Monkey See, Monkey Bite

Okay, gotta get this out of the way. It seems unthinkable and improbable, however apparently not that uncommon. Went to the Monkey Forest today to see the cute and interesting monkeys that live there and that are completely unintimidated by humans and are in fact quite aggressive and after an hour of walking around and taking their pictures and watching them jump on other people, a pack of youthful monkeys jumped on me and one bit my hand, just a single tooth mark but drawing blood. I was sent immediately to the Monkey Forest First Aid clinic (obviously this happens on a somewhat regular basis) where they cleaned it and put iodine on it and told me that the monkeys did not have rabies and showed me a certificate proving so. 

So yeah, I am freaked out, especially after reading some bad stories online, but trying not to worry - it is really small and very clean - and I do have a scratch on my face from the one who jumped on my head - and now when I look at the pictures I took they seem like kind of wild and crazy creatures and make me a little sick to my stomach. 
(Okay - addendum here - Next day, I walked to a private clinic this morning and the doctor there convinced me to get rabies shots. One in each arm, small shots that didn't hurt, but I have to get another next weekend when I return to Bali from Lombok and then 2 weeks later before I leave Thailand. What a pain in the butt. I am more annoyed than worried. Although I didn't expect it hurt more today than yesterday and it does.)

Of course drinking warm white wine can make you a little sick to your stomach also, but since I have no refrigerator, I am getting used to it, kind of like drink warm Red Stripe in Jamaica back in the day. 

I did actually have a Bintang beer with dinner, first beer I've drunk in years, but it was such a hot hot day. I thought I wanted it to be sunny here, but rainy is actually preferable since it cools things down considerably. Most of the clothes I have brought are inappropriate for this heat, clearly I have forgotten what true tropical weather feels like.The skimpiest rayon shirt or dress is really all that is appropriate. Tomorrow I move down the street to a place that has a pool and maybe even air-conditioning and  I am looking forward to that if this keeps up.

Sounds of Ubud - none of my photos can convey the variety of noises that come with this package. Right now I realize I am hearing the bass line of the reggae bar that is probably a good half mile away, (clearly the influence of a long influx of Western hippies) - it is one of the four bars they tell  me are in this town and that all of them close by 11 or 12 at night. Most of the time there is Balinese gamelin music, a sort of toneless and exotic music. But mostly there are animal and bird sounds, strange chatterings and clickings and cheepings that go constantly all day and night, the sounds of the jungle in the backyard. Amazingly I can only occasionally hear the roar of the constant stream of motorcycles that fill the streets.

 I also hear everything that goes on on either side of these woven bamboo walls. The really young British girl on my right calls her parents on her cell phone maybe twice a day and sometimes cries about her cramps and ongoing diarrhea. I know everything about the plan for the rest of her trip, what she ate for dinner, etc., and I don't even know her name. Mostly people are respectful and quiet but an enthusiastic group of youthful American girls showed up today and make me realize how old I am. 

Late in the day  I go to Kafe, which is a cozy and relaxed restaurant frequented by single travelers with a strangely diverse fusion menu which I have noticed many places, serving everything from Indian vegan lentils to several Mexican dishes. I am not sure I have had much truly Indonesian food, although the strong black Java tea is among the best I have ever had and has enough of a jolt that coffee may become nonessential. There are these comfy, opium den cushioned platforms where you can throw yourself down and chill for however long you want and no one even insists you order or leave when you are done and it is easy to strike up conversations with other patrons. 

There is a huge phenomenon of what I call the "serious women" who come alone, sometimes with their yoga mats, always with their journals and write and almost never smile; obviously this life quest stuff is not  to be taken lightly. It makes my inner Oscar Wilde feel entirely renegade ("life is too short to be taken seriously") and easily sociable with the backpacking men who come equipped with their Kindles and ipads and Macbooks.

My skin is sticky and clammy and I wish I had the youthful energy to go over to the reggae bar, but I don't. There are plenty of older travelers here, but I do still feel over the backpacking  hill much of the time.