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, a lost network of historic trails — and virtually no tourism.

Welcome to the spectacular, undiscovered Mosaic of the Espinhaço: 19 adjacent conservation units spanning more than 5 million acres of protected Cerrado and Atlantic Forest — including a National Park, multiple State and Municipal Parks, and a scattering of other reserves.

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.

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

Getting from point A to point B has always been an adventure in the Espinhaço — especially along its spectacular, and often invisible, network of historic trails.

Among the many types of paths we follow:
• Colonial-era stone roads, built by enslaved Africans during the diamond rush
• Mule-driving tropeiro routes, carved for commerce and cattle
• Hidden smuggler trails, sometimes only rediscovered through oral history or luck

We’ve spent years traveling these paths — mapping their course, documenting their unsung beauty, and slowly stitching the forgotten network back together.

As much as we’ve loved having the trail to ourselves, it’s a greater pleasure to walk them alongside travelers who appreciate their unspoiled state — and the stories of how they got there.

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.

There are hundreds of named falls across the range — from soothing, cola-colored cascades to show-stopping, white sand-beach masterpieces, and everything in between.
The only question is which ones your path will lead us to.

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 then there’s 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.

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 like to say that not even the brakes can stop a Bandeirante.
We’ll just say this: we’re confident you’ll come away with a whole new appreciation for the driving experience back home.

As your captain speaking, we recommend you relax — and enjoy the ride.

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.

It’s the kind of place where musica popular brasileira (MPB) glances off stone alleyways, tropeiro fills the plates, and the view out the window could be mistaken for a painting from 200 years ago.

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 more than 1,100 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.

The climb is demanding. The view, unforgettable. And the golden hour descent? Glorious.

You’ll feel — and remember — every step of the way.
And then comes the wild night trek that follows…

A high point. And a turning point.

Twin peaks, attached at the hip, rise from the windswept 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 southern Espinhaço. It’s also one of the most rewarding: a graceful, long approach gives way to a short, satisfying climb — and a panoramic view that speaks for itself.

For those who arrive in time, the golden hour light from the summit is unforgettable.
And the descent? That’s its own story: a starlit, headlamp-lit trek into a silent valley — and the welcome flicker of Mozart’s tiny ranch house below.

Rocks, rivers, and rare silence.

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

Crossing the Park — from its hauntingly beautiful, little-visited southern reaches to its spectacular, water-rich north — is a highlight of any long walk in the region. Along the way: sweeping canyons, steep escarpments, fast-moving rivers, funky hoodoos, and all manner of rocky outcrops.

If it weren’t for the 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 one of the best places in the range to catch your breath before the Story deepens again.

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 still no tourism infrastructure to speak of.

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

Trekking, canoeing, and bushwhacking across the Park — from its lush eastern wildlands to the wind-swept campos of the west — is like entering a fever dream. And the nights are often just as memorable — caves, flower-picker shacks, and hauntingly isolated ranches.

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.

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 gladly settle for the silence of the mountains.

“Wild camping” is always on the table during Journeys. We’re hoping for all of it.

The queen of the western wilds.

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

Before the pandemic, the falls were known to only a handful of people on the planet — nearly all of them local. And even now, they remain more rumor than destination, thanks to the lack of a trail and the absence of ropes.

At the top of the falls, the only thing separating you from swimming with the gods is a pair of life-affirming 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 leave the harvesting to those who know it best — but we pass plenty along the trail: 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.

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

Tropeiro. Torresmo. Frango com quiabo.
If you’re unfamiliar with comida mineira, you won’t be for long — and Brazilians everywhere will be jealous.

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

There’s nothing like a piping hot plate of highly caloric, lovingly prepared heartland comfort food — cooked by skilled hands in well-seasoned cast iron over open flame.
Though we’re always happy to contrast it with more elevated offerings along the way.

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

Bom apetite.

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 your Journey. We’re willing to bet that, years from now, it will be the homestays that still cross your mind daily.

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

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

One of our favorite approaches begins on the Jequitinhonha’s edge — where palm-laced wetlands meet with one of the river’s most pristine tributaries: the Inhacica Grande.

There are multiple entry points to Sempre Vivas (none of them official), but none is more dreamlike — a stretch of white sand, rocks, and palm-lined banks so lush and quiet, even Diamantina (just 3 hours away by asphalt) feels a world away.

And while we rarely know where exactly the path will lead next, we know how nights like this one tend to end:
on soft sand, beside a fire, beneath the stars.

The untamed heart of Sempre Vivas.

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

Tucked 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 stronghold.

Its lone resident for the past two decades, Sr. Levi, is a legend in his own right.
And should we find ourselves hearing stories by the fire with him during your Journey, we’ll be a full day’s bushwhack from the nearest soul.

An overnight in Taquaral is as “authentic” as it gets.
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 — usually under the influence of a home-cooked feast and an ice-cold cerveja.

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 days in the harsh interior, we like to 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 toward greener pastures, we always do with heavy hearts. Few places are harder to leave.

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

A line between past and possible.

A string of tiny settlements that time forgot, strung along a defunct railway line that winds through forested hills, white sand creeks, and some of the Espinhaço’s most quietly breathtaking terrain.

In the not-so-distant past, the corridor between Diamantina and the agrarian lowlands to its west bustled with commerce and optimism. Today, it's mostly known as the vast, pot-holed emptiness between “town” and Telêsforo (it's a long story).

Despite the complicated logistics, miners, mystics, cowboys, idealists — and generations of families — still call “The Green Line” home. A proud new bike trail (the Espinhaço's first) has begun to attract brave, nature-seeking Mineiros, but this part of the range is still little-visited, still living at its own pace.

Wildflowers. Inselbergs. Waterfalls.
And a railway that may yet have another story to tell.

Cobblestone, stories, and magic.

From enchanting São Gonçalo to lonely Inhai, festive Milho Verde to timeworn São João da Chapada — the Espinhaço is dotted with colonial-era villages, each its own unique setting, rhythm, and reason for being.

Some of these villages feel like secrets. Others, like stages. All bear scars from the days of kings, diamonds, and slavery. Yet few places in the Espinhaço are capable of bringing travelers into the enchantment of the Story of Brazil quicker.

There’s magic in the air here, and the locals know it.
Should your Journey pass through them, there's a good chance you'll feel it too.

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

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 fertile ground, 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?

A quiet, constant energy is building beneath the serenity of its hills — a sense that the future is arriving early… and not everyone agrees on what it should look like.

It’s as good a place as any to ponder the meaning of it all.
Should your Journey lead us here, 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 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 backcountry beach scene complete with churrasco, butecos, and dueling car speakers.

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

However you choose to see it — we suggest doing so while seated on a beach towel, something cold in hand.

Built in resistance. Rooted in place.

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 and 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.

Should your Journey lead us through one, it’ll be our privilege.
Spending time in these hidden hearts of the Espinhaço is a profound — and profoundly humbling — experience.

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 resplendent waterfall included) in the middle of the dusty Sertão? A historic textile mill masquerading as a chic resort town? A chic resort town whose “chalets” look like (and, in fact, are) decadent mid-century middleclass 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.

Few places in the Espinhaço are this zany — or restorative.
Should your Journey pass this way, we’ll do our best to take it all in.

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.

Several of the Espinhaço’s longest and most rewarding traverses can be — and have been, for centuries — done on either foot or horseback. We do both — and each way has its own distinct rhythm.

Prefer to gallop? Open dirt roads await, dotted with sunlit waterfalls and silence.

Prefer to walk? Our pack mules carry the weight. You just keep moving.

Regardless of whose hooves are moving (riding is always optional), there’s solace in knowing you’re tracing the long, winding legacy of tropeirismo — and traveling through landscapes shaped by the generations who rode before you.

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, tucked between wilderness and civilization, the vila feels like a segue between the backlands and society…

If your Journey winds its way here, don’t be surprised if it feels like the ending 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 now — scarred, 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.

A road paved in memory.

Most of Brazil’s colonial-era roads — and certainly the most visually arresting — were built by enslaved Africans. But in the Espinhaço, there is only one Caminho dos Escravos (literally, “Slave Way”): a 20-kilometer stone cascade that stretches from Diamantina to the village of Mendanha.

As notorious for its steep, jarring trajectory as it is for its painful past — this was a road trafficked by slave-drivers, bandits, and miners — the Caminho is both a marvel of pre-industrial engineering and a haunting reminder of how Brazil was built.

There are countless ways to Diamantina, and nearly all are beautiful.
But there’s no more profound way to end a Journey in the Espinhaço than by walking these steps.

A closing note, where it all began.

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

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

Vesperatas are a hit-or-miss affair throughout the year, so the dates don’t always line up. If we do happen to be in town to catch one during your Journey, 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 evening of a story — and Journey — well lived.