What jungle life is actually like

I love living in the jungle. I would also like to formally acknowledge the things I did not appreciate enough in civilization.

Hot water. Reliable internet. Roads without surprise potholes. And, most painfully, hummus.

If you're thinking about coming to Mocoa, you should know what you're signing up for. Here is the honest list.

The weather is basically your project manager

In the city, weather is something you check on your phone. Here, it decides whether you work, whether you have internet, whether you leave the house, and whether you get anywhere at all.

Rain changes everything. There's something humbling about realizing your plans are not the most important thing happening that day.

Water is a conversation

Running water feels like a given until it isn't. Sometimes it isn't reliably clean. Sometimes there's no hot water. A hot shower starts to feel like a five-star hotel.

The power goes out, and so does the world

No Wi-Fi. No charging. No doom-scrolling. This sounds very romantic until the exact moment you need to send an email.

The truly devastating losses

I used to eat hummus like it was a food group. It turns out that when tahini doesn't exist, you have to confront some very difficult questions about who you are.

And don't get me started on matcha lattes. I didn't know how much I loved them until they were gone.

Getting anywhere is an adventure

I used to take paved roads, and the freedom to just go somewhere, completely for granted. Here, getting somewhere can be an actual expedition. Sometimes the road comes with surprises.

The animals and insects live here too

They're everywhere. I'm not talking about cute little city birds. I'm talking about insects that appear to have their own zip codes.

What I didn't expect

When I'm not in the throes of fighting off a swarm of mosquitoes, I almost like it. These things humble you. They remind you that nature has its own life, and that we're all just one small part of it.

So many things I thought were necessities turned out to be conveniences. I only noticed how much of my old life happened without me ever having to think about it once it was gone.

The funny part is that none of this is what I worry about when it's time to come back to the jungle. Small luxuries become visible when they disappear.

What this means if you come to visit

You'll be fed, welcomed, and looked after. You'll also be a guest in a place where rain, roads, and insects sometimes have their own ideas. This isn't a resort sealed off from the forest, and that's part of the point.

Before you arrive, I'll tell you what to expect and send a packing guide. Bring good shoes, a flexible attitude, and a sense of humor.

Which convenience would you miss first? Be honest.