To the southeast, the hard sun shines over a villager with tanned skin. He is proudly dressed, barefoot, with a knife at his waist and an exuberant blue handkerchief around his neck – a sign of belonging, of strong ideals like others in the region who defend their homeland and their terrain. You’ll receive a warm greeting as you pass by, welcoming you to the green lands of Mesopotamia.
Like the Menchos, we travel through extensive wetlands and begin riding into lagoons. Deer observe us from one side, camouflaged alligators take care of their young from the other, while restless monkeys swing from tree to tree, disturbing all the many birds that are nesting in the canopy. We continue at a slow pace, passing communities and solitary locals surrounded by cacophonous rivers and waterfalls that make their presence known. The jungle is no quieter – on foot we wander among centuries-old trees and plants in search of the mighty jaguar, stopping at traditional, family-run posadas to rest and learn about their heritage.
Night falls to the soundtrack of croaking frogs, as fires are slowly lit as a call to dinner. The intriguing myths of the jungle begin to be heard in a tone of respect and pause; legends ranging from Popular Saints and indigenous spirits to mythological animals, all coexisting among themselves like a fable that introduces us to their lives and culture at that moment in time.
