El Viajero Tranquilo A spattering and a sputtering, a roar and a growl from the depths of the heart to the tips of the fingers, it hops onto the keys and into... Eternity.

The journey is a rush, a wait, a dream and an awakening, all punctuated with an underlying question; Are we even on the right bus?

Thus begins our experience of the road to Salto Cristal waterfalls. Cloaked by hills of green grass and anchored in red clay and granite, Los Saltos are enclosed inside the Ybycui Nature Reserve.

We plotted the path from city to village, with limited internet and info yet with an unwavering belief that this was IT. Notebooks and cameras, our perennial allies, merged with a tingling dose of travel trepidation; we were set.

Destination: a tiny village named La Colombe which translates as “The Beehive”.

The 6th sense you develop as a traveller, is the compass through which all decisions, interactions and directions are examined and undertaken. Mine kicked in as my feet met the cobbled road, leading to an old don puffing his pipe. In response to my question regarding the nearest accomodation, a gruff grumbling and gesticulating was offered from beneath an immaculate mustache and keen eyes.

With crash pad sorted we quickly found that almost everything was closed.

Except for the wine café. Perfect! Our bus rattled bodies demanded strong vino tinto and cheesy tostados. Remember, when travelling to a small town, asking ahead for accommodation, restaurant operating hours and bus schedules is a wise move.

After a restful night, we awoke to warm tea and bread rolls, and some rather pregnant clouds casting a doleful eye upon our days plan. While it’s generally hot most of the year, embarking on this element exposed adventure in the summer months is most certainly your best bet.

Not to be deterred, we returned to our new friend to receive kindly grumblings regarding transport to the reserve. He fortuitously proved his worth once again as we roared off an hour later, with two jolly farmer men.

Over, down and around the hills we rode, until finally a gentle ascent to the plateau, where we set off on an undulating track into the forest.

The feeling of reverence that surrounded us was akin to entering the ancient European cathedrals. The ambience of the ecology was so alive it shimmered. The fine mist hit us first, like a holotropic exhalation, the trees parted and there before us appeared The Crystal Falls. Each step carved from the rock face represented the timeless narrative whispered by the endless flow.

We stood transfixed. Alone, together. In a surrealist dreamscape only the atoms of the conscious world could create.