Escape from monkey mountain

After more than a week in Ubud, we thought we had the local monkeys figured out. We did some “research” while visiting Ubud’s Monkey Forrest. We chatted with hotel staff about the monkeys. And in the afternoons, while waiting out the day’s rain, we observed the monkeys from the safety of our room.

Here’s a photo taken from our balcony. When the rain stopped, a troop of monkeys would descend from the trees to forage for food and look for opportunities to create mischief.

The monkeys would always begin and end their foraging expeditions by cutting across the grass. The child in me was excited to see them, because I love monkeys! But the old man who lives inside me couldn’t resist the temptation to grumble, get off my lawn, monkeys!

But not all the monkeys stayed on the grass. The bigger, bolder, boss monkeys would demonstrate their leadership bona fides by leaping onto our balcony and looking for an unlocked door or window. Evidently, bringing back minibar snacks to the monkey troop is a good way to maintain your status. Come to think of it, the wild monkeys of Ubud aren’t all that different from the U.S. Congress insofar as their operations resemble a clusterfuck, mischief is par for the course, and bringing back some sweet, sweet pork—or in the case of the monkeys, some candy bars—is a must.

But a monkey in your hotel room is dangerous, which is why the hotel staff instructed us to keep our doors and windows locked. From the behind the safety of those locked doors and windows, Christina and I spent many happy hours observing the monkeys, giving them names, and snapping photos.

Randy “Toblerone” Mardukas

Several hotel staffers told us the monkeys always come out in the afternoon. Since this tracked with our observations, we called the afternoons “Monkey Happy Hour.” But for some reason—wishful thinking, logical fallacy, stupidity—we assumed that the monkeys only came out during Monkey Happy Hour. As it turned out, we were dead-wrong.

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On our last night in Ubud, Christina and I returned to our room to pack. In the distance we heard the sound of a lonely frog.

“That’s weird,” Christina said. “We’ve heard all kinds of jungle sounds, but this is the first frog.”

We listened to the frog as we packed. Then we listened to the frog some more as we got ready for bed. Then, as we read our books and tried to drift off to sleep, we listened to the frog some more.

“That mother-frogger is gonna go all night,” I said.

“How do you know?” Christina asked.

“I’m reading a book about frogs.”

“Really?”

“No. I’m reading a book called Dead in the Water: a True Story of Hijacking, Murder, and a Global Maritime Conspiracy.”

In the distance, the frog let out a long, baritone croak.

“That mother-frogger,” Christina said.

We turned out the lights and tried to sleep. We had an early call the next day in order to make the two-hour trip from Ubud to Padang Bai, where we planned to catch a fast boat to an island called Gili Air.

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In the morning, we woke up about fifteen minutes before my alarm. It was still dark outside, and the frog was still making that croaking sound.

“It’s funny,” I said. “Every morning we’ve been here, we wake up to jungle sounds. Mostly birds, I guess. It’s like a lovely chorus. And at night, there are different jungle sounds, but also a lovely chorus.”

“But that fucking frog,” Christina said.

“Did you get any sleep?” I asked.

“Not much.”

“Me neither.”

“What do you think that frog wants?” Christina asked.

“What all frogs want. Someone to kiss them and turn them into a prince.”

“I think that’s a fairytale.”

“OK, fine, the frog wants to get fucked. It’s a mating call.”

“Well, someone out there needs to fuck that frog. Do you think he kept the monkeys up all night?”

“Maybe. But probably not, though. They’re probably used to having a horny, unfuckable frog for a neighbor.”

We showered, got dressed, then idiot-checked the room to make sure we didn’t leave anything behind. Then I called the front desk to see if they could send someone to help with our bags.

A few minutes later, a friendly man came to take our bags. We stayed behind to use the bathroom one last time before hitting the road.

“I think we’re ready,” I said.

“Farewell Ubud.”

We slung our backpacks over our shoulders and stepped toward the door. The open door.

“Monkey!” Christina screamed. “Holy shit, it’s a monkey!”

Just then, I saw a monkey—a big, bold, boss monkey—looming in our doorway.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

Immediately, our flight-or-fight mechanisms kicked in. Mine went with flight because I am a coward. Christina’s went with fight because she is a badass.

Panicked, preparing to die, and willing to piss my pants, but for the fact that I had just emptied my bladder moments prior, I ran as far away as I could. Unfortunately, our room in Ubud was quite small, and after seven lightning-fast steps, my back was to the wall.

Meanwhile, Christina executed a tactical retreat with the poise of a Navy SEAL. She took three steps back to assess the situation and look for a weapon. Grabbing a nearby umbrella that the hotel provides to shelter guests from the rain (and to fend off monkeys), Christina began to advance.

“Back! Monkey back!”

Christina swung the umbrella wildly, then banged it against the floor to make a loud sound in order to frighten the monkey.

“Back!”

“Don’t look him in the eye,” I screamed.

“Back, back, back!”

As Christina advanced toward the doorway, the big, bold, boss monkey retreated.

“Back!”

Then at the steps leading up to our room, the monkey paused, turned around to face Christina, her umbrella, and her wrath.

“Back!”

For a moment, the monkey held his ground.

“If he shows his teeth, run!”

I was repeating the monkey safety advice we had been given, but Christina had the situation well in hand.

“Fuck around and find, monkey!”

Christina swung the umbrella over her head, then brought it down on the stone pavement with a mighty crash.

A second later, the big, bold, boss monkey jumped down from his perch, tucked his tail between his legs, and ran back to his troop. I’m sure he didn’t want to explain why there wouldn’t be any candy bars for breakfast, but seeing Christina brandishing that umbrella, I knew that when the monkey told the story of the Assault on Room 218 he wouldn’t have to exaggerate the badassery of the woman who saved the fucking day.