In monkey-filled Thai city, humans have learned to get along to go along

A few weeks ago I introduced you to Lopburi, the city I lived and taught in during my first few months in Thailand. You might remember how I described Lopburi as a bit off the beaten path, not a particularly popular tourist destination. If you mention Lopburi to a Thai person, he or she is likely to respond with a laugh followed by, "You like monkeys?"

Although Lopburi is not especially famous, it is known for two things: Khmer style ruins (similar to those found in Ayutthaya) and monkeys. You would think that a proper city with a population of nearly 30,000 people would be enough to scare off any wildlife. But quite the contrary: the monkeys in Lopburi should be enough to scare off the people!

Monkeys have actually taken over both a Khmer temple and shrine in the center of the city. During the day, they rule the streets, climbing all over cars and buildings, darting in and out of shops and dangling from rooftops. Each evening as the sun sets, they literally stop traffic as they head back home to "their" temple or shrine.

If you must go anywhere near the monkeys, beware. It is wise to leave any sparkling jewelry or beloved accessory at home. You will also not want to have any food or drinks in your hand. And if you can't live without your cell phone, camera or iPod, you had better hide it safely in a bag or purse that you should prepare to hold on to tightly.

The monkeys will snatch anything that dangles, anything edible and everything that comes in a white plastic shopping bag. They know that a plastic shopping bag more often than not means food and drink. They also know that you are not likely to put up a fight, should they decide to snatch your groceries right out of your hand. And if you do decide to fight back, they will almost always win. Remember, there are hundreds and hundreds of them and only one of you!

Cute and cuddly? I think mischievous and hungry is a more appropriate description.

After hearing one too many shrieks from unsuspecting victims and witnessing countless crooks in action, I wasn't taking any chances. To the amusement of my friends, I did my best to avoid the monkeys. If there were monkeys outside of the grocery store I would either find another store or wait until another time to do my shopping. If there were monkeys outside a restaurant, I would find somewhere else to eat.

When I was in the neighborhood of the monkeys, I seemed always to be looking over my shoulder or above my head, or cautiously peering around each corner, waiting for one of the troublemakers to come falling from the sky, swinging down from a rooftop or sneaking up on me from behind ... as one did my first week in the city.

This particular monkey trailed me silently for nearly a block, swatted the back of my legs a few times just for fun and then ran off. I am positive he went back to tell all of his pals of the new "falang" girl in town and how he showed her who was boss!

("Falang" is the Thai word for foreigner. It comes from the word "falangsay," meaning French people, as they were some of the first foreigners to arrive in Thailand. Strangely enough, "falang" is also the same word for guava. It is almost guaranteed that if you are ever in Thailand eating a guava, someone nearby will chuckle and say "Falang ... falang"... and then laugh some more.)

You would think that the people of Lopburi would tire of the monkeys' antics, get together and find a suitable way to rid the city of them. Yet instead they seem to embrace the monkeys as just another part of the culture of the city. I guess as the old saying goes, if you can't beat 'em join 'em, right? But the people of Lopburi have gone beyond simply tolerating the monkeys. In fact, they have dedicated an entire day to the monkeys, appropriately named the Monkey Festival.

Every year on a Sunday late in November, the people of Lopburi head to the Khmer temple to set out a feast for the monkeys. But this is no ordinary banana feast, mind you, as these are no ordinary monkeys. In addition to the expected bunches of bananas, a wide variety of fruits and vegetables is laid out, stacked up, assembled into towers and encased in ice sculptures. Soda and yogurt drinks are placed on shiny-cloth tables fit for a king.

So why are these rascals treated like royalty? I wondered but never really found a sensible answer to this question until my last few days in Lopburi.

Two friends and I sat chatting in a restaurant just steps from the monkey-run temple and shrine. The cook, a sweet older local woman, came out to ask how our meal was. (As always, we responded with, "Alloy mak!" — "very delicious!") There were just a few customers that evening, so she pulled up a chair and sat down with us.

We talked about Lopburi, our jobs, our countries — and, finally, the monkeys. She told us of her husband's illness and how the doctors were certain it was terminal. Unwilling to accept their diagnosis, she turned to another source for answers — the monkey shrine.

Three times every day this woman went to the monkey shrine to pray that her husband would be cured. And believe it or not, eventually, her prayers were answered. To the doctors' surprise, her husband's condition improved and he was able to return home and enjoy life with his very dedicated wife.

The woman told us that this was not a rare case but rather a common practice in Lopburi. The same area that I had avoided was actually a place of worship and hope!

Although you are still not likely to catch me lingering for long near either the temple or the shrine, it is nice to know that the monkeys' presence is more than a tolerated nuisance.

In Lopburi, there is something beyond the simplified "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" attitude. In a much more Thai style, there is a sense of "jai yen yen" (calm heart). Rather than driving the monkeys off, or worse yet, harming them, the people of Lopburi have found a way to coexist with them. And in my ever-idealistic brain, I can't help but think, wouldn't it be nice if we all could put less energy into becoming angry and a bit more effort into finding peaceful solutions?

I never thought I would say this, but perhaps we could take a cue from Lopburi and its resident monkeys.

Ashley Fitzgerald taught English in Thailand until December, when she relocated due to political instability there. She is a 2000 graduate of Harrisville Central School and a graduate of Middlebury (Vt.) College. "Grown Local, Gone Global" is published every other Sunday. You may send your questions and comments to her at afitzgerald@wdt.net.