I can’t remember why we first drove to monkey hill but I certainly remember the first time we walked up it.
The bottom of monkey hill’s steep path is buzzing at six o’clock. The locals use the ascent as the “real Step Master”. Who needs a machine? Most walk up it, some bike up, and a few old men, with young souls, run up.
Our first walk to the top was tiring, after twenty minutes we hadn’t seen a single monkey, and one of us wanted to quit (not naming names). But then, 25 minutes in, we lost count of them:
We keep walking up every week. Last week the moms were all walking around with newborns hanging off them and this week the newborns were wrestling and testing their climbing skills in the low branches. I’ll confess, watching them choose a weak branch and panic is quite cute.
Thailand is full of rewarding little moments; sunsets, amazing Thai hospitality, baby monkeys curiously inching closer to you, festivals in the park.
Tonight on the way to the hill, a Thai pulled up to us at a stop light and pointed to our back tire and mimed to us that it was low on air. We thanked him and pulled into a random scooter shop down the road.
The mechanic didn’t speak a lick of Thai but I pointed and he checked the back tire and put air in. Although I didn’t ask him to, after he checked the front tire and added air. Then he refused to take money. I offered three times; I literally had a wad of bills in my hand that I was pointing to. He shook his head side to side and smiled.
This country will have a place in our souls forever.
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