The Final Stretch: Lima to London.

Okay, so I realise I'm just a little late to the party, but better late than never and no one likes an unfinished blog. So here it is, the final chapters of my ridiculous and wonderful 30-year-old's gap year extravaganza.

With a sweet little unexpected tax rebate I'd got while I was in Chile, I'd booked myself on a flight from Lima to Foz do Iguaçu, a town near where the borders of Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay all converge at the site of the famous Iguaçu Falls. By now a hardened traveller, I didn't even think twice about Yellow Fever (ask me any country on my itinerary and I can still tell you the most prevalent local disease) and arrived late at a cute little hostel in the centre of town. What I didn't realise was that it was low season in Brazil and bloody FREEZING.

The Iguaçu National Park straddles both Brazil and Argentina, with its centrepiece being of course the famous waterfalls. After months of Thai tuk-tuks, Vietnamese coffin buses and kamikaze Bolivian coach drivers, I decided to take the easy option and hop on the daily tour organised by the hostel to visit the Argentinian side of the falls, at Puerto Iguaçu. Making the tour guide stop at the border to demand my final passport stamp, we arrived at the tropical park on a gloriously sunny day and the first sight of the falls didn't disappoint.

The park itself is fun enough to visit even without the water. Surrounded by packs of coatis or 'Brazilian raccoons' (watch out, they nip), armadillos and tropical lizards and birds, it was all very National Geographic, despite the hoards of tourists in overpriced ponchos, weird monorail and specially built walkways. The day was a lot of fun, and I took the boat ride to go right up close to the falls themselves. And by close I mean actually swallowing about 4 gallons of Iguaçu water on the way. The final view and deafening roar of Garganta do Diabo, or Devil's Throat, was something I won't forget in a hurry.

After seeing the Argentinian side, I decided to skip the Brazilian view, I was a bit waterfalled out by the end of it and instead spent the following day thinking about my next move and how I could get to Rio in as few journeys as possible but involving as many beaches as I could and obviously achieving my main goal of coming home with a tan.

I decided on Florianopolis, gateway to the Ilha de Santa Catarina, a beautiful stretch of coast surrounded by mountains and fringed with golden sands, crashing waves and beautiful Brazilians. It was pretty much the dream, and I did nothing for a week except sit on the beach, drink caiparinhas, read my book in a hammock and watch the sunset. Being low season, Floripa was exceptionally quiet but that suited me just fine.

After the rest of South America, Brazil was crazy expensive, and I'd also forgotten about the language aspect. I'd muddled through with my pre-GCSE Spanish, and if I got drunk enough could just about manage a conversation. But it's okay, if you're trying to speak Portuguese, just hold your nose, gesticulate a lot and add an "o" onto the end of the Spanish word, and you're just about there (to my Portuguese speaking friends.. I am of course joking.. sort of).

Onwards to Paraty, a mere 28 hour coach ride away with a depressingly long stopover in São Paulo. If you're ever in the area, Backpacker's House does by far the best breakfast I've ever had and you feel like you're having a sleepover at your mate's house. Awesome. I pretty much repeated the same pattern of doing nothing, taking trips to the beach, drinking Brahma and reading my book. I found a great little backstreet restaurant, with only 2 things on the menu, outdoor plastic chairs, buzzing lights and old Brazilian men meeting to talk about football, I loved it.

After resting my weary bones for a few days, I decided that if I had to do more than one more mode of transport I might actually cry, so I decided to skip Ilha Grande (the weather wasn't actually that great) and head straight to Rio de Janeiro, for the last week of my travels.