The trip – which incorporated a two-night stay in Peru’s bustling capital Lima, a five-day cruise down the glorious Amazon river, two nights in Urubamba (the largest town in Peru’s Sacred Valley), a steep climb up Machu Picchu to see the citadel known as “the lost city of the Incas” (built circa 1450 AD and abandoned for reasons unknown around 120 years later) and 48 hours in Cusco – was thrilling, breathtaking (literally, in high altitude Machu Picchu and Cusco) and unforgettable.

I chatted to my mum in my head every day, especially when seeing or experiencing something I knew she’d appreciate: sightings of crocodiles, pink dolphins, monkeys, snakes and eagles; whizzing down the Amazon river through jungle in tiny skiffs; stunning sunsets and sunrises; the vivid colours of flowers I didn’t know existed; and spending a morning with the friendly inhabitants of a tiny Amazonian village. 

We took eight flights, two train journeys and several long car journeys over a 12-day period, so the trip was arduous – but I know it wouldn’t have deterred my mum. Before she became ill, she had boundless energy and would have seen the journeying as part of the experience. 

She’s travelling now, of course, but not in the way she might have hoped. In her physical absence, I feel now that I’m travelling for her, on her behalf, in the way she’d have liked to, as often as I can. 

The story of the 108-year-old shaman – told to my daughter and I by a guide called Alex, the grandson of another Amazonian shaman, on our way to the cruise boat in Iquitos – was one that will stick in my mind forever.