It’s the strange experiences which often really make a trip abroad – instances when at the time you are baffled (and possibly even a little alarmed) by what is happening to you, but which afterwards enrich the tales of your travels when out with friends at the pub.

Here she gestured at the floor, indicating we were to set up our tent on the threadbare carpet...

An impromptu camping experience in Peru fell squarely into this category.

After spending a week in Cusco we were relaxing in a small café and wondering what to do next.

We ended up chatting with a local musician who had come in for a cup of coffee and, upon hearing that we were interested in wildlife, told us that Mandor was really the place to go.

It wasn’t all that far from Cusco and, senores, you wouldn’t regret it.

With that hearty and robust endorsement, we packed our rucksacks the next day and were directed to a bus station somewhere in the warren of outer Cusco.

There we boarded a decrepit bus, squeezed in between a gaggle of elderly women in bowler hats and went shuddering off into the distance, trailing thick plumes of exhaust behind us.

It took us four hours of bone-jarring travel before we were eventually disgorged into a teeming bus station. Shouldering our packs, we commenced the lengthy process of arguing with taxi drivers fora decent price to our ultimatedestination.

This proved even more difficult than usual as most of the drivers shook their heads in confusion, having apparently never heard of Mandor.

However, we eventually found one who knew where the place was – although he did seem rather astonished that a pair of gringos actually wanted to go there. We clambered into the taxi and headed out along a dusty track into thejungle.

Half an hour later we eventually reached Mandor itself; a small collection of houses surrounding a weedy football field.

The taxi driver dumped us on the curb and drove off into the sweltering afternoon, while we stood and looked about us under the watchful gaze of the local football team.

With nothing else to do we started up a track into the hills, followed by a horde of small giggling children. Eventually the track petered out in the garden of two more houses – beyond this, there appeared to be very little else.

As night was closing in on us, we decided to ask the owner of the nearest house if we could set up our tent on the football field, reasoning that perhaps in the morning’s light we’d be able to figure out where on earth we were.

There certainly didn’t appear to be hordes of monkeys and swirling flocks of brightly-coloured birds promised by our friend in Cusco.

We knocked on the small wooden door, which eventually creaked open to reveal a portly woman. We asked if we could camp on her lawn, but she wouldn’t have it.

“Oh no,” she replied in Spanish, “you’ll stay the night in my house.” We attempted to dissuade her, but this proved futile and we were soon being herded inside.

We followed the woman’s bustling form through the door and into a curious little store. It seemed to sell everything from local produce to a small collection of Peruvian drums and ponchos (all covered in a thick layer of dust).

She paused briefly to try to sell them to us then led us on into the living room beyond. Here she gestured at the floor, indicating we were to set up our tent on the threadbare carpet.

We peered at the dining room table and chairs, then under her expansive gestures, moved the dining room furniture to the side and set about erecting the tent.

In a few minutes the tent was up and looking decidedly out of place, situated as it was between a curio cabinet and a long table.

Feeling vaguely uneasy we sat on the floor and awaited the reappearance of our host. It was then that we became aware of a high-pitched squealing that seemed to be emanating from the adjacent room.

Investigating the curious noises proved to be no problem, as there was a small hatch in the living room wall from which we could peer into what turned out to be the kitchen.

There, scurrying about on the floor with an air of exaggerated nonchalance was a small herd of guinea pigs. They were of all shapes, colours and sizes, trotting about amongst the pots and pans, leaving a scattering of droppings on the floor.

As we stared in wonder at the kitchen’s inhabitants, our host reappeared. Her looming shadow caused the guinea pigs to scatter, with several of them rather perversely hiding under the stove and one seeking shelter behind afrying pan.

She smiled at us and asked us if we wanted any cui for dinner (the Peruvian for guinea pig is cui, named after the sounds of their high-pitched squeals). My gaze was drawn to a furry backside protruding from a pile of pots in the corner of the room and I hastily shook my head.

We tried to explain that we were vegetarians and, although the woman seemed determined to sacrifice several of the chubby little rodents for us, we were eventually given a plate of fried eggs instead.

Then our host went back to the kitchen, from where further high-pitched squeaks of dismay sounded. Trying not to listen to the ensuing slaughter, we ate our meal in silence.

Later in the evening the woman returned, took our plates from us, smiled and bid us good night. All was quiet in the house, save for the excited squeaks of our rodent neighbours, who seemed to be rejoicing that their population had been left relatively intact for the evening.

The morning dawned bright and squeaking, the guinea pigs being up long before us and one oftheir kin now sizzling merrily in a frying pan.

We packed our tent, dodged yet more plates of cui and bid our host farewell. Then we headed up into the surrounding jungle to search for the plethora of wildlife Mandor had to offer.

We spent the day wandering about the remnant patches of jungle (as most of it had been converted into agricultural fields) and saw very little in the way ofanything.

We finally decided to call it quits and hiked back to the main town, as another night in guinea pig territory was out of the question. From there we returned to Cusco, rather confused and baffled by our trip.

It was only much later that I learnt that although we had indeed been in a small village named Mandor, we had not been to the Mandor (home of verdant forest, waterfalls and hosts of wild animals), which was located much nearer to Machu Picchu itself.

Perhaps we should have checked our maps more thoroughly. But then again, if we had we would never have become acquainted with our furry little guinea pig friends, nor had the opportunity to try out the dubious delights of camping in someone’s living room.