When one normally hears a tale of another’s travels, often the stories seem too ridiculous to be considered true and it is questionable that they are only designed with the purpose of entertaining an audience, as opposed to reciting true facts that have occurred.

The outpouring of grief and solidarity this April for Raúl Alfonsín, the president who brought Argentina back to democracy in the early 1980s, was an impressive event to see. The ceremony brought to my mind a far more tumultuous state funeral the last time I was lived here – the reburial of Juan Domingo Perón on 17th October 2006.

Being Irish has its pros and cons as a traveller. We are known abroad as wee Ireland- a country of beauty, people dancing on the spot, Guinness, sheep and all things green. After many years of welcoming people to our country and answering questions such as “Why did they build the castle so close to the freeway?” we’ve grown accustomed to showcasing our heritage.

The threat of danger wasn’t entirely unfounded. After waiting around the chaotic terminal for half an hour our colourful tap-tap took off like a screaming hurricane, honking away everything in our path while swerving through the narrow, congested roads of Port au Prince.

Our driver is rambling rapidly; we cruise over peaks, the valley below shrouded in a willow of fluffy cumulus as we begin our descent toward town. This is a lucrative day for Carlos, he’s shuttling revellers bound for the tiny village of Todos Santos, nestled high up in the Cuchumatanes mountain range, in a remote corner of north western Guatemala.

It was while sitting next to Juan on the flight to Madrid that I remembered why I liked Spain so much. There is nothing the Spanish like more than striking up conversations with randoms on public transport. I dropped my British guard, and we chatted away happily for the duration of the flight

Tblisi, Georgia, former USSR. Mid-August, something like 40oC. Our last day in the country, and finally we’re back in the capital, having spent the majority of the last few weeks in small rugged villages and very uncomfortable local buses.

The scene was the beautiful ‘Laguna Colarada’ on the Bolivian salt lake tour. It was very, very early in the morning. Our group had agreed with the driver that he would wake us up at 4am, just in time to get dressed and get to the geyser before its daily eruption.

Ever travel to a country to earnestly try to dispel its stereotypes and unearth hidden charms not written about in guidebooks? Don’t count on it in Colombia. Even though the country is trying to breathe life into a tourist circuit damaged by the drug trade and guerrilla violence, Colombia unfortunately has a long way to go.

“Ayahuasca is not something to play with. It may even kill, not because it is toxic in itself but because the body may not be able to stand the spiritual realm, the vibrations form the spiritual world.” Pablo Amaringo, Peruvian shaman. Despite the treasure chest of promised wonders that is Ayahuasca – a rare and sacred vine found only in the Amazonian rainforest – death is an ominous caveat.