As so many other remote areas on this planet, the upper Daintree region thrives on its ambivalent image as inhabited but simultaneously untouched territory. This ambiguity shows up in every soul that crosses the Daintree river northwards with the one and only ferry, whose schedule of operation regulates the lives of this small community. When it's running, the tourists are streaming in, either with their rented four-wheel drives for daytrips on unpaved roads into mosquito-infested swamps or with their military-grade camper vans, ready to survive the next apocalypse. In its intention they thus agree perfectly with the locals, both striving to be as close as possible to the boundary of civilisation, and, ironically, both pushing it therefore further ahead and simultaneously blaming each other for the result. Because as much as they want to, the locals can't live without the tourists, being their dominant source of income, and the tourists can't live without the locals and their pre-existing infrastructure. Like my temporary home here, Crocodylus, an eco-lodge that isn't, as the name might make you believe, anywhere near any crocodile habitat. The only dinosaur relatives walking through here, are majestic, but flightless, birds; the Cassowarys, the almost-extinct and still most notable inhabitant of the Daintree. Our guests sometimes even see them from the little wooden terrasses that aim from their tent-like cabins out into a dense green part of the jungle. The cabins are designed to make you feel like you're sleeping right under the rainforest canopy, without actually doing it. In that way, everyone gets to experience all the strange sounds at night without getting wet in the frequent rain; gets to smell the closeness of nature but not wake up with a snake in their shoes. Because as many beautiful things one finds here the average human still prefers modern life with its luxury of cell phone connection, a government provided electricity grid and running water. And even though some nature-loving adventurers decided stubbornly to live in this area and built all the necessary facilities with their own hands, aka the local community, they are deep inside happy about the efforts of environmental organizations who buy back the owned properties to convert them again into rainforest. Throughout all this controversy, though, the only question that truly remains unanswered is why there are no indigenous living here anymore. The one culture that truly understood this forest, left already decades ago, lured away by modern commodities and alcohol and, unfortunately, never made it back. So much knowledge lost forever.