Monkey business in bat country

In Bali, it’s safe to assume that where there’s a forrest, there are monkeys. We learned this as soon as we arrived in Ubud, a mountain town surrounded by forrest. Our driver warned us about the monkeys. The woman at the hotel reception desk warned us about the monkeys. The man who helped us with our bags warned us about the monkeys. I don’t know if this is true, but I believe there’s a law here that compels the Balinese to warn every tourist they meet about the monkeys. Here are the warnings:

• Monkeys will steal your shit, so make sure to shut the doors and windows to your room.

• Monkeys will fuck with your shit, so make sure to keep your possessions in your pockets when in the presence of monkeys.

• Monkeys will mess you up, so make sure to respect their space, avoid looking them in the eyes, and whatever you do, be prepared to back the fuck up if they show their teeth.

In theory, these warnings sound reasonable. But in practice, these warnings are difficult to abide because when you encounter monkeys they’re either too damn cute to keep at a distance, or too damn brazen to avoid. Our first monkey encounter was a case in point.

The other night, after snorkeling the wreckage of the USAT Liberty, we came back to our hotel to find two monkeys waiting on the steps leading up to our room.

“Oh my god, look at the monkeys!” Christina said. “They’re so cute!”

To be clear, the monkeys, long tale macaques, were cute. Really cute. But to me they looked like trouble.

“I think we should turn around,” I said. “This place belongs to the monkeys.”

“But this is our room. What are we gonna do, wait for the monkeys to leave?”

“Yes.”

We were both tired, and hungry, and in need of showers, but Christina was in no mood to wait.

“They’ll move,” Christina said.

But the monkeys didn’t move. The monkeys just sat there, blocking the stairs to our room. Then a second later, four or five more monkeys jumped down from the roof and joined their pals on the steps.

“It’s a damn monkey gang,” I said.

Christina took one more step, then froze. The monkeys were still cute, but clearly these monkeys meant business.

“Don’t make eye contact,” I said. “I’ll get help.”

Slowly, I backed away and found a hotel employee.

“Do you need turndown service, sir?”

“No, I need help. There’s a gang of monkeys blocking the entrance to our room.”

The man understand immediately. Seemingly out of nowhere, he grabbed a stick and told me to follow him.

As soon as the man with the stick arrived on the scene, five of the monkeys retreated. Obviously, those monkeys were cowards. But the sixth monkey, who was nothing to fuck with, held his ground.

Whap, whap, whap.

The man hit the first step three times, then advanced.

Whap, whap, whap.

The man hit the second step with the stick, then continued his advance.

Whap, whap, whap.

As soon as the man hit the third step, the monkey jumped up and scurried away.

“It’s safe,” he said.

And it was safe, for the time being.

But the next day, we were scheduled to visit the Ubud Monkey Forrest, a local sanctuary that’s home to more than 1,200 monkeys. Would these monkeys be trouble, we wondered? Would they steal my glasses? Would they jump on Christina and rip her face off? These were the questions that kept us up the night before visiting the Monkey Forrest.

In the morning, we turned to Google, a time-tested tool for amplifying fear. Christina found a story about how the monkeys of Bali had expanded their turf during the pandemic.

“A bunch of monkeys took over an entire hotel,” Christina said. “They were everywhere. They even started using the pool.”

For some reason that really shook us. We still wanted to see the monkeys because monkeys are adorable, fascinating, and endlessly entertaining. But as we pulled up to the Monkey Forrest, all we could think about was danger. As it turned out, however, the monkeys at the sanctuary were totally chill.

As soon as we arrived at the Monkey Forrest, a woman who worked there introduced herself and told us she’d be our guide. Like the man at the hotel, she carried stick, just in case. But she also carried a few bags of peanuts because monkeys love peanuts. In no time at all, we had these monkeys eating out of the palms of our hands.

We spent about thirty minutes walking around with the monkeys. None of the monkeys tried to steal our shit, or fuck with our possessions, or mess us up.

For a brief moment, one monkey got in another monkey’s face, but that was private monkey business. Then there was some very private monkey business, but I don’t think he was her type and a moment later, she ran off to join another monkey who was eating a pineapple. That was the only monkey drama. For the most part, these were family monkeys.

We were feeling pretty good about the monkeys, when our guide led us into the forrest. Since the monkeys sleep in the trees, I thought we’d see more monkeys there, but I was wrong. As it turned out, the forrest was bat country.

Just like the monkeys, the bats gotta eat.

A man we’ll call Batman told us that the bats eat fruit.

“Good for them,” I said.

“You hold one,” Batman said.

“Fruit?”

“No, hold bat.”

That was a hard pass for me. But Christina was game. She held a bat by its wings. Then Batman gave Christina a bottle and told her to feed the bat.

“Is that beer?” I asked.

“No, apple juice,” Batman said.

“Bats drink apple juice?”

“Of course.”

That sounded like some weird shit to me. But this was bat country, where weird shit is par for the course.

“Now, you feed the bat,” Batman said.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Feed.”

I could’ve said no again. Actually, I think I did say no again. Several times. But the next thing I knew, I was holding a bottle of apple juice in one hand and an upside down bat in the other.

I can’t say feeding the bat was fun because it was actually scary and weird and kind of icky. But eventually, we left bat country, and for that I am grateful.

And if you’d be so kind, tell a friend👇