
How a hike in Ciudad Perdida changed my son (and me) forever
As we trudged 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 child in my line of vision. At age 12, he hiked with our guide at the head of the pack for the entire 37-mile hike, three and a half days. I could almost keep up on the climbs, but on the descents he was often 20 minutes ahead of me. It was a long, beautiful, sweaty, buggy ride through the untouched nature of the Colombian Caribbean rainforest to the lost city.
As I watched my boy walk back 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 blended, and in a momentary flash, Ezra’s essence blossomed. It was as if I had pressed the fast-forward button on his life, and the man he would be was walking just a little further than me.
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There is only one way to Ciudad Perdida
The anchor of our family trip to Colombia was this hike to the archaeological site of Ciudad Perdida. Built around 700 AD and actively used until the mysterious disappearance of the Tayrona people in the 1600s, the site is marked by circular stone mosaic platforms that once housed the foundations of houses, ceremonial areas and party, stone paths, canals, warehouses and stairs. Cuidad Perdida is the shy, older cousin of the famous rock star Machu Picchu; it contains all the mystery and none of the crowds. Unlike Machu Picchu, there are no tourist trains or luxury hotels in Ciudad Perdida. There is only one way to reach the top: on your own.
I honestly didn’t know how difficult the hike would be. Up and down the steep trail that cut like a razor through the mountain, we walked and walked for what seemed like a lifetime. My legs burned as we climbed to the top of the mountain where Ciudad Perdida is located. The peak was almost 4,000 feet higher than our starting point, but we definitely climbed three times as high, going back 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 more difficult hikes we do back home in Oregon. Despite the challenge, Ezra beamed. The brutality of the hike seemed to motivate him. Not a single complaint during the entire trek. Not about mosquitoes, tropical heat or pouring rain. I could feel his confidence growing with every meter we climbed into the clouds.
Putting our family motto to the test


Ezra’s father and I love playing outside, and as parents we sought to infuse Ezra’s childhood with experiences in nature. Hiking has always been our favorite family outdoor activity. When Ezra was a baby, one of us carried him on our backs in increasingly sturdy children’s backpacks. He was an easy hiking companion when he didn’t yet speak. As soon as the arguments started (non-stop talking!), he refused walks with the backpack and insisted on hiking alone. But Ezra’s idea of a hike included about 10 minutes of walking, and then the questions would begin. “How long are we going to walk?” » “When do we stop for lunch?” “Can we PLEASE turn around now?”
I believe the only way to truly discover who we are is to give ourselves the opportunity to shine.
It was during this time, when Ezra was preschool age, that we created a family motto: “Our family never gives up.” It was a first effort to motivate our academically bright child, who I feared would rely on his innate intelligence and become frustrated when things didn’t come easily to him. By internalizing the idea that challenge is a good thing, Ezra has learned to work for the things he wants. A reminder of our family motto often pops up while hiking.
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The first big hiking victory, when Ezra was four, was a four-mile adventure in Volcanoes National Park on the island of Hawaii. Walking through the otherworldly landscape of rolling waves of dry lava beds maintained interest and motivation for about three-quarters of the hike. At the last mile our little guy was tired and got help from his dad. By the time we reached the rental car, Ezra was already bragging about his accomplishment. “Four years and four thousand – Whoo hoo!” “” he sang, then promptly fell asleep on the way back to our hotel.
A transformational rite of passage


On the way to Ciudad Perdida, a rapidly maturing almost adolescent emerged where my baby once was. He was gracious, kind and witty to everyone we met. The next youngest hiker was twice his age. Even though I spent many weekends watching him run on soccer fields throughout our city, I didn’t really realize how fit our son was. Watching him ride me while I sweated on the track 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 great efforts. Who was this person? I have known him all his life, and yet, on this mountain, my son has gathered all the strength and wisdom of the adventurer that he is and is becoming. He had, I realised, in the language of his friends, rizz. In that gentle prepubescent swagger, I could see the incarnate brilliance of the man he will be.
I would do anything to bring joy, curiosity, and wonder into our son’s life, even sweating my way up a very steep mountain. Travel allows me to accompany our child as he practices navigating unfamiliar situations and leverages his problem-solving skills and creativity. I believe the only way to truly discover who we are is to give ourselves the opportunity to shine. The trek was a transformational rite of passage that gave Ezra the opportunity to show his enthusiasm for an epic adventure with courage, perseverance and joy. What a gift it was to watch him grow, just a little bit, as we walked the trail together.