Paul Winder - The Cloud Garden

CONTENTS

To Mum, Dad, Anya (Bristles) and

my grandmother, Crac

(Tom)

To Mum, Dad, Bill and Kevin

(Paul)

From Tom: Lots of love to my dearest Mum for her determination in trying to find me in Colombia. To Dad and Anya for their constant comforting and support for Mum in what must have been times of severe hardship. And for their understanding on my return home.

Hugs and kisses must shower down on relatives and friends who helped in particular my ever-supportive college friend Tom, alias The Hipster. To persons not mentioned, many thanks and love to you all.

Lastly and most importantly a huge flurry of hugs and kisses to Crac, my influential grandmother, for her endless encouragement throughout my life.

From Paul: Much love to Mum, Dad, Bill and Kevin for their constant support. To family in Ireland, all of my friends and other kind strangers who tried to find me, I am forever indebted. To James Spring and Matthew Shultz, my thanks for their advice and commitment in the search.

Thanks to the staff at the British Embassy for welcoming us back into the real world with luxuries and friendly faces; and to the International Red Cross and the Colombian Red Cross for extracting us from the Darin quickly and with expertise.

Special thanks to Dan Waddell for pointing us in the right direction and showing us how to choreograph our story; his patience and humour were vital. Thanks to Mark Lucas, our agent, and his assistant Alice Saunders for smoothing our way through the world of publishing. Thanks also to Peta Nightingale for all her valuable input. Thanks to Doug Young and Prue Jeffreys from Transworld. It goes without saying that Transworld is made up of dozens of fun and friendly people who all worked diligently and enthusiastically on publishing our little adventure.

To the guerrillas of the Darin, we hope we can meet again one day, under more peaceful circumstances.

PAUL: I HIT the ground face down. Three men in combat fatigues were yelling in Spanish. One was pointing his automatic rifle directly at me. My mind struggled to absorb what was happening. Wed been ambushed. Just a few minutes earlier wed been laughing about what a picnic the Darin Gap was, despite its reputation as the worlds most dangerous stretch of jungle. Wed even been passing round lollipops, for Gods sake. Now my face was in the dirt while a group of armed and angry men bellowed orders I couldnt understand. Was this really happening?

One of the men ripped off my rucksack, pulled my hands tightly behind me and bound them together. Tom and I were ordered to our feet. The whole thing couldnt have lasted more than a few seconds. We were marched back in the direction wed come. My glasses were snatched from my face by a branch that hung across the path. I stopped, and the men cursed us, but Tom was able to pick them up and put them back on me because his hands were tied in front of him. They pushed us aggressively on our way. Tall razor grass crossing the path cut into my bare neck and face. Down the track we marched, my heart thumping hard.

Shit, I thought, were in deep trouble now. They might drag us off into the jungle and shoot us in the back of the head. I had never felt so close to death.

We arrived at the stream in which our guides, Carlos and Francisco, had bathed just minutes earlier and waded across it to a small clearing. Were they going to kill us there? I looked around and saw that Carlos and Francisco were gone. Ordered to our knees, I gave Tom a quick glance as I went down. He looked absolutely terrified. I felt the same. Any sense of calm had long since disappeared. This was serious. This was really happening.

Over Toms shoulder I could see heavily armed and camouflaged men coming and going across the river. The group must be larger than the six I had seen so far. We waited, Tom and I kneeling opposite each other, guarded by two taciturn and menacing men, AK-47s at the ready. Occasionally my eyes met Toms, but neither of us knew what to say or even think.

After what felt like an eternity a man they referred to as El Jefe, the boss, came to talk to us. He looked down at us, emotionless, his dark eyes fixing me intensely. The only sound was the gentle gurgling of a stream. I braced myself for what was to follow.

Do you have fear? His eyes were narrow, severe.

A little, Tom replied nervously.

Would you like water?

Yes.

Some was quickly brought to us from the river. My throat was tight and dry and I gulped it down.

Thankfully, El Jefe ordered his guards to loosen the cord around our hands, and my hands were then retied in front of me. I felt a little less vulnerable. I wasnt sure why but with my hands in front of me I felt I could protect myself a little bit.

Dnde est la brjula?

I didnt understand. I looked at Tom.

The compass, he said.

Our guides must have told them we had it. I took it out of my pocket with some difficulty and gave it to El Jefe with shaking hands.

He wants everything else you have in your pocket, Tom added.

I handed over my money belt, which I had stuck in my pocket that morning to pay the guides later in the day when we crossed the Darin. We had come that close to traversing the most dangerous strip of jungle in the world. A few more hours of walking and that would have been it: Colombia, our destination.

El Jefe disappeared towards the other clearing. There was very little we could say to each other.

I looked at Tom. For some reason, he was sniffing a rotten guava.

TOM: MARCHING BACK down the overgrown trail, I braced myself for a swift execution and burial. All Id heard about paramilitaries, or seen in films and on TV, made me think they would steal our stuff then shoot us. They had what they wanted, now they would get rid of us. As we walked, I felt all energy drain from me. It was 16 March 2000, my sisters birthday, and at that moment I desperately wanted to see her. Then I got angry. What the hell did you think you were doing? I asked myself. How did you get yourself into this? I said a few silent prayers.

We crossed the river and were ordered to kneel on the floor opposite each other. Pauls face was sheet white. Then I saw a series of rectangular beds of overgrown plants and vegetation. They looked like graves. In all, there were about a dozen. That confirmed it: we were going to be shot. The rest of the group disappeared, leaving just two guards with AK-47s levelled straight at our heads. I fully expected to hear the sound of a gunshot.

In front of me, I saw a guava fruit lying on the jungle floor, rotten and teeming with maggots. God knows why, given the circumstances, but I was feeling quite peckish, so I picked it up with my bound hands. I could see the maggots crawling around in its putrid flesh. I sniffed it, and that got a reaction from our captors: their stone faces morphed into a look that said We cant let the gringo eat that! But that was what I was after, a human reaction. I believed these men were going to execute us and I wanted to live.

Slowly and deliberately, I began to peel back the skin of the guava, as best I could with my hands tied. I offered the fruit to Paul. His eyebrows almost leapt from his forehead. The look said, What the hell are you doing?