Real Green

The greens of the Amazon are effervescent. Colors skew; eyes smart. What was green just days ago wasn't green at all, but shadow. Here in Earth's sweaty womb, such torrid heat acts only as incubation for life. Cylindrical towers climb above the forest, level upon level of natural wood wall and floor. The Ariaú Amazon Towers eco-hotel--some 30 miles outside Manaus, Brazil--makes a last stand against the (nearly) impenetrable beyond.

Francisco Ritta Bernardino, Ph.D., opened Ariaú in 1987, inspired by French scientist and ecologist Jacques Cousteau, whom he met when the legendary explorer's team studied the Amazon forest in the early 1980s. Ritta built the towers  to both protect and defend the fragile woodlands--at first only accommodating four suites. It is now the world's largest treetop hotel with 268 rooms connected via a catwalk trail of more than five miles.

Here we find the very definition of ecotourism, a form of responsible travel that both conserves the environment and improves the well-being of indigenous people. The International Ecotourism Society reports that about 13 percent of 18.6 million outbound leisure travelers in the United States are eco-tourists. And who can blame them when the reward is the graceful curve of Rio Amazonas on its 3,969-mile trek t o the Atlantic Ocean, the scamper of Simia sciureus (squirrel monkeys) playing audacious games on 70-foot-tall wooden catwalks, the beauty of the fauna and flora of the igapós (flooded forest)?

Anything is possible here, where the black waters of Rio Negro and the smoky clay current of Rio Solimões run side by side for miles, but never converge. Autazes Amazonian Cruises offers a day trip to the meeting of rivers. The yacht speeds across the murky waters as guests sip caipirinhas, the sugar-lime-rum national drink of Brazil. Clouds form high and dark above the river as the boat passes natural walls of brawny rock. The channels meet in a quiet symphony of curves and lines, a bizarre tango of waters.

At the hotel, trekkers board a rickety craft as evening falls silent and heavy. Caiman come out at night. The crocodilian reptile can be spotted in the calm Amazonian waters at dusk. The water's acidity provides natural mosquito control as the voyage sets out amid flashlights and oars. The creatures are magnificent specimens. Frozen by battery-powered light, almond-shaped eyes gleam and pointed teeth glimmer seductively. The caiman is a dangerous and captivating creature.

Premature fatigue assails in blistering evening hours. Eco-explorers retire to the tower's austere rooms with minimal furnishings; there are no TVs, phon es or iPod chargers. Sound moves freely through the wooden walls. A family puts the kiddos to bed. The sounds of night forcefully descend. Two and a half million insect species beckon from outside. Travelers drift to torrential dreams.

Day breaks early above the Amazonian canopy. The catwalk leads to the thickly netted dining room, fortified to keep out insects and conniving monkeys. Breakfast includes assorted natural juices from the loins of the opaque Amazon and succulent Brazilian fruits--goiaba (guava), maracujá (passion fruit) and mamão (papaya). Just outside, patioed hammocks provide perfect opportunity for post-breakfast reverie. A monkey fingers nimbly through a forgotten purse. It tips over, and the monkey is gone.

Visitors speed boat out into the deeply azure waters of the Rio Negro and stop at an aged and wooden swimming platform in the river's center surrounded by weightless ripples. Here live pink river dolphins, lured to surface by the guide's ready supply of fresh-water fish. Legend says the dolphins are shapeshifters, impregnating young girls at night only to return to the river at daybreak. It isn't hard to imagine. These mammals are deceptively forthcoming--all silk and elegance and grace; nevertheless, sharp dolphin teeth keep fingers and toes at bay.

But the Amazon's true cache, the indomitable forest, waits. Trekkers snake along a trodden jungle trail through the palatable heat. Brush crunches underfoot, and a bird shrieks into the thick and humid air. The guide describes the formation of the Amazon Basin, its innate fragility and the urgent need for preservation. In fact, the Brazilian government stands firm for forest conservation; deforestation fell 60 percent between 2004 and 2007. The state has strengthened environmental sanctions, curbed unsustainable logging and established dozens of monitoring and enforcement operations.

The efforts allow the Ariaú Amazon Towers--and numerous other eco-resorts--to familiarize generations of travelers with this emerald and moist broadleaf forest (more than 60 percent of which lies within the Brazilian border) and offer employment for indigenous ethnic groups. Sinuous native dances highlight moonlight meals at Ariaú, and eco-tourists visit native homes and learn the basin's ancient agricultural secrets. The guides are natives, as are housekeepers, cooks, groundsmen and boat crews.

Nothing here in the heart of this stifling jungle is feigned. The silent sting of perspiration, the drone of dense and fertile forest and the strong hand of a native guide remind you that you've never experienced anything so real.