A forgotten wonderland. And the stage for everything to come.

An unfathomably large (New Jersey-sized) swath of protected wonderland gushing with green mountain vistas, white sand waterfalls, cola-colored rivers, one of the highest concentrations of species endemism on the planet, a tantalizing lost network of historic trails… and virtually no tourism.

Welcome to the spectacular, undiscovered Mosaic of the Espinhaço: 19 adjacent conservation units totaling 5 million acres of protected Cerrado & Mata Atlântica — including a National Park, multiple State & Municipal Parks, and other reserves — with little to no tourism infrastructure.

For lovers of untouched wilderness, unadulterated culture, unbridled adventure, and (let’s just say it) life itself, this is the stuff of dreams.

Three centuries of movement. Three years of rediscovery.

Getting from point A to point B has always been an adventure in the Espinhaço, and nowhere is this more evident than along its spectacular — and virtually empty — network of historic trails.

Among the many types of trails we follow:
• Colonial-era stone paths, built by enslaved Africans to facilitate the diamond trade
• Mule-driving tropeiro trails, carved for regional commerce
• Hidden descaminhos, blazed by diamond smugglers and later revisited by 18th century naturalists (including Richard Francis Burton & Augustin Saint-Hilaire)

Our team has spent over three years rediscovering this lost network — documenting its history, nature, and inhabitants, and charting our expeditions. As much as we’ve loved having the trail to ourselves, it’s a greater pleasure to share it with other curious, adventurous minds.

More life than land. More urgency than time.

The Espinhaço accounts for less than 1% of Brazil’s territory — yet harbors over 7% of its species, with more than 3,000 found nowhere else on earth. The high-altitude ecosystem behind that miracle? The Campos Rupestres — a rocky, flower-strewn manifestation of the Cerrado (Brazilian savannah) so unique it may soon be formally recognized as the country’s newest bioma.

The savannah isn’t the only ecosystem to call the Espinhaço home, though. The range also cradles the westernmost remnants of the Atlantic Rainforest, making it one of the only places on earth where two critically endangered biomes meet.

It's ironic — and tragic — that a landscape so rugged could also be so fragile. As it were, much of the range sits atop quartzite and ironstone — coveted by the mining industry, vulnerable to extraction, and extraordinarily slow to recover from impact.

Enjoy it while it’s here. Like this. Right now.

An early test. And a view that keeps going.

One of the ironies of summiting mighty Itambé (on Day 3) is that the view from the top — stunning as it is — doesn’t include Itambé itself.

Meanwhile, just 20 kilometers away, unassuming Pico do Raio (literally, “Lightning Peak”; 1,387 m) serves up an unbeatable view of Itambé, along with the colonial-era hamlets of São Gonçalo, Milho Verde, and Capivari — while doubling as our first real climb of the Expedition (on Day 2)..

The trail up isn’t just scenic — it’s cinematic: sweeping views, historic paths, and flower-strewn fields mark the way. Following our descent, a different kind of reward awaits: a white sand beach, gently flowing waterfall, and natural infinity pool — all in one.

Itambé is iconic. Pico Dois Irmãos is can’t-miss.
But don’t sleep on the little peak.
Consider it a sign of beautiful things to come.

A world traveler’s dream — hidden in plain sight.

UNESCO World Heritage City. Terminus of the Estrada Real. Bastion of Portuguese colonial architecture. Former diamond-mining capital of the world. Shining exemplar of the “diamond in the rough” cliché.

Somehow, little Diamantina (pop. 49,500) manages to be all this and more — a burgeoning college town, a musical capital, and a cultural crossroads — while remaining virtually undiscovered, even by Brazilians.

Add it all up, and you have a bona fide world traveler’s dream: a tourist mecca without tourists, smack in the middle of one of the most enchanting settings on earth.

A mountain. A monument. And a milestone.

The region’s undisputed icon, Pico do Itambé (2,052 m) towers over the range like a watchful citadel — living up to its billing as “the roof of the Espinhaço.”

Rising 1,102 meters above the surrounding peaks, it marks a hard divide between the Jequitinhonha and Doce river basins — and a softer one between the Atlantic Rainforest and the Cerrado.

Trust us: it doesn’t matter how many “mountain climbers” you do before the trip — the ascent (on Day 3) is a challenge. But the view is unforgettable. And the golden hour descent? Glorious.

You’ll feel — and remember — every step of the way.

And then, at the bottom, we’ll (gently) remind you that the day is only half done…

Across the highlands, into Chapter II.

The first — and arguably most beloved — conservation unit in the Espinhaço Meridional, Rio Preto State Park holds over 26,000 acres of immaculate cerrado, including a pristine stretch of its namesake river and some of the region’s most remarkable waterfalls.

We’ll spend two glorious days (Days 4 & 5) crossing the Park — from its hauntingly beautiful, little-visited southern reaches to its spectacular, water-blessed north. Along the way: sweeping canyons, steep escarpments, fast-moving rivers, funky hoodoos, and all manner of rocky outcrops.

If it weren’t for the rolling fields of campo limpo and the groves of sempre-vivas, you might swear we were in the American Southwest.

It’s a feast for the senses — and the perfect place to conclude the all-star stretch that defines the first Chapter of our Expedition.

A high point. And a turning point.

Twin peaks, attached at the hip, tower over the wind-swept high plateau at the southern edge of Rio Preto State Park — dividing the Black and Araçuai river basins in the process.

Known for centuries as Serra Grande (“Big Mountain”) by those in the valley below — who could only see the taller twin — Pico Dois Irmãos (1,825 m) is the third-highest peak in the Espinhaço Meridional. It’s also one of the most rewarding: a day-long, graceful approach leads to a short, satisfying climb and a panoramic view that speaks for itself.

It’s the pinnacle of one of the most exhilarating days of our expedition — the kind of day we’d live every day.

If our pace is good, we’ll reach the summit during golden hour on Day 4.
And then, a whole different kind of adventure begins: a starlight-and-headlamps journey to Mozart’s tiny ranch house below.

Prosa, carinho, and cafézinho.

Minas Gerais is Brazil’s heartland, and mineiros (its denizens) play the part of heartland hosts to a T.

Easygoing, down-to-earth, and famously chatty, with a well-documented love of food and drink — especially comida mineira, café, and cachaça — they are to friendly what paulistas (residents of São Paulo) are to fast-paced, and cariocas (from Rio) are to carefree.

No one stays a stranger for long in Minas, and even less so in the Espinhaço.
Generally speaking, you won’t find a kinder or more welcoming bunch anywhere in Brazil.

It wouldn’t be a GOGO trip without them.

Stately vilas, centruries-old pousadas, and intimate homestays will immerse us in Brazil’s culture and history — but it wouldn’t be a GOGO trip without at least one night in the middle of nowher—er, the middle of nature.

We prefer starry skies, soft sand, warm fires, and gently flowing streams. But we’ll happily settle for the silence of the mountains.

With three nights of wilderness camping on the itinerary — and a memorable overnight in an iconic backcountry refuge, to boot — we’re hoping for all of it.

Doorways into the world around us.

The trail will test us. The peaks and waterfalls will leave us in awe.
In our experience, though, it’s the evenings spent breaking bread with local families — sometimes well into the night — that provide the most enriching and memorable moments of our expedition.

It’s impossible to come away unimpressed by the foreign, often rustic conditions, and the gracious, open-hearted dispositions of the many households we’ll visit.

These homes — and the people inside them — are part of the fabric of the journey. Our presence supports families whose livelihoods shifted with the decline in mining, and helps sustain a culture that values both memory and place.

We’ll stay in all kinds of accommodations during our expedition — from tents to resorts, and everything in between. We’re willing to bet that, years from now, it will be the homestays that still cross your mind daily.

Wood-fired grub. Ice-cold beer. Feasts for the soul.

Tropeiro. Torresmo. Frango com quiabo.
If you’re unfamiliar with comida mineira, you will be by the end of this trip — and Brazilians everywhere will be jealous.

Among the regional treats unique to the Espinhaço: angu, quitanda, samambaia, and queijo do Serro.

Most nights, we’ll arrive to piping hot plates of highly caloric, lovingly prepared meals — cooked by skilled hands in well-seasoned cast-iron pots over open flame.
And while rustic reigns supreme, a few nights bring more refined options: gourmet burgers, wood-fired pizzas, even the occasional local delicacy with a twist.

Throw in a few ice-cold Antarcticas, and — well, let’s just say: we rarely meet our weight-loss goals on these expeditions.
It’s worth it.

Bom apetit!

The Espinhaço’s answer to sun, sea & sand.

Take it from us: attempting to count the waterfalls of the Espinhaço is an exercise in futility. Just as futile: trying to spend more than a day or two on the trail without bathing in one.

We’ll pass dozens of named falls during the Expedition — from soothing, cola-colored cascades to show-stopping, white sand-beach masterpieces, and everything in between.

Whether you’re the take-it-all-in-from-a-comfortable-rock type, the tip-toe-and-wince type, or the cannonball-and-cold-plunge type, it doesn’t get better than this.

“Ice-cold” has never felt so good.

Half bushwhack. Half fever dream. Fully unforgettable.

Larger than Greater Los Angeles. Home to just a handful of residents. Teeming with endemic species. And no tourism infrastructure to speak of.

Sempre Vivas National Park is, without exaggeration, one of the wildest and most captivating places in Brazil.

We’ll have the privilege of spending 3 full, long days trekking, riding, and bushwhacking our way across the Park, from the hill-strewn eastern wildlands to the wind-swept campos of the west — sleeping in rustic flower-picker shacks, dreamy river valley campsites, and impossibly isolated ranches along the way.

Razor-sharp grasses, deadly snakes, and a lack of shade are realities of the trail here — as are pristine waterfalls, nameless peaks, and unbridled tranquility.

Few places feel this magical, this raw, and this unknown.
Each day in Sempre Vivas is an adventure.
Each moment, a privilege.

Part transfer. Part contact sport.

There’s off-roading… and there is navigating the backroads of the Espinhaço — where sun-scorched dirt tracks intersect with rivers, potholes become craters, and harrowing bridges, devastating lombadas, and the occasional white sand beach are all part of the daily commute.

Even in the best of cases, the Espinhaço’s backroads could aptly be described as “where the road ends and the ride begins”. On Day 8 of this particular Expedition, however, we’ll have the privilege of tackling the absolute worst of what the region has to offer: the “roads” in Sempre Vivas. And we’ll just say this: the Park may be a national treasure, but its network? Questionable.

Our vehicle of choice? The legendary Toyota Bandeirante — a little-known diesel variant of the Land Cruiser J40 series made exclusively in Brazil from 1962 to 2001.

Sempre Vivas is where roads become stories. As your captain speaking, we recommend you relax — and enjoy the ride.

The queen of the western wilds.

Pristine, majestic, and appropriately difficult to reach, Santa Rita Waterfall marks a grand entrance to Sempre Vivas — and to the western slopes of the Espinhaço.

Known to only a handful of folks on the planet — nearly all of them local — before the pandemic, the falls remain more rumor than attraction, thanks to the lack of a trail and the absence of ropes.

When we reach the top of the falls, the only thing separating us from swimming with the gods is a pair of short, optional climbs.
It’s worth it.

Vamo que vamo.

Delicate. Enduring. And rooted in something deeper.

The namesake flower of Sempre Vivas National Park is as woven into the identity of the Espinhaço as the diamonds that once sustained it.

Of the roughly 100 species that exist, 60 have been documented inside the Park. Eight are found nowhere else on earth.

Harvesting these flowers — recognized by UNESCO as a Globally Important Agricultural Heritage System — is more than a livelihood. It’s a lineage.

We’ll leave the harvesting to those who know it best — but we’ll pass plenty along the trail: button-sized blooms, starbursts, tree-like stalks topped with globes of white.
Once you start noticing them, you won’t unsee them.

On the hardest days, they still have a way of lifting the spirit.

White sand. Wild lands. A river that time forgot.

So much about Sempre Vivas is about the journey — the feeling, the remoteness, the movement through silence. It’s fitting, then, that even the way in is spectacular.

For us, it begins with a 28-km drive down bucolic backroads, followed by a 5-km hike through palm-laced wetlands, and then a half-day canoe ride up one of the Jequitinhonha’s most pristine tributaries: the Inhacica Grande River.

While there are multiple entry points to the Park (none of them official), none is more dramatic than this one — a stretch of white sand, rocks, and palm-lined banks so lush and quiet, even Diamantina (a measly — but brutal — 3 hours away overland) feels a world away.

And yet this is just the starting point for what may be the most epic stretch of our expedition — a 3-day crossing of Sempre Vivas.

Tonight, we sleep under the stars, on soft sand, beside the fire.
Welcome to Chapter II.

Our journey starts here.

Even in a region brimming with picture-perfect colonial towns, São Gonçalo do Rio das Pedras (official pop. 1,479) manages to feel special. The former mining district is rustic, yet elegant; simple, yet mysterious; with a tranquility that lends itself to restful healing and a vibrance that beckons further exploration. There is magic in the air here, and residents know it.

Arriving to a piping hot plate of home-cooked comida mineira at “Neck’s Pub” after a long day of flights and transfers (Day 1) is literally the stuff we live for — the warmest possible welcome to the rustic charm of the region, and a habringer of good things to come.

You may arrive exhausted, but if you’re anything like us, you’ll rarely have felt so alive.

Welcome to the Story of Brazil.

A town at the edge of everything.

Come for the mythical waterfall, stay for… the gentle breeze rolling over the pastures?

We’re not sure what it is about tiny Santa Rita (pop. 12?) that makes it linger in the mind, but whatever it is, we can’t seem to get enough.

Cast away on a privileged patch of windswept, high-altitude campos — between the Espinhaço’s last line of mountains and the sweltering lowlands below — this remote ranching outpost, inhabited by a clan of likable, hard-drinking cattlefolk, is either the beginning of the Sertão or the last stand of the Espinhaço… or both.

At the end of the day, Santa Rita is a Rorschach Test — and you’ll have plenty of time to take it, over a home-cooked feast and ice-cold cervejas, no less, on the evening of Day 10.

Let’s see what you find…

Peace, pillows, porch swings. And one very hard goodbye.

Nestled tightly against the water-flowing (and water-falling) western edge of the Espinhaço, and tucked gently between deep, winding river bends, unassuming Curimataí (pop. 1,500) is the kind of place that calls little attention on the itinerary — but lingers in the mind long afterward as a feeling of peace, warmth, and joy.

After three days in the harsh conditions of Sempre Vivas, we’ll soak up every bit of low-key goodness we can: soft pillows, friendly folks, full bellies (oh, the meals!), cold drinks, and top-notch people-watching from shaded front porches.

Even as we saddle up and head south toward greener pastures (and hot springs!), we’ll do so with heavy hearts. Few places are harder to leave.

One thought that helps us through the heartbreak:
You can always come back.

The Sertão’s idea of a good time.

Equal parts dusty oasis and high-concept fever dream, the incomparable vila of Santa Bárbara is a place of contradictions — and somehow, better because of them.

A bonafide oasis — hot springs, swimming pools, crystalline creeks, and a resplendent waterfall included — in the middle of the dusty Sertão? A historic textile mill that doubles as a chic resort town? A resort town whose “chalets” look like (and, in fact, are) decadent former worker homes?

Quirky, a little unorganized, and more than a little self-important — yet undeniably gostoso — Santa Bárbara is as much of an experience as it is a place. And honestly, it’s unmissable as both.

We’ll have a night (Day 9) to take it all in — and we’ll be glad to try.

A choose-your-own adventure for the ages.

If you’ve ever dreamed of steadying a sturdy steed through the brush, rivers, and rocky mountain passes of the Brazilian hinterlands — now’s your chance.

Our epic traverses of the steep & spectacular Mato dos Crioulos region (Day 4) and the Vale do Rio Preto (Day 11) can be done on foot or horseback.

Prefer to gallop? The Sertão beckons, with an afternoon (Day 8) of open dirt roads and sunlit waterfalls.

Prefer to hoof it yourself? Our pack mules will carry the weight (and sometimes lead the way).

Either way, we recommend you catch your breath, take in the scenery, and immerse yourself in the long, winding legacy of tropeirismo and cavalgadas.

Our idea of a pit stop.

A dusty, rough-around-the-edges (but only the edges) former railway town that time forgot, Conselheiro Mata (pop. ~200) feels like a regional nod to the American Wild West.

But its quirky cast of residents — mystics and miners, eco-activists and farmers — along with its fertile soil, mysterious temples, and waterfall-laced outskirts, give it a layered, shifting identity:
Is this a mining town? A mystic town? The beginning of cattle country? Or something else entirely?

For better or worse, we won’t have time to dig too deeply during our Expedition (truth be told, we’re here for lunch). But we will make time for a swim.
Just outside of town — or maybe nestled deep within it, depending on how one defines “town” — lies one of the most magical waterfalls of all…

Paradise, in negotiation.

Of all the natural wonders in the Serra do Espinhaço, none has the strange, magnetic pull of Telêsforo — the most gifted cascade in a region already bursting at the seams with them.

Perfectly tucked inside a 1,000-acre valley of powder-white beaches and pristine wetlands, it has long felt less like a waterfall and more like a portal — to what the Cerrado could be.

For better or worse, though, it’s already becoming something else entirely — the Espinhaço’s version of Copacabana: a bonafide backcountry beach scene, complete with the holy trinity of churrasco (barbecue), butecos (dive bars), and barulho (dueling car speakers).

Maybe it’s a model. Maybe it’s a tragedy. Maybe it’s both.

You’ll have plenty of time to ponder all of that during our visit on Day 9.
We recommend doing as the locals do: pack your towel, grab your cervejinha, and prepare to be awe-struck.

Memory, resilience, and the road less traveled.

The discovery of diamonds in the Espinhaço changed the fortunes of Europe — and the fate of Africa. Today’s quilombola communities bear quiet witness.

Founded by escaped or formerly enslaved Africans or their descendants prior to the 19th century, these semi-autonomous settlements remain scattered across the Espinhaço and the Jequitinhonha River Valley — often tucked deep in the mountains or hidden along forgotten roads.

The region is home to more than 80 official quilombos, and many more unofficial ones. Sleepy, unpretentious, and almost always framed by stunning scenery, they offer a rare window into the cultural complexity of Brazil — and the quiet strength of community.

We’ll have the privilege of passing through several quilombola villages during our Expedition, overnighting in three of them. Spending time in the Espinhaço’s hidden hearts is a profound — and profoundly enriching — experience.

A vila between two worlds.

Just a stone’s throw (or maybe a wild hair?) away from the liveliness of Diamantina, Biribiri State Park is the Espinhaço’s most visited conservation unit — yet somehow manages to still feel like a secret.

With 42,000 acres of preserved cerrado, a historic textile mill-turned-village, and a pair of highly Instagrammable (and swimmable) waterfalls, it attracts plenty of weekenders, including cyclists, tour buses from Montes Claros, and a steady flow of Diamantina’s well-heeled gente bonita crowd.

Fortunately, most of those folks stick to the road and roadside falls, as well as the local pub (craft brews, anyone?) — which means there are about 41,190 acres of high savannah waiting to be explored and fawned over.

We’ll be stopping by for lunch (and maybe one of those craft brews) on Day 12. Don’t be surprised if it feels like the end of our Expedition has already begun.

A chance to touch time.

The peaks and Parks may get more glory, but nothing shaped this region — or its fortunes — more than the rivers that run through it. And none more so than the Jequitinhonha.

Solemn and dignified, even after centuries of extraction and neglect, its diamond-rich waters once ran strong enough to buoy a distant empire and cradle a nation.

Even today, scarred and overlooked, it sustains more than half a million Brazilians living downstream.

In theory, we’ll cross enough rivers, creeks, and streams during our trek for it to “get old.” There’s something about gazing on the Jequitinhonha from its banks, though — then stepping into it — that will always feel special.

To Brazil. To the Espinhaço. To life.

From diamonds and stately architecture to former presidents and raucous Carnaval celebrations, Diamantina has no shortage of claims to fame.

It’s perhaps a bit ironic (and endearing?) then, that its most beloved tradition is the humble Vesperata: a festive nighttime serenade by the hometown band — where the musicians play from balconies and windows, and the audience listens from the cobblestone streets below.

We’ll have the privilege of catching a Vesperata on the evening of Day 13. Prepare yourself for an unforgettable evening of Beatles, samba & bossa nova, Música Popular Brasileira (MPB), and sing-along wedding rock tunes.

There may be more finely tuned orchestras.
But there isn’t a party on earth where we’d rather celebrate the final night of our Expedition together.