When I realised that Environmental Credentials aren't just about extra marks in Tendering

South American Adventure

I didn’t set out on a spiritual, life-changing quest.

I just wanted a break from house hunting.

On our last failed bid, I turned to my husband and said, “If we don’t get this one, can we stop house-hunting and start living again?”

We didn’t get it.

A few days later, battle-worn but weirdly liberated, I walked downstairs, looked up at my 6ft 3 husband (I’m 5ft 4 on a good day), and asked casually,“So… are you busy around October?”

He said, “Not really, why?”

“Fancy taking a month off and touring South America?”

He looked at me for all of three seconds and said, “I can do that.”

And that was that. No house. No problem. Time for an adventure.

The Six-Month Planning Marathon

What followed was six months of spreadsheets, lists and me Googling things like “how many pairs of socks for the jungle?”

We each made a wish list of must-sees.

• His non-negotiable: The Galápagos Islands.

• Mine: Machu Picchu.

We somehow managed to stitch together an itinerary that included both, plus the Amazon rainforest and Rio de Janeiro for good measure. Then came the vaccinations, the altitude tablets, the insect repellent strong enough to strip paint, and the usual argument about how many shoes is “reasonable” to bring.

Ecuador: Where the Marriage Was Thoroughly Tested

We started in Quito, Ecuador, joining a tour that would take us from stark volcanic landscapes, through increasingly lush countryside and finally into the rainforest, known locally, and much more dramatically, as the jungle.

On day four, our guide cheerfully announced we were visiting a waterfall called Devil’s Cauldron. Cute name. Less cute reality.

To get there, we walked down the equivalent of 40 flights of stairs, at altitude, in 40-degree heat. And, obviously, what goes down must come back up.

I was perfectly content with the nicely positioned tourist viewing point. My husband, however, wanted to get right to the cauldron itself. So down we went. By the time we climbed back up, I’m pretty sure our marriage vows had been thoroughly re-tested.

We did survive it (just), and the waterfall was incredible… but let’s just say there were a few choice words exchanged on those steps, when I had enough breath to speak!.

Later on, we swam in lakes deep in the rainforest, completely alone, surrounded by dense green and birdsong. It felt like the old Timotei shampoo advert, except I did not look like the effortlessly beautiful woman flicking her hair in slow motion. Think more red-faced, slightly soggy chaos with frizzy hair, but happy.

We were meticulous about medications and altitude tablets. Our guide stopped every few hours so we could get out of the bus and acclimatise gently.

The irony?  He got altitude sickness.  We didn’t. 😊

The View That Broke Me (In the Best Way)

On day five, still slightly traumatised by Devil’s Cauldron, we were taken to yet another viewing point. This one involved only about five flights of steps, but I still grumbled my way up.

Then we reached the top.

Spread out in front of me was the mouth of the Amazon, with tributaries feeding into it, and the rainforest stretching endlessly into the distance. It was the exact image I remembered from my primary school geography book in the 1970s, the one I’d stared at as a little girl, thinking only rich, extraordinary people would ever see something like that.

We definitely weren’t rich when I was growing up. I’d never imagined I’d see it in real life.

I stood there, staring. Something in me just… cracked open. I felt emotion bubbling in my stomach, rising up through my chest, and before I could understand what was happening, tears were streaming down my face.

Not polite, cinematic tears. Full, unstoppable, snotty crying.

All I could think was: “We are killing this.”

This astonishing, ancient, intricate system of life, and every day, without really thinking about it, we chip away at it. Through what we buy, what we waste, what we ignore.

The viewpoint consisted of a simple wooden bar on stilts with no front wall, just hammocks strung up facing the rainforest. We stayed there for about two hours, swinging gently, sipping cold beer and listening to soft ballads drift from a tiny speaker while the sun moved slowly across the sky.

In that moment, I could have gone home the next day and felt the trip was complete. My soul already felt… rearranged.

Galápagos, ATVs and a Not-So-Silent Treehouse

Of course, we didn’t go home. Two days later, we flew to the Galápagos Islands, where we swam with giant turtles who moved with the kind of serene confidence I can only dream of. Being in the water beside them felt like sharing space with something very old and very wise. They were completely unbothered by us. We were just awkward tourists in wetsuits flapping around their ancient world.

Next stop: Peru. There, we found ourselves driving ATVs through the Andes, which was empowering and mildly terrifying in equal measure. One wrong move and I was convinced I’d be the first person to somehow roll an ATV off a perfectly safe path.

We stayed in a treehouse in Aguas Calientes, at the foot of Machu Picchu. It was magical… in a “this is adorable but absolutely not soundproof” kind of way. Let’s just say you get to know your neighbours very well in a treehouse town and I think they were on honeymoon!.

The town itself was a mish-mash of people of all ages and backgrounds, backpackers, families, luxury travellers, and those who clearly arrived 30 years ago and just never quite left. It felt like a crossroads for the world.

Machu Picchu, Christ the Redeemer… and the Surprise Favourite

I was ridiculously excited to see Machu Picchu. And it was absolutely stunning, no question. The scale, the history, the way the ruins sit cradled in the mountains… it’s every bit as impressive as the postcards.

But oddly, I wasn’t emotional there. I was awed, yes. Grateful, definitely. But the deep, overwhelming feeling I’d had at the Amazon didn’t return.

Our final stop was Rio de Janeiro, to see Christ the Redeemer. It was completely packed — a lot of people, a lot of selfie sticks and a lot of creative angles to avoid including 400 strangers in your “meaningful spiritual shot.” Still, standing beneath that enormous statue, looking out over Rio, was another pinch-me moment. Another big tick on the bucket list.

And yet, when we talk about the trip now, with some distance and a lot of fond nostalgia, the moment that always comes up first isn’t Machu Picchu or Christ the Redeemer.

It’s that quiet viewing point over the Amazon.

That’s the memory that changed something fundamental in me.

It wasn’t supposed to be a quest, but somewhere along the way, it became one, a journey in search of… something I didn’t know I was missing. Perspective, maybe. Connection. Responsibility.

Why It Matters — And What We Do Next

Standing above the Amazon, crying into my sunglasses, one thought kept circling:

We don’t get another one of these. There is no “spare” rainforest waiting in a warehouse somewhere. No backup ocean. No second atmosphere.

This planet is brilliantly complex and incredibly fragile and we are all personally responsible for what happens to it next. Not just governments, not just “big business,” not just environmentalists with placards. Us. In the homes we live in, the offices we work in, the companies we run, the way we heat, cool, light and manage the buildings we move through every day.

That’s why organisations that put in environmental systems for businesses matter so much. It can sound technical or dry …. filters, controls, efficiencies, compliance, but at its heart, it’s about something beautifully simple:

• Using less.

• Wasting less.

• Polluting less.

• Respecting more.

It’s about giving the Amazon, the Galápagos, the Andes, the ice caps, the oceans, all of it, a fighting chance.

My month in South America didn’t just give me unforgettable memories and a renewed appreciation for my patience with my husband’s on very long staircases. It gave me a visceral understanding that this planet is not an abstract concept.

It’s real. It’s alive. It’s breathtaking.

And it needs us, all of us to protect it, every single day, in every choice we make.

PS.  I found the home of our dreams 2 days before the end of our trip. We viewed it the day we came home and moved in 8 weeks later!  My neighbours are now cows and I see green trees from every window I look out.. my own little rainforest 💚