Written exquisitely by Noah (and the arc), Hannah banana’s flowery touch and of course with the soundtrack of the Frenchy’s cackle.

4am. The sirens of our alarms penetrated the ears of ten gringos. Exhaustion rippled through the darkness of Miraflores, Lima as the impending sweet prospect of our adventure lay in wait.

‘Bittersweet’, what better way to describe our final farewell to our baby dragon, our seven week old daddy, the one and only, Rowan.

But there was no rest for the weary as all nine plus the Pete and Pato duo were shuffled from bus to boat, bound for the Ballestas Islands…the poor man’s Galapagos.

Two hours with our gaze set upon a cornucopia of exotic animals not known to our native lands. Sea lions, sea lions and… more sea lions.

Lunch soon followed; two kilos of ceviche per person, yet still, this was not enough to satiate the pitiless stomach of one special and growing Canadian.

Whisked away to Huacachina, the sleepy desert oasis, the gringos found themselves immersed in luxury: sun, pool and a fair bit of sand. After rest, relaxation and regaining a fully charged battery, the intercontinental battalion attempted the dunes’ vertical ascent in a race against time, hoping to catch the sun’s last few radiating glints across the suggestive desert.

With a quick photo shoot ensuing a particular individual attempting an elegant, swan-like, meditative pose. He failed. See photo below.

Sand boarding and buggying followed the next day. We soared down the dunes, an avalanche of gringos. Huacachina quivered in trepidation as we wildly flailed down the steep slopes.

After enduring what seemed like an eternity on the bus, we finally came to dwell in the colonialesque city of Arequipa; securing our packs in preparation for the Colca Canyon.

Intense, challenging yet fulfilling. We embraced four days of hiking in the world’s deepest canyon. Our campsites included the novelties of hot springs, dogs and a few mighty fine asses.

Nine gringos came to mourn he loss of one as he was snatched into the sky by the cruel claws of a condor. Only joking John.

Having returned to Arequipa, our stomachs churn in a nervous, yet excited anticipation, pondering what awaits us in Bolivia’s snow capped peaks.