After our excellent taster of what the region had to offer in Cartagena, once the all-to-familiar wrench of leaving left our systems, we could focus entirely on our excitement of actually visiting the proper Caribbean.

Well, situated just north of Venezuela, it's not exactly in the Eastern Caribbean straight and so some might argue that it's not the Caribbean in its truest form, but considering we were able to get here relatively cheaply from Colombia then it'll do for us.

It had been a dream of mine to visit the area since becoming obsessed with the blue seas, white sands and lush green vegetation when watching the Pirates of the Caribbean series. Clearly, from the first views of the coastline as the plane descended, I wasn't to be disappointed.

We entered the terminal to a background of the famous steel drum music, with our duty-free rum in tow and with me donning the full shirt-and-straw-hat attire acquired in Colombia. I continued the tradition of making inappropriate comments at passport control before we headed out in the warm afternoon sunshine to seek a taxi to our hotel.

Being a former Dutch colony that now caters mainly for American tourists, our first impressions of the island were that it appeared to only have no real original character to it; just new build hotel complexes, holiday-homes, a sequence of American fast-food chains and designer stores.

Not that this was going to deter us in any way, but it cement our intentions of simply hitting the beach for our week there and not splashing out on the extortionate car-hire prices to explore further - well, extortionate on a traveller's budget anyway.

We were staying near to Malmok Beach in the north of the island in the self-catered Bananas Apartments. With no supermarkets or even general stores in the local vicinity, Ton (the owner) took us to get provisions upon arrival. And that was us pretty much sorted for the next few days.

We spent our time walking to various local beaches, or strolling down the few miles of picturesque coastline to the main strip. We enjoyed a spot of fishing - although we didn't manage to catch a thing - and had a couple of more successful snorkelling excursions. We drank rum cocktails while watching the sunset fall over the ocean, and generally just enjoyed each other's company in this tropical paradise. What more could you ask for really?

The only other real noteworthy incident was the night that Anne and I got a bit more twatted than usual and ended up waking the entire apartment block up at 2am with our drunken antics. This resulted in a knock at the door from Ton and a few bashful apologies to the other guests the morning after.

Before we'd even realised, a week had passed and it was time for our final soiree in Curacao - Aruba's neighbouring island accessible by a mere 20 minute flight. We had managed to find a great deal on a suite in the 4 star Floris hotel and we were going to enjoy every minute of the further self-pampering.

Firstly, however, we had to contend with this flight. Travelling on the delightfully named Fokker 50 plane with Insel Air, no sooner had the pilot switched the seatbelt sign off and the solitary flight attendant had delivered the entrance cards, the seatbelt sign was back on and the pilot was preparing the cabin crew for landing.

I know that doesn't sound too terrifying, but an old propeller plane (that I'm sure was stuck together by masking tape in parts) taking off and landing in high winds made for a very nervous encounter with constant turbulence. And although I giggled through the entire ordeal, I was secretly happy to have my feet on solid ground again.

Our first impressions of Curacao seemed to be the exact opposite of Aruba, and it had character in abundance, and other than a plentiful amount of Dutch tourists and expats, no Americans or other Europeans at all. Perfect.

Perhaps Aruba trumped Curacao on beaches, but for everything else, Curacao got our vote 100%.

We were greeted at our hotel with a glass of bubbles and then shown to our room by a porter. All-of-a-sudden, our euphoric state-of-mind completely flipped as we were presented with a dingy, musty-smelling dungeon like chamber, with no natural light and bearing no resemblance to the photos that had prompted us to book.

I wanted to complain but Anne didn't and after a minor quarrel, I got my way and called the reception. Credit where credit is due, they were fantastic and almost immediately upgraded us to a suite with a separate living area and a balcony overlooking the pool. Apparently, they were undergoing some refurbishments and the photos they had submitted to the booking sites had been prematurely published.

I'm sure they regretting their decision to upgrade us when we brought a week's worth of supermarket bought provisions to our room the next day, completely eradicating the prospect of us squandering hundreds of dollars in the complex's facilities.

The days in Curacao followed a similar pattern to Aruba: arsing about in the sea at the Pirate's Bay beach bar (while ensuring to come back to our room for self-catered lunch), heading into Wilhemstad for more drinks and antics, and enjoying our four year anniversary come and go.

We didn't really socialise much, save for chatting to a young Dutch pilot that was bemused at seeing and English/Finnish couple in this part of the world. Oh, and there was a young bunch of Venezuelans that made us realise we actually missed conversing in Spanish.

By the time we left South America, we had become quite competent and even I was able to hold down conversations. Even though it had only been a week or so since we had left, already I could feel my ability slipping. Ah well.

Our penultimate day in Curacao was by far our best and we actually managed to cross another item off the bucket list: swimming with dolphins.

We had booked into an interactive session at the island's Dolphin Academy and spent 30 minutes with two dolphins named Didi and Rosetta. Out of the eight people in the water, Anne and I got the most out of it by far. So much so, that I was beginning to feel guilty as the dolphins kept approaching us instead of everyone else.

According to the trainer, Didi absolutely loved me and I had helped to train the usually reserved Rosetta by swimming underwater with her and by guiding her away from the trainer and so out of her comfort zone.

For our last two dinners, we decided to head to a restaurant in town with good reviews, and also to finally give the hotel some of our custom.

The restaurant was called Kome and was a bit of a fusion of all the surrounding influences. We arrived a bit early in town and so went for a few drinks beforehand, which caused me to get a bit gluttonous when faced with the very inviting menu. Consequently, I overate and overdrank and so we had to call it a night early.

The hotel meal was equally as fantastic and topped off our 'holiday' nicely.

But it wasn't just topping off our holiday. This was it. The next day we were returning to Finland and our travels were now essentially over. Granted, we were going to head back to England via the ferry Brugge - it only seemed right to finish it the way it started - but all-of-a-sudden, our two and a half year journey was about to come to an abrupt end.

The worst feeling of all was that after our two weeks of sickness-free relaxation, I was completely ready to start exploring again and couldn't help thinking that we had over-reacted when calling time on our adventures.

Granted, it was for the best that we returned now and at least we had some time in Finland to ease us back into normality, but it didn't help ease that gut-wrenching feeling when you know it's all over.

Surely you've all experienced it after a two week holiday in paradise? Well imagine the cumulative feeling after two and a half years!