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.

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.

The Espinhaço isn't just overlooked by tourism, it's in the crosshairs of never coming back.

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

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 smuggler routes, rediscovered by 18th-century naturalists

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.

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.

Somewhere between a commute and a quest.

There’s off-roading… and there is nvavigating 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.

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.

Brazilians are fond of saying that not even the brakes can stop a Bandeirante. We’ll just say: every kilometer in a “Bandy” is as memorable as the trail itself.

We’re confident you’ll come away with a whole new appreciation for the driving experience in your neck of the woods.
As your captain speaking, we recommend you relax — and enjoy the ride.

An early test. And a view that keeps going.

One of the ironies of summiting mighty Itambé (on Day 6) is that the view from the top — stunning as it is — doesn’t include Itambé itself.

Meanwhile, just 20 km away, Pico do Raio (literally, “Lightning Peak”; 1,387 m) offers the perfect vantage: a sweeping look at Itambé’s rugged face, and a quiet watch over the colonial-era hamlets of São Gonçalo, Milho Verde, and Capivari.

The trail up (on Day 4) is more than scenic — it’s cinematic. Historic paths, flower-strewn fields, and panoramic ridgelines lead the way. It’s our first real vertical test — a chance to wake up our trail legs and stretch into the rhythm of the range.
And after the descent, a different kind of reward awaits: a white sand beach, a gently flowing waterfall, and a natural infinity pool.And after the descent, a different kind of reward awaits: a white sand beach, a gently flowing waterfall, and a natural infinity pool.

Itambé is iconic. Dois Irmãos (Day 7), majestic. But this quiet peak might offer the best perspective.

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 sentinel of the range. And a milestone of the journey.

The region’s undisputed icon, Pico do Itambé (2,052 m) towers like a citadel over the range — living up to its name 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 Cerrado.

The climb (on Day 6) is challenging. But the view is unforgettable. The golden hour descent, glorious. And you’ll feel — and remember — every step of the way.

And then comes the wild night trek that follows…

Across the highlands, into Chapter II.

The first — and still the 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 three glorious days (Days 7, 8, and 9) — including our first Rest Day — 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 Chapter I.

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 6.
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.
Generally speaking, you won’t find a kinder or more welcoming bunch anywhere in Brazil.

It wouldn’t be a GOGO trip without them.

Centuries-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 gladly settle for the silence of the mountains.

With four spectacular nights of wilderness camping and three nights in wilderness refuges on the itinerary, 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. 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 the 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.
With a pair of more sophisticated offerings in Diamantina to book-end the trip, the spectrum comes full circle.

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

Bom apetit!

Six days inside one of the wildest, most overlooked places in Brazil.

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 most remote and captivating places in Brazil.

Over the course of six long, unforgettable days, we’ll trek, ride, canoe, and bushwhack our way from the lush veredas of the eastern wildlands to the wind-swept campos of the west — sleeping in caves, flower-picker shacks, and hauntingly 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.

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 people 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 during our Expedition: button-sized blooms, starbursts, tree-like stalks topped with globes of white.
Once you start noticing them, it’s hard to stop.

And 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 5-day crossing of Sempre Vivas.

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

The untamed heart of Sempre Vivas.

No place embodies the deeply paradoxical existence of Sempre Vivas quite like Taquaral — the weathered heart of Fazenda Arrenegado (literally, “Forsaken Ranch”).

Tucked away deep in one of the most inhospitable corners of the park — shrouded by vegetation, surrounded by silence, and known more by reputation than by road — this haunting stretch of wilderness — and the forgotten ranch compound at its center — are equal parts myth, land dispute, and wilderness stronghold.

Its lone resident for the past two decades, Sr. Levi, is a legend in his own right. When we arrive on Day 12, we’ll be a full day’s bushwhack from the nearest soul.

The house is gloriously “authentic.” If you’ve never bathed in a horse trough, now’s your chance.

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 21.

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 five 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 stay for back-to-back nights (Days 17 & 18), including one of our Expedition’s rare Rest Days. There’s a lot to take 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 Mato dos Crioulos, Sempre Vivas National Park, and the Vale do Rio Preto (Days 7–8, 14–16, and 23–24) can all be done on either foot or horseback.

Prefer to gallop? Chapter III beckons, with back-to-back afternoons of open dirt roads between sunlit waterfalls.

Prefer to hoof it yourself? Our pack mules will carry the weight — you just keep on walking.

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

Where landscapes, timelines, and beliefs meet to drink.

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 mix of residents — mystics and miners, eco-activists and farmers — along with its plethora of waterfalls (a handful of which are truly glorious), mysterious temples, and halfway-there location between Diamantina and the cowboy-cultured Sertão, all give it a layered, shifting identity:

Is this a mining town? A mystic town? The beginning of cattle country? Or something else entirely?

There's a quiet tension building beneath the serenity of the hills here — a sense that the future is arriving early… and not everyone agrees on what it should look like.

It’s a lot to ponder, in a place that invites deep thought. On Day 19, we’ll be wondering right alongside you.

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.

However you choose to see it — just don’t forget about the falls themselves. If our timing is right, we’ll have them all to ourselves on Day 20.
Expect a glorious sunset, a symphonic river, and yet another white sand evening.

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 five of them. Spending time in the Espinhaço’s hidden hearts is a profound — and profoundly enriching — experience.

Iconic silhouette. Zero crowds.

It doesn’t matter how you get there, or from which direction you come — the Serra da Maravilha (literally, Marvelous Mountain) is a sight to behold.

Strikingly similar to Rio de Janeiro’s far more famous Sugarloaf — but with a million fewer visitors — this postcard-perfect peak and the tiny hamlet below it (pop. <10) are little known even in the immediate region.

We’ll take in the view from a variety of angles during our journey on Day 3. One glance at that uncanny silhouette rising from the range, and the name will make perfect sense.

Marvelous, indeed.

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.

Unexplored yet overtouristed, historic yet modern, and tucked between wilderness and civilization, the vila feels like a segue between the backlands and society…

It’s the perfect place to spend the penultimate night of our Expedition — and our final evening on the trail together.

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

In theory, we’ll cross enough rivers, creeks, and streams during for it to “get old.”
There’s something about gazing on the Jequitinhonha from its banks, though — then stepping into it — that never does.

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 27. 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.