Way down south at the southern end of Bali is Uluwatu. The temple of the same name sits on 200 meter high cliffs, the Indian Ocean relentlessly pounding at the base of the cliffs. Some online reading about the Uluwatu Temple suggests that the sacred monkeys who reside there protect the temple and Bali from negative spiritual influences. They have also developed the habit of stealing the belongings of temple goers and then bartering with the owner for food. It is said that this thievery predates the influx of tourism and has been handed down for generations of monkeys.
I don’t know if reading that affected our perception of these furry little frolickers, but from the moment we donned our spiritual sarongs and entered this sacred site, they gave us a different vibe. They were numerous, like a mob, and they lent us a watchful eye. Just about the time I was dismissing this vibe as paranoia, a young male Macaque flashed from the forest and absconded with the phone from a middle-aged British bloke just a skip in front of us. In the crispest queen’s English he said, “He just stole my phone. Oh my God, I’m trembling.” Armed with education, I quickly threw on my cape, grabbed a handful of Doritos, and stormed in after him. The Brit on my heels, panting. I said, “Don’t worry, I don’t think he can get to your pictures.” His response was wordless, just a fearful grunt, my attempt at humor lost on him. Ha, like his smart phone.
I offered my Doritos to the teenage mischief maker in an open palm. With his tail and two lower limbs anchoring him, holding the phone behind him, he swung down and 86ed the “Cool Ranch” from my mitt. “Fucker’s definitely smarter than I am,” I thought. Embarrassed, I glanced around to be sure no one was watching a monkey outwit me.
Then a local woman materialized seemingly out of thin air, like Lakshmi, the Hindi Goddess of bounty and wealth, with her Lotus flowers and little plastic bags filled with curated carbs. She tossed one of them up. In a perfect parabola, its vertex at eye level with our little bandit. I watched the slow motion of the bag of treats, and glanced at our little friend. His eyes tracked the bountiful bag, and it was almost as if his smile disappeared, just briefly. But the phone dropped to the forest floor as he made the two handed catch. Damn, I thought, Thatcher taught me that dodgeball trick in 5th grade. I looked around for Lakshmi, but she was gone.
