In 1972, deep in the upper Buritaca River valley, a family of looters—Guaqueros—led by Florentino Sepúlveda were pushing through the density of the high jungle. They were hunting for food, not history. One of the Sepúlveda sons spotted a wild turkey roosting in the canopy. He raised his shotgun and fired. The bird fell, crashing through the layers of ferns and lianas, landing in a dense patch of moss on the forest floor.
When the men hacked their way through the undergrowth to retrieve their dinner, they found the bird lying not on dirt, but on stone. It had landed on a carved flagstone, perfectly fitted and smooth despite centuries of neglect. They scraped away the moss. Then they scraped some more. The stone was part of a step. The step was part of a staircase. And the staircase led up into the clouds.
The Sepúlveda family had stumbled upon the Escalera al Cielo (Stairway to Heaven), the main entrance to Teyuna. But they did not call the authorities. In the lawless logic of the Sierra, they had struck a vein of gold. They began to dig.
The Era of the Guaqueros: Grave Robbers and Gold Eagles
What followed was not an archaeological excavation, but a frantic, violent gold rush. The Guaqueros knew that the Tairona people buried their dead with their wealth. They tore into the terraces and the foundations of the houses, ripping open graves that had been sealed for 400 years.
They found treasures that stagger the imagination: breastplates of hammered gold, intricate nose rings, and tiny golden frogs and eagles, cast with a metallurgical sophistication that rivals the best work of the Incas or Aztecs. But the greed of the "Green Hell" took over. Word spread through the valleys, and rival gangs of looters ascended the mountain.
The site became a war zone. Guaqueros fought each other with machetes and shotguns for control of the prime digging spots. It is estimated that a significant portion of the city’s history was destroyed during this period—pottery smashed, bones scattered, and context lost forever in the hunt for meltable metal. It wasn't until 1976 that the Colombian government realized the magnitude of what was happening. Archaeologists, backed by the military, had to be flown in by helicopter. They didn't arrive to study a ruin; they arrived to secure a crime scene.
History of Teyuna Lost City: The Empire Before Machu Picchu
To understand the History of Teyuna Lost City is to realign your understanding of time in the Americas. Teyuna was founded around 800 AD, some 650 years before the Incas placed the first stone at Machu Picchu. While Europe was slogging through the Dark Ages, the Tairona were building a metropolis in the clouds.
This was not an isolated village. Teyuna was the political and manufacturing capital of a massive network of over 250 stone settlements connected by paved paths that crisscrossed the Sierra Nevada. At its peak, it housed between 2,000 and 8,000 people—a bustling hive of priests, artisans, and warriors.
The Tairona were fierce. When the Spanish Conquistadors arrived on the Caribbean coast, they easily subjugated the tribes of the lowlands. But the Tairona retreated up the mountain, into their stone fortresses. They resisted the Spanish for over a hundred years, using the vertical terrain as a weapon. They were never fully conquered by the sword; they were defeated by smallpox and influenza. Around 1600 AD, the city fell silent. The survivors retreated even further into the peaks, and the jungle reclaimed the stone, hiding it from the "Younger Brothers" (outsiders) for four centuries.
Tairona Civilization Architecture: The Mountain as a Machine
When you finally see the city, you must look past the romance of the ruins and see the engineering. Tairona civilization architecture was not decorative; it was survivalist. The Sierra Nevada sees up to 4,000 mm of rain annually. Without sophisticated engineering, a city built on a 40-degree slope would slide off the mountain in a single monsoon season.
Teyuna is a machine designed to handle water. The city consists of over 160 terraces carved into the mountainside. Beneath the stone pavers lies a complex network of drainage channels lined with slate. These channels collect rainwater from the living areas and funnel it aggressively away from the foundations, preventing soil saturation and landslides.
The layout mirrors the cosmos. The circular terraces—called anillos (rings)—were the foundations for large communal roundhouses made of wood and palm thatch. The city is divided into sectors: manufacturing zones for goldsmiths and potters on the flanks, and ceremonial zones on the highest ridges, ensuring that the priests lived physically closer to the gods and the stars.
The Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta Paramilitaries and the Cocaine Trails
The violence of the Guaqueros in the 1970s was only the first act of modern bloodshed. By the 1980s and 90s, the gold had run out, but the isolation of the Sierra remained valuable. The region transformed into a stronghold for the cultivation of coca and marijuana.
The Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta paramilitaries—specifically the AUC (United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia)—and guerrilla groups like the FARC and ELN fought for control of these corridors. The very trails trekkers walk today were once the supply lines for cocaine labs hidden in the valleys.
The indigenous people were caught in the crossfire, forced to pay "war taxes" or flee their ancestral lands. For decades, the Lost City was effectively closed to the world, protected not by moss, but by landmines and AK-47s. The tranquility you feel on the trail today is a recent luxury; the soil beneath the mud is stained with the memory of a civil war that turned the "Heart of the World" into a strategic corridor for the drug trade.
The Lost City Colombia Kidnapping 2003: When the War Came to the Trek
The narrative of danger that still clings to the Ciudad Perdida trek is not entirely historical paranoia. It is rooted in the very real events of September 12, 2003.
In the dead of night, rebels from the ELN (National Liberation Army) raided the sleeping cabins at the archaeological site. They were not looking for gold; they were looking for leverage. They rounded up the terrified tourists and separated the foreigners from the Colombians.
The Lost City Colombia kidnapping 2003 resulted in eight foreign trekkers (from Britain, Germany, Spain, and Israel) being marched into the jungle at gunpoint. They were held hostage for three months in the brutal conditions of the Sierra, moved constantly to evade military patrols.
This event decimated tourism in the region for years. It was a stark reminder that the jungle was still a conflict zone. However, it also marked the turning point. The international outcry forced the Colombian government to take decisive action. A permanent military battalion was established in the high sierra, and the region was systematically cleared of armed groups. Today, the trail is patrolled by the Colombian Army, and the guides maintain constant radio contact, but the ghost of 2003 serves as a reminder: you are a guest in a wild, unpredictable place.
The Elder Brothers: Kogi and Wiwa Indigenous Culture
As you hike, you will pass men in white tunics and trousers, their hair long and black, carrying woven bags (mochilas). They often walk barefoot or in rubber boots, moving with a silent grace that makes the heavy-booted tourists look clumsy. These are the Kogi and the Wiwa. They are not merely "locals." They are the direct descendants of the Tairona, the survivors who fled to the peaks 400 years ago.
Kogi and Wiwa indigenous culture views humanity through a dichotomy: they are the "Elder Brothers," and we (the Westerners) are the "Younger Brothers." Their white clothing represents purity and the snow of the sacred peaks—Gonawindua. They believe their mandate is to maintain the spiritual balance of the world from these mountains, which they consider the heart of the planet.
You will see the men constantly using a gourd called a poporo. They dip a stick into the gourd to retrieve crushed lime (made from seashells), which they mix with the coca leaves they chew in their cheeks. This is not drug use; it is a profound ritual of manhood and meditation. The lime activates the coca, creating a mild stimulant effect that suppresses hunger and fatigue, but more importantly, the act of rubbing the stick against the neck of the gourd—building up a yellow crust of calcium—symbolizes the writing of thoughts and the maturation of the soul.
The Law of Origin (Aluna): The Spirit World
To understand the city, you must understand The Law of Origin (Aluna). In the indigenous cosmology, the material world is secondary to the world of thought, or Aluna. Nothing exists in the physical realm without first being conceived in Aluna.
The spiritual leaders, known as Mamos, spend their entire lives in deep meditation, communicating with the spirit world to ensure that the sun rises, the rivers flow, and the crops grow. To the Kogi, Ciudad Perdida was never "lost." They always knew exactly where it was. They visited it secretly for centuries to perform rituals. They allowed the jungle to cover it to protect it from the greed of the Younger Brothers.
When the Guaqueros and archaeologists "found" the city, the Kogi saw it as a violation—a tearing open of the earth. The fact that we can visit today is a concession. The Mamos have decided that the only way to save the world from environmental collapse is to allow the Younger Brothers to see the majesty of nature, in the hope that we might finally learn to respect it.
Ciudad Perdida Trek Difficulty: Into the Mud
Let us strip away the Instagram filter: the Ciudad Perdida trek difficulty is substantial. It is not a technical climb—you don't need ropes or crampons—but it is a war of attrition. You will cover approximately 46 kilometers (28 miles) over four days, but the distance is irrelevant. It is the elevation gain and the elements that break you.
The trail is a relentless series of steep ascents and descents. You are rarely on flat ground. The heat is oppressive, often exceeding 35°C (95°F) with humidity that prevents sweat from evaporating. You are permanently wet—if not from rain, then from your own body.
The path is composed of red clay that turns into a slick, ankle-deep slurry when the afternoon rains hit. Mules struggle for footing; hikers slide and fall. The mosquitoes and sandflies are voracious. At night, you sleep in open-air hammocks or bunk beds covered in mosquito nets, listening to the jungle prowl outside. It is physically exhausting and mentally taxing, stripping away the comforts of modern life until all that remains is the rhythm of your breath and the next step.
Crossing the Buritaca River: The Veins of the Sierra
The Buritaca River is the artery of the trek. You will follow its course, hearing its roar grow louder as you ascend. But you don't just walk beside it; you must cross it.
The Buritaca River crossing is a moment of vulnerability. There are no bridges in the upper sections. You must wade into the current, often waist-deep, balancing on slick river stones while holding your pack above your head. In the dry season, it is a refreshing dip. In the rainy season, the river can swell into a brown torrent in minutes, delaying groups for hours.
This crossing serves a dual purpose. Logistically, it is the barrier that keeps the casual tourists away. Spiritually, it acts as a cleansing. You cannot enter the domain of Teyuna without being washed by the waters born from the sacred snows above. It washes away the dust of the "civilized" world before you approach the holy stairs.
The 1,200 Stone Steps: The Path of Penance
The final push to the city is the most iconic and the most punishing. The 1,200 stone steps rise almost vertically from the riverbank, disappearing into the dense foliage. These are not uniform, OSHA-compliant stairs. They are narrow, moss-slicked stones of varying heights, wedged into the mountainside over a millennium ago.
The design is intentional. The steepness and narrowness force a specific body language. You cannot walk up these stairs with your head held high, looking around. To avoid falling, you must look down at your feet, bowing your head. You are forced into a posture of submission and humility.
The Tairona engineers ensured that no one could enter their city without bowing before it. As you climb, lungs burning, legs trembling, you are performing a physical penance, shedding your ego step by step until you are worthy of entering the terraces.
Arrival at Teyuna: Silence and Stone
When you crest the final step, the jungle canopy suddenly breaks. You step out of the claustrophobic green tunnel and onto a wide, manicured terrace bathed in light.
The first sensation is not visual; it is auditory. The aggressive noise of the jungle seems to drop away, replaced by a heavy, ancient silence. You are standing on the residential terraces, surrounded by the peaks of the Sierra.
There are no grand palaces here. The Tairona built with biodegradable materials—wood and palm—on top of these stone foundations. The houses are gone, leaving only the stone circles, like footprints of a giant. The landscape is manicured yet wild, with palm trees swaying over the mossy walls. It feels like a secret garden suspended in the sky, a place where the barrier between the earth and the Aluna is incredibly thin.
Indigenous-Run Tourism: Reclaiming the Narrative
In the last decade, a significant shift has occurred. The trek is no longer solely the domain of outside tour operators. The Wiwa and Kogi communities have entered the tourism industry, partnering with agencies or running their own operations (such as Wiwa Tours).
This is a form of economic reclamation and cultural defense. By controlling the flow of tourists, they can ensure that their sacred sites are treated with respect. The revenue generated is often used to buy back ancestral lands from farmers and cattle ranchers, allowing the indigenous groups to reforest the areas and restore the "Black Line"—the spiritual border of their territory.
Walking with an indigenous guide changes the texture of the experience. They do not just point out the path; they explain the spiritual significance of a rock, the medicinal use of a plant, and the mythology of the river. They are teaching the Younger Brothers how to read the world.
The Ecological Warning: The Dying Heart
The view from Teyuna is breathtaking, but for the Kogi, it is also heartbreaking. From the high terraces, on a clear morning, you can see the snow-capped peaks of Cristóbal Colón and Simón Bolívar. But every year, the white caps get smaller.
To the Elder Brothers, this is not just climate change; it is a spiritual crisis. They believe the Sierra Nevada is the "Heart of the World," and the snow is the life force. The melting snow is a sign that the heart is failing. They warn that the Younger Brothers’ rapacious appetite for resources—digging into the earth for oil and coal—is killing the Great Mother.
The visit to Ciudad Perdida ends with this heavy realization. You are not just visiting a ruin; you are receiving a warning. The receding snows are a visual receipt of our lifestyle, visible from the sacred terraces of a people who have lived in harmony with this mountain for two thousand years.
Conclusion: The View from the Helicopter Pad
The trek culminates at the highest point of the city, a sector often referred to as the "Helicopter Pad" (though it is actually a ceremonial terrace). From here, you look down upon the iconic view: the green, circular terraces cascading down the knife-edge ridge, framed by the vertical walls of the jungle.
It looks like a landing pad for gods, silent and indifferent to the exhausted tourists catching their breath and snapping selfies. Standing here, the "backpacker glory" fades away. You realize that Teyuna does not belong to the tourists, nor does it belong to the Colombian government. It belongs to the Aluna.
The city isn't "lost." It was never lost. It was hiding, waiting out the violence of the conquest, the greed of the grave robbers, and the crossfire of the civil war. As you turn to begin the long descent back to the bottom, back to the noise and the heat, you leave with the unsettling sense that the Elder Brothers are watching from the shadows, wondering if the message was received, or if we are simply passing through, leaving nothing but footprints in the mud of the Green Hell.
Sources & References
- Ereira, Alan. The Heart of the World: The Elder Brothers' Warning. (Documentary and Book). A seminal work on the Kogi culture and their message to the west.
- Global Heritage Fund. Preservation of Ciudad Perdida. Reports on conservation efforts and sustainable tourism strategies in the Sierra Nevada.
- Instituto Colombiano de Antropología e Historia (ICANH). Official archaeological reports on the restoration and management of Teyuna.
- BBC News (2003). Kidnapped Tourists in Colombia. Contemporary reporting on the ELN kidnapping incident.
- The Guardian. Colombia's Lost City: The Trek to Teyuna. Travel and historical features regarding the transition from conflict zone to tourist destination.
- Davis, Wade. One River and The Wayfinders. Anthropological context on the indigenous peoples of the Americas and the Sierra Nevada.
- Survival International. The Kogi. Advocacy and detailed cultural information regarding the rights and beliefs of the Sierra Nevada indigenous tribes.
- National Geographic. Discovering the Lost City. various articles detailing the discovery and excavation of the site in the 1970s.
