“Nah nah nah, just wait man. This isn’t the real jungle yet,” he said. “This is new jungle: all palm plantation not long ago.”
“The farmers around here, they cut into the jungle. Slowly, slowly, so nobody noticed. Make their farm bigger. Palm trees as far as you eye can see,” he paused as he shifted gears on the old 4×4. “Our government, finally they say ‘No… No, too much.’ They take it back. Make a big fence. Now we have security. You will see. Checkpoints. Guards. To protect the forest. This jungle here is new, maybe only forty years old.”
“Only forty years?!” I was in awe.
A rainforest this thick, in a few decades? Incredible. “That’s refreshing. Sounds like your government cares more than ours does.”

The old land cruiser hobbled along for a few hours.
A dusty gravel road gave way to slick, rocky trails. We rolled over wild elephant footprints, around water-carved corners, through flowing rivers and over muddy crests.

I fell asleep watching the vines snake down the tall trees. Thick like the humid air around us, they wound and weaved a web across the undergrowth, glistening wet with rainfall, stretching all the way into my dreams. When I woke, the jungle was even more dense.

Much more dense. More so than anything I’ve ever seen before. Or ever imagined possible. No man and machete could traverse this landscape.
“This is the real jungle,” he smiled, gesturing widely. “Untouched; never farmed, never burned.
Growing forever.”

One of the most diverse ecosystems on Earth, over 140 million years old. And we had the privilege of exploring a little piece of it last year.