My tug of war battle with a Bali monkey was one for the ages

​With Butlins in Skegness fully booked over the Christmas period, I had to re-evaluate my ultimate bucket list of destinations to visit on turning 60 years old and slum it in Bali. Poor me.

At this point, I feel I must make it clear that monkey wrestling was not the main reason for this epic journey. In fact, monkeys and wrestling never entered my thoughts when blurting out to my other half that I’d like to visit Bali before my brain is cryogenically frozen when I reach 103 only to be thawed out several centuries later when immortality is the norm (okay, before I die).

It was only after a handful of cultural explorations of the place that I realised monkeys featured quite heavily in Balinese life. They are everywhere.

Knowing me as a boy brought up in the backstreets of South Shields, you, dear reader, would be reasonably confident in assuming Richard Ord and his distant simian cousins have never crossed paths.

Wrong.

Monkeys and I have an uneasy relationship born out of an altercation when I was but a child.

Just a few miles away from my hometown when I was a lad was an open air safari called Lambton Lion Park where, and it still kind of beggars belief to me today, lions roamed North East fields and you could drive your family cars through the grassed area to watch them in their wholly unnatural habitat.

Health and safety was, of course, paramount in the 1970s. You were advised to keep your windows wound up!

And, as a warning shot across your bows, stepping out of your vehicle to pet the man-eating beasts would almost certainly result in a fine.

That was pretty much it as far as the safety guidelines went. God, I miss the Seventies.

While my memories of the lions are a little blurred, the recollections of the monkeys who were also roaming the parkland remain vivid.

Keen to make their acquaintance with the contents of our Ford Cortina, the park baboons leapt onto the vehicle and tried to batter their way in before determinedly attempting to remove anything that was not secured. Radio antennae and wing mirrors being particular favourites.

We escaped unscathed, or at least that’s what I thought.

On returning home and parking outside our home, our car was immediately surrounded by the neighbourhood kids desperate to hear of our daring safari park adventure. During the regaling of the monkey tale, one child looked at the car and pointed to the roof. ‘What’s that?’ he cried.

All eyes turned to the top of our car, where there stood a proud, still-steaming mound of ape excrement.

My heroic adventure into the heart of Lambton Lion Park darkness was quickly unspooling. It had now been degraded into one mocking refrain: ‘Ha, ha, a monkey pooped on your car; a monkey pooped on your car.’ Repeat ad infinitum. Scarred for life.

Now, on my Bali trip, I was being invited to, once again, walk with monkeys. This time without the protective shield of a Ford Cortina.

Bali has more temples than you can shake a joss stick at and many are home to thieving long-tailed macaques. Brilliant.

Obviously, now an adult, moving among monkeys would hold no fear. I mean, what’s the worst they could do?

Turns out, quite a lot. I mean, they’re not averse to, should the occasion arise, ripping your face off.

A rare occurrence, I was helpfully reminded. ‘Just stick to the rules,’ my better half informed me.

Okay, we’re going to see the monkeys. Before entering the temple grounds I checked over the rules. Keep all loose items secure. They will think nothing of stealing your sunglasses, water bottles and hats.

If they do grab your gear, do not confront them. Let them go, the wardens will try to retrieve your goods later.

Don’t scare them or approach them. No sudden movements.

I was pretty at home with all that. But as we entered the grounds to walk on macaque turf, one warning stuck. Do not make eye contact with the monkeys. That’s when the fear hit.

Given we were here to see the monkeys, looking at them would surely form a large part of the process! A necessity even.

As it was, I ended up creeping about on the fringe of any monkey action and watching them through my peripheral vision, all the while making haste for the exit.

And the monkey wrestling? Well, a bit of poetic licence on my part. Despite removing all loose items, one macaque took a shine to my partner’s flip-flops and made a grab for them, which resulted not in a wrestling match, but a thankfully brief tug-of-war between monkey and panicked girlfriend. Nothing, it seems, comes between a girl and flip-flop and that Bali battle was won.

Flip-flop rescued. I say it’s now Monkeys 1, Ords 1. Until the next time, my hairy friends...