It's Sunday. We decided to forgo the elephant ride that we initially spoke about upon arriving in Khao Sok. After discussing the price tag of such an activity we agreed that it's just too expensive- I fear we're becoming too comfortable with the cost of day-to-day living here in Thailand. Sort of like a crimuginy old couple, "psh... If it's over $5.00 it's too expensive. Bao, our host, suggested we check out the Monkey Temple, a mere 15 minute walk from our bungalow. You can imagine my excitement upon hearing this, any lingering disappointment about the elephants quickly diminished. We packed Jam's pack with a few essentials- water, sunscreen, cameras. I decided that it was finally time to sport the Red Sox fitted , as my "sexy" beach waves have slowly transformed into ratty dreadlocks. I'm starting to resemble my 10 year old self, that little kid who refused to shower or brush her hair, that's the direction I'm headed in folks. I made Jam promise that he would brush my hair out this evening after a good conditioning. He said that he was going to offer to do so. As sweet as an offer as it was, it confirmed that my thought-to-be sex kitten hair is anything but. Relationships are built on such honesty, thank you Jam.
Moving on. The Monkey Temple was quickly renamed the Monkey Mansion, a slew of other primate oriented jokes followed. Laughter passes the time, especially when walking a strip of highway with the sun beating down on your back. Bao underestimated the time it would take to walk, fearing that we had misheard his directions we decided it best to stop and ask. The man looked a bit confused at first, but after repeating monkey he pointed to a structure in the distance. Monkey Palace looked to be abandoned except for the 10 or so other tourists milling about with food scraps in hand attempting to feed the hoards of greedy mouths. The place looked a bit rundown, past its prime. At one point there may have been some sort of lively vegetation amidst the structures of Buddha and doll-size temples. What was left were parched patches of earth, the air thick with dust from the trails of overly excited monkeys. With no food scraps in hand, I seemed to be more of a hindrance to them, my hand slapped away when attempting to pet. It all feels a bit strange, sort of like the time my good friend Anna and I went to Gatorland deep in the marshes of Florida. Little money seems to have gone into building this tourist trap, even less to sustain it, yet I'm sure the middle-aged man at the entrance brings in a decent income. Leaving Monkey Mansion I feel as though I may be covered in fleas or some unknown monkey germ. It wasn't until our walk back from lunch that I notice small red bumps sprouting up on my forearms. Jam assures me it must be from something I rubbed up against. All I can think is... perhaps a monkey?
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