As we slogged up, up, up the trail to Ciudad Perdida in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, the highest coastal mountain range in the world, I could barely keep our kid in my sight line. At 12 years old, he hiked with our guide at the front of the pack for the entire 37-mile, three-and-a-half day trek. I could almost keep up on the uphills, but going downhill he was often a full 20 minutes ahead of me. It was a sweaty and buggy and long and beautiful hike through the untouched nature of the Caribbean Colombian rainforest to the Lost City.
As I watched my boy bounding up the trail, I could almost see the man he is becoming. The full force of his strong personality and the beauty of his potential wove together, and in a momentary flash, Ezra’s essence blossomed. It was as if I had hit the fast-forward button on his life, and the man he will be was hiking just a little bit up the trail from me.
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There’s only one way to Ciudad Perdida
The foundational anchor for our family Colombia trip was this hike to the archaeological site of Ciudad Perdida. Built around 700 A.D., and actively used until the Tayrona people mysteriously disappeared in the 1600s, the site is marked by circular stone mosaic platforms that once held the foundations of homes, ceremonial and feasting areas, stone paths, canals, storehouses, and staircases. Cuidad Perdida is the shy older cousin to the rock-star famous Machu Picchu; it holds all the mystery and none of the crowds. Unlike Machu Picchu, there isn’t a tourist train or luxury hotel at Ciudad Perdida. There is exactly only one way to reach the top and that is by your own power.
I honestly didn’t know how hard the hike would be. Up and down the steep trail that cut into the mountain like a razor, we hiked and hiked for what felt like a lifetime. My legs burned as we ascended to the top of the mountain where Ciudad Perdida rests. The peak was nearly 4,000 feet higher than where we started, but we undoubtedly climbed three times that high, rising up the trail and then back down the other side over and over again.
Even the easy sections, affectionately called, “Colombian Flats,” were comparable to the most difficult hikes we do at home in Oregon. Despite the challenge, Ezra beamed. The brutality of the hike seemed to motivate him. Not one complaint during the entire trek. Not about the mosquitos or the tropical heat or the drenching rain. I could sense his confidence growing with each meter we rose into the clouds.
Putting our family motto to the test
Ezra’s dad and I love to play outside, and as parents we have sought to infuse Ezra’s childhood with experiences in nature. Hiking has always been our preferred family outdoor activity. When Ezra was a baby, one of us would sling him on our back in increasingly burly kid-backpacks. He was an easy trail companion when he didn’t talk yet. Pretty much as soon as the talking started (non stop talking!), he refused the rides in the backpack and insisted on hiking on his own. But Ezra’s idea of a hike included about 10 minutes of walking and then the questioning would start. “How long are we hiking for?” “When do we stop for lunch?” “Can we PLEASE turn around now?”
I believe the only way we can truly discover who we are is when we are given the opportunity to shine.
It was around this time, when Ezra was preschool age, we created a family motto, “Our family never gives up.” It was an early effort to motivate our academically bright child who I feared would rely on his innate intelligence and get frustrated when things didn’t come easily to him. By baking in the idea that challenge is a good thing, Ezra has learned to work for things he wants. A reminder of our family motto often arises when hiking.
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The first big hiking win, when Ezra was four, was a four-mile adventure in Volcanoes National Park on the Island of Hawaii. Walking through the otherworldly landscape of undulating waves of dry lava beds kept up the interest and motivation for about three quarters of the hike. By the last mile, our little guy was tired and got a piggy back assist from his dad. By the time we reached the rental car, Ezra was already boasting of his accomplishment. “Four years old and four miles—Whoo hoo!” he sang out, and then promptly fell asleep on the drive back to our hotel.
A transformational rite of passage
On the trail to Ciudad Perdida, a quickly maturing almost-teenager emerged where my baby once was. He was personable, kind, and witty with everyone we met. The next youngest hiker was twice his age. Even though I have spent many (many) weekends watching him run the lengths of soccer fields all over our city, I didn’t quite realize how fit our son is. Watching him lap me as I sweated up the trail was humbling.
Ezra took it all in stride, he knew when he could tease me and his dad for not keeping up and he knew when to praise our considerable effort. Who was this person? I have known him all his life, and yet somehow on that mountain my son gathered up all the strength and wisdom of the adventurer he is and is becoming. He had, I realized, in the parlance of his friends, rizz. In that sweet, prepubescent swagger, I could see the embodied glow of the man who he will be.
I would do anything to bring joy, curiosity, and wonder into our son’s life, even sweat my way up a very steep mountain. Travel allows me to accompany our kid as he practices navigating unfamiliar situations and puts his problem-solving skills and creativity to work. I believe the only way we can truly discover who we are is when we are given the opportunity to shine. The trek was a transformational rite of passage that gave Ezra the chance to showcase his enthusiasm for an epic adventure with grit, perseverance, and joy. What a gift it was to watch him grow up, just a little bit, as we hiked up the trail, together.
