The Flood.

“The water is rising, you need to run. Now!”

Just the words we want to hear from our Bus driver as we step into the scariest storm I have ever seen.

We dive under a leaking bus shelter, surrounded by violent lightning. Two fellow drenched backpackers (also heading to El Rio hostel in Buritaca) tell us the road is completely flooded, we can’t get down and the water is getting higher.

I try to remain calm and reassure everyone that we will get there, while Jon is frantically calling the hostel for help. My mind is going wild, trying to remember the chances of getting struck by lightning and the increased risk of being surrounded by trees and knee deep water…

El Rio eventually pick up and send some ‘moto(rbike) taxis’ to come and collect us. The first arrives and takes Niamh, she clings to him for dear life and they fly down the hill, us three that remain breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Five minutes later, we hear the taxi coming back up, but Niamh is still on the back, shaking her soggy head.

“The bike can’t get trew, the water’s far too deep – the engine just cuts out, oh and I saw a rat swimming in the water”.

Jesus Christ.

It’s approaching 5pm and getting darker, two more backpackers arrive on a moto taxi, followed by another sodden group of friends. The bikers tell us that we must all urgently walk to the hostel, through the water, for about 20 minutes.

My heart sinks, I’m weighed down by my bag, the pouring rain and existential terror.

“Ok let’s fucking go” I shout hysterically at Jon who is in pure disbelief. Lightning and simultaneous thunder is striking all around us so the group take a fast pace and we quickly hit the deep water. A fun fact that Jon told me a few days ago intrudes my mind and I remember that the quicker you hear the thunder after seeing the lightning, the closer it is. Excellent – again, the lightning and thunder is simultaneous, the storm is on top of us.

Niamh is barefoot and holding onto my backpack for support and relief, I feel lucky to have my sturdy Merrel boots on.

“We’re going to be ok, we’re going to be ok” I repeat as we clutch onto each other and wade through the water as the sky is tirelessly dominated by ultraviolet forks and flashes.

Everyone is cowering under each strike, and after a few minutes our nervous biker guides tell us to hurry. The lads in front of us start to run through the water and I follow suit, leaving poor Niamh behind with her friend and Jon who dutifully stays near them as I run for my life.

Partly to distract myself from this ridiculous situation, but mostly as an exercise of manifestation, I obsessively chant “When I get to El Rio I will check in, dry off, eat dinner and get drunk”, often interrupting myself with squeals and profanities in response to each threat of being electrocuted.

I pass through a few unofficial waterfalls created by the storm and start to catastrophise. I plot my survival and scout out suitable trees to climb in the event of no longer being able to touch the ground. I later learned that Jon had skipped thoughts of survival and had gone straight to thinking about what he was going to say to me should he be fatally struck. I shall keep those insanely moving and romantic words for myself.

“We are nearly there” a squelching backpacker reassures me. I naturally start to release my tense body and become aware of how fast my heart is beating. I turn around and can no longer see Jon, he would want me to continue to safety, and so I do.

The entrance of the hostel finally reveals itself, I sprint to reception and anxiously wait for Jon to come around the corner, which he does a long two minutes later.

We all make it unharmed, but are intensely shaken up and ready for a night of drinking Espresso Martinis and Club Colombia.

After checking in, we drag our heavy water-logged feet to our room and start a manic drying process. Clothes are peeled off (unfortunately not in the exciting way), boots are drained, bags and pockets are tipped out, fresh bug bites are scratched and we examine the room for tools to help us save our drowned belongings.

We are very proud of our DIY drying station and go on to extensively brag about it over dinner and drinks…