Jhonattan Andres Perea squints through the blinding Amazonian sunlight into a wall of jungle. He steers the tiny motor powering his wood longboat through a tributary of Colombia’s mighty Caquetá River and putters up to a muddy bank. Hopping onto a barely discernible path, the twentysomething member of the Carijona tribe beckons five others, including me, to follow. Then he disappears into the green, amid a cacophony of unseen birds, monkeys and insects. The vegetation is so dense and the dark, musty path so twisting that for a few moments, it seems to those of us behind Perea that the jungle has swallowed our young guide whole. Until we emerge from the trees a few minutes later to find him standing before a shimmering salt lake. Perea is gazing intently into the distance. “This is as far as we are allowed to go,” he says. “There’s a swampland beyond this. According to legend, that swampland divides us physically and spiritually.” Then he points solemnly across the lake. “That way,” he says. Somewhere out there. “That is where they are.”