As the middle-aged woman fell off the swing, a gallery of onlookers cheered, and two men who didn't know each other high-fived. It was 4pm on a Monday afternoon. Welcome to the Franschhoek Wine Tram. Magnificent Frans chhoek Valley 10AM: It's fair to say, adrenaline isn't pumping through the veins on this Autumnal May morning in Franschhoek. Damp air, puddles from overnight rain, and a blanket of grey clouds set an ironically sober mood over the normally picturesque valley. I

It’s a fantasy world painted with Van Gogh’s palette. Vivid slashes of blue, green and grey. Jagged mountains pierce the sky, bands of deep forest hug the lower slopes, roofs of terracotta sprinkle the base like confetti. At the centre of the masterpiece, the lake. Changing colour and texture, shimmering turquoise to undulating mercury, it waits ominous, silent, powerful... That’s great, Wordsworth, but where’s George Clooney’s gaffe?

Hot hot heat. Taxi engines buzzing and horns blaring. Kids selling packs of gum to tourists, a bored Mariachi band knocking out a Mexicana version of Hotel California for the 100th time of the day while a donkey, painted as a zebra, looks on. Welcome to Tijuana.

We were halfway through the trek when the first sign of trouble arrived. I looked down at my boot. A slug uncoiled, extended an inch and, moving like a slinky, began climbing. Flicking it off, I spotted another on my sock. As I went to launch it into jungle oblivion, it vanished through the cotton. Panicking, I pulled the sock down to find, clamped to my flesh, a leech.

Mankind is capable of incredible feats of endurance. Climbing cliffs without ropes. Running marathons across deserts. Swimming through shark-infested oceans. And even watching an entire Jason Statham film. But very few people have the mental strength, discipline and willpower required to survive a 3-day journey on a Greyhound bus.