I would be lucky to see the orangutans, the keeper said. “It’s the rainy season. Many trees are fruiting.”

No sooner had he spoken than a rustling announced the arrival of a mother and her baby. She was joined by two juveniles, hanging in the branches like benevolent apparitions. They clapped their hands, opening them wide for the keeper to throw up pieces of fruit.

Soon a veritable orangutan convention surrounded us. For a brief, magical moment it was just the keepers, the apes and myself. Then the first group of visitors arrived and the keepers led us to a hide overlooking the feeding platform. One of them uttered a low, keening call, but we had to wait a long time for the adults to show. In the wild they range far to find food.

This was not a touchy-feely affair; we kept our distance. Once the orangutans had gathered their food they retreated to the branches to eat. They were being prepared for the wild. But it shows how shy they are—any disturbance drives them further into the rapidly shrinking jungle.