To celebrate surviving the Inka Trail we got suitably drunk which is surprisingly easy at high altitude. We were the rowdy enemy of everyone on the train back from Machu Picchu as they tried to sleep. We also had a night out in Cusco with the lovely people from our group. We found a fun locals club, we were the only gringos and danced until the early hours of the morning.

When we signed up to the Inka Trail we had wronging assumed it would be easy. It took four days and three nights and proved to be challenging enough to be for filling. Hot rainy days soaked our ponchos inside and out. The views were spectacular as we walked through tree covered ancient paths. At points we were so high up it felt like we were in the clouds. Due to altitude the hush assents of dead woman’s path were easier for those who do little exercise (like me.

Cusco is filled with people trying to sell you something. We were overwhelmed by the amount of people approaching us. We quickly learnt the areas and eyes to avoid. We arrived in this cold but sunny city just in time for carnival. Parades happened in the street with costumes and dancing. Locals and tourists battled with foam and water balloons. Everyone was smiling rather then the humourless repeated attacks that happened in Bolivia.

Our overnight bus is cancelled an hour after scheduled departure. After a frantic search with an Brazilian tourist (Tiago) we jumped onto an expensive cockroach infested bus. We woke from an uncomfortable sleep to discover landslides had shut our road. Trucks and buses stood in an endless line weaving through the mountains. After hours of waiting I copied others and popped outside. The driver chose this moment to swerve onto the wrong side of the road and overtake the stationary vehicles.

I spent my time in Cochabamba in fear. Firstly there was the Spanish lessons and secondly it was carnival. During this time no gringo especially ladies are safe from attacks of water balloons and spray foam. We also got lost in the biggest market ever. We stumbled into the witches section that was filled with Lama foetuses and crazed animals in cages. On a happier note there were many a restaurant to put a smile of Jim’s face.

We stayed in a hotel with a wonderful name in Santa Cruz. However, we were confused to why it is a tourist destination. Maybe we missed something but there did not seem much to see or do. We made up for our disappointment by eating ice cream for two days.

We timed our visit to the swamps between Brasil and Bolivia perfectly to match with with mosquito season. When our jeep arrived an English guy jumped out screaming ‘Don’t go, it’s carnage!’ making us want to run away. Some more calm German tourist then explained it was bad but still worth going whilst the English guy continued his ranting in the background. We changed clothes to cover our skin and mentally preparing ourselves.

Deep inland in Bahia lies Chapada Diamantina a national reserve that the Brazilian government has forgotten about, here we meet local wildlife protector and guide Puma. Puma takes us for a small hike through the wonders of Diamantina, the suns scorching heat beating at our backs as we hiked through razor sharp canyons and rocky hills. The occasional stop at a waterfall cools our sun scorched skin and fills our water bottles.

Before leaving we dive into the calm black logoon, the falling water makes delicate music. New arrivals scrabble over the rocks, these shouting strangers jump into the cold water. A small black puppy whimpers left cold and wet, only to stop when his owner returns. After absorbing the stunning falls for another moment, we turn away starting our decent as the rain starts to pour. The following day we hear that floods occurred, the owner fell and the puppy was washed away.

Walking down the streets of Pelourinho we’re greeted by the drumming of a samba bateria, people dancing all around, rounding the next corner and an extraordinary battle of breakdancers unravels. After a cooling passion fruit juice, a large group of capoeristas start playing angola to a full bateria and a jazz saxophone on the main square. Everywhere we walk and look, there is people singing, dancing or at least humming, in the morning our hostess dances and sings whilst cooking our breakfast, across the road, the construction workers breaks out singing at the top of their lungs whist using materials and tools as percussion bateria.