Monkey Business

Lop Buri, 6/26/11

They're everywhere. In the streets, on telephone poles, in the souvenir shops, on top of buildings, on food carts, surrounding all the town's temples. They shriek, howl, yell at their highest possible decibels, so much that the town sounds like a philharmonic orchestra of cacophonous, disease-infested primates. They have gray-brown fur, red or gray faces, and most wear small black fauxhawks, years behind the trend. The babies are small and the size of guinea pigs, typically strapped upside-down to their mother's chest, like a primate baby bjorn. Mom walks around on all fours, baby hitches a ride for free. The adults are much bigger, some the size of small cocker spaniels, with thick, tuffed hair and bright red butts that sag towards the floor like breasts in a retirement home. The females have small, whitish-pink nipples that look like pencil erasers. Around town they steal food, water, souvenirs, purses, sunglasses, and the like.

I'm in Lop Buri, a sleepy hamlet two hours from Ayutthaya. I've arrived via the public train, packed to the brim with local commuters and uniformed, laughing prep school students. Plus the lack of air conditioning makes the ride seem like a trip to the sauna, albeit with a very different aroma. Vendors hop on at every stop, hawking cold drinks, chicken & rice, candy, fresh fruit, fried rice, and stir fries. My neighbor offers me whiskey out of a Red Bull bottle. I politely decline as I think this gentleman has been riding the public train for the past two weeks, forgoing the inconvenience of traveling ten feet to use the proper bathroom. His teeth and fingernails are interchangeable, gradients of thick black, brown, and yellow, knobs like Werther's Originals. He supports a long black rat tail and a slight mustache of the same color. He asks for my empty water bottle and then makes hands signals to show that he will be using it later as a bong. Fortunately he stays on the train when I depart.

Boarding the bus

Bagged coffee en route

Catfish in the local market

Taking a nap

Even more so than Ayutthaya, I'm the only tourist in Lop Buri. No one speaks English. The streets are dormant at night and my hotel, despite being one of the nicest in which I've stayed (Nett Hotel 180B = $5.50), feels straight out of The Shining. All five floors are vacant and every time I return, the loudly meow-ing resident cat follows me up and down the stairs and tries to enter my room. He stares at me yellow beady eyes, looking for a friend in the emptiness. When I go to sleep, he waits outside my room, incessantly calling out for company. He should know that I do not patronize ladies of the night, be them human or feline.

Despite having impressive wats (temples), Lop Buri's main draw is its crazed monkey population, tens of thousands of them, who have basically taken over the town. They wreck havoc upon all the residents, who only tolerate them for the tourist dollars. Just buying water at 7-Eleven feels like a scene out of Outbreak. Every November, the locals honor their primate neighbors by flooding the streets with bananas and melons. However, every day seems like this holiday to me as the streets are littered with hundreds of fruits.

The main monkey hang out is Wat Prang Sam Yot, a small three-tiered temple representing the Hindu Trimurti of Shiva, Vishnu, and Brahma. Despite being a sacred site, the temple has basically become Monkey Vegas. Surprisingly, however, the monkeys are respectful enough not to actually enter the temple, just climb all over it and use it as a bathroom.

Getting some exercise

I arrive on a cloudy afternoon and am literally the only visitor. A local Lop Burian, about thirteen, notices me and offers his services as a "Monkey Bodyguard" (10B = $0.30). I agree, which basically means he follows me throughout the temple carrying a giant yardstick to teach feisty monkeys a lesson. Other bodyguards channel Bart Simpson, carrying slingshots.

The Prang Sam Yot is beautiful -- three gray brick domed spires and a completely walkable interior. But the monkeys don't seem to care. First thing they do is steal my water bottle before jumping all over me. Others want my sunglasses, but they should know they're fake Ray-Bans and they won't garner much on the monkey black market. The primates fight, laugh, nurse their young, defecate on Buddha statues, sleep, take turns humping one another, and eat whatever they can steal. One munches on a Starbust while another has a milk juicebox and looks like a picture perfect "Got Milk" advertisement for Primate US Weekly.

Got milk?

Outside the temple walls it's getting late and many produce vendors are closing. Or in other words, monkey dinner time. Most sellers unload bags of fruits and vegetables on the primates, who scamper around town eating. One older woman, around 75, with dark red skin and short gray hair, sits among hundreds of monkeys hand feeding them corn on the cob and melon.

All this monkey feasting is making me hungry. While sharing a corn on the cob Lady and the Tramp-style with a monkey might be romantic, I opt instead for a big bowl of noodle soup, this time pork. I eat it roadside, in a big night market next to the train station. The soup is light and refreshing. It's my first time trying the ubiquitous pork balls, which are skewered and sold for pennies at every corner in Thailand. They looks like small gray rubber cement balls and don't taste much different. I leave them in the bowl, sure to become a monkey snack. Dessert comes in the form of coffee and coconut ices.




I'm up the next morning visiting additional temples. Breakfast is flattened, grilled banana skewers with a deuce de leche sauce and coffee.


I make one more stop at Monkey Vegas before leaving town. Due to the more optimal weather, the park is packed this time and the monkey residents celebrate the new houseguests by howling, screeching and jumping on top of everyone. Several climb on my head and shoulders, doing their best impression of a pirate's parrot. Some play with my hair, looking at it with disgust and recommending a more contemporary 'do. Tourists bring sunflower seeds, corn, bananas, carrots, and grapes, which the primates snatch up like castaways stumbling upon their first food in months. Some monkeys play a game of Super Mario, jumping from one tourist's head to another. They're like hairy Cirque de Solei performers.

Without proper rabies shots, I consider playing and feeding hundreds of salivating feral monkeys to be a courageous, adventurous act -- laughing in the face of danger, disease, and infected monkey wounds. Others may prefer to use different descriptions. Moronic comes to mind.

My final meal in town is sans-primate in the pleasant cafe simply called "Coffee Shop." The shop is decorated with old sepia photos of coffee shops throughout the world. There are only two things on the menu - noodle soup and steak & eggs. I try the chicken noodle soup, which comes in a small porcelain bowl. It's one of the most unique noodle soups I've had to date - incredibly bright and savory with a decent crunch and a hint of sour. The soup combines shredded chicken, clear rice noodles, fried garlic (condiment of kings), minced scallions, roasted peanuts, cabbage, chilis, palm sugar, fish sauce, and lime juice. I have three (10Baht each = $0.30), slurping loudly and washing them down with fresh limeade. Nearby, uniformed school students sing and play ukulele together.