Monkey Bite Fever

Bali is a wonderful island, but not for the reasons that most people go there. We bypass the resort areas and go up into the highlands near the monkey forests, the volcanos, and the Kopi Luwak, to a town called Ubud. We only heard of this place because some of our friends are from Indonesia. Ubud is filled with foreigners too, but most of the foreigners here are staying for a few months, maybe a few years.

The monkey forest. Yes, they actually have a small forest about a 5 minute walk from our hotel that is filled with monkeys. Why do the monkeys stay here and generally don't go outside of the forest? I don't know, and no one can give me a clear answer on that. But they do have plenty of monkeys here.

My friend Dev and I wander in. Tickets are $2 each, and I buy bananas from a street vendor to feed the monkeys.

It's fun. It's thrilling. But there is a dark side to this forest, just like in the Wizard of Oz. These monkeys don't fly, but they do bite. My friend Dev and I are having a good time feeding the monkeys. One sits down next to him and he gives it a banana. The monkey motions for another banana. Dev pets the monkey on the head. The monkey reaches for a banana. Dev pulls the bananas farther away and says "No, no, no" to this monkey.

We find out later that Dev broke three cardinal rules for monkey interaction. Apparently the monkeys, like California, have a "three strikes and you're out" policy.

1. He pet the monkey
2. He looked directly at the monkey
3. He said No to the monkey

The monkey bit Dev on the forearm, about a 1" cut that lets blood come running out. Blood goes onto his arm, blood onto his shirt, blood onto his shorts. It isn't enough blood to cause real danger, but it is more than you would expect.

Dev is angry at the monkey. Wouldn't you be too? But the first order of business is to get medical attention. Luckily they have a clinic about 20 yards from the entrance to the forest. A nurse is on staff here, a nurse both kind and professional. They've seen this before, about five times each day. She stops the bleeding, sterilizes the wound, injects lidocaine as a numbing agent, and puts in a stitch. She inquires whether he's been vaccinated for tetanus recently, and since we're not sure she gives him a tetanus injection. She has antibiotics on hand and gives him a ten day supply of amoxicillin. She bandages the wound, gives him instructions for the days ahead, and has him sign a medical log book. She is so wonderful, both professional and honestly kind, that Dev asks her to marry him. Half jokingly, but maybe half seriously too. She looks at him, half humorously but maybe half seriously too. She asks him his age, and then she decides that the age difference is too great and he is too old for her.

Dev and I return to the monkey forest and spend about an hour there. We are more cautious, clearly, but Dev is too courageous to let a one inch monkey bite prevent him from seeing the wonders of the monkey forest.

We return to the hotel later and Dev's father wisely insists that we check into rabies vaccinations. There has apparently never been a case of anyone getting rabies from a monkey bite, but Dev's father insists that caution is better than probability. We ask around and find that there is a clinic about 20 minutes away that has rabies vaccine, and Dev goes there.

Could this monkey forest exist in the U.S.? Clearly not. Among the eight people that were on our trip, a variety of opinions existed:

• The monkey forest should be shut down
• They should have more prominent warnings and prevent locals from selling bananas at the entrance
• It's ok, it's Bali and not the U.S.
• Any monkeys that bite should be eliminated, either euthanized or castrated
• People should only be allowed to walk through with a guide

What do you think? Would you go in the monkey forest, and should they change it?


One last surprise for you: We caught the actual monkey bite on video.

Cat Poop Coffee

Kopi Luwak Cat Poop Coffee

Have you heard of Kopi Luwak? It is the most expensive coffee in the world. And yes, it is cat poop coffee.

It's not exactly a cat, it's a civet. And it's not the poop that I'm drinking. This particular species of civets likes to eat the raw coffee beans with the surrounding fleshy part of the seed. While the coffee bean is traveling through the civet, the civet digests away the fleshy part leaving only the coffee bean. The people gather the scattered coffee beans, they clean away the bad stuff, and then they clean and roast the coffee beans.

Why go to all this trouble for coffee beans? Why not just take the coffee beans from the tree? Apparently the digestive enzymes alter the coffee bean, modifying and deepening the flavor.

OK, that sounds gross. But if you knew how sausage was made you would think it was gross too.

How does it taste? It does have an interesting flavor. It's a little less bitter than normal coffee, but I still need sugar and cream with it. It's especially good with ginger and cream.

I'm buying some Kopi Luwak to bring home with me. Would you like to taste it when I return?

Duality

Hong Kong reminds me of duality. It has an official dual existence, one country two systems. More, though, it feels like a duality. British and Chinese melded together but separate, a close cousin to Blade Runner. And my purpose here also exposes a duality: freedom and adventure travel, but also escape from life and normal existence. It's a place to go to find a new start.

What dualities exist in your own life? Are you mother and lover, child and parent, business and personal? Do you have disjoint lives, the one at work and the one at home, or maybe the one you share with family and the one you share with friends? Do you sometimes feel alone even when surrounded by people?

Food in Hong Kong is a delight for the senses, more an adventure than a necessity. At dinner near the night market it's sloppy and dangerous but interesting. You can choose your crab or lobster from large plastic buckets filled with water and crustacians. Maybe it is my choices that make food an adventure?

I get dim sum the next day. I have to ask for hot chili oil, and then they bring me a tiny thimble of it and I have to ask for 3 more. This is not Szechuan.  Are they insulted by what I am doing to their food, as if I am poisoning their favorite child? But they are amused by my gusto for their creations. Food here is different than Beijing, as are the people. Food in Beijing seems designed to assault the senses, while here food is finely crafted with delicate flavors, The difference, maybe, between spicy buffalo wings and nouveau cuisine? The people here are different too. There are still rich and poor, but it lacks the obvious class divisions in Beijing. Beijing reminds me of the class divisions in feudal Europe after true Franks conquered Gaul, with a distinct ruling class and several lower classes under their sway. Or maybe the antebellum south? It leaves me wishing that the Cantonese had won the Chinese civil war. But maybe that's why they didn't? They seem focused on living and enjoying life, unlike their warlike brethren to the north.

What do you think the Mediterranean would be like if Germany had won World War II? The thought seems brutal to us, impossible even to ask. But Hitler was only a man. He would have died eventually, as Mao Zedong did, and German rule would have softened eventually.

 

These precocious musings must yield to further adventure. I only have 24 hours left in Hong Kong. I visit several shopping areas, then meet up with an indirect friend who is also in HK. Her plan is to go to Victoria Peak right away, but I convince her that she has enough time and more adventure by joining me to a Aberdeen fishing village and a floating restaurant for lunch. We separate and then I go to another part of the island that has a local market, and finally make my way to Victoria Peak for dinner.

Machu Picchu

To get to Machu Picchu you have to go through Cuzco.

Cuzco is beautiful. It's what an Andean city should look like. It claims to be the highest city in the world at 11,200 feet. And they warn you: Watch out for the altitude sickness!

A week ago I was skiing at Winter Park in Colorado. The town of Winter Park is at 9100 feet and the top of the mountain is above 12,000 ft. I should have no problem here in Cuzco.

And yet after I arrive I'm feeling lightheaded. Everyone here heartily encourages you to drink coca tea or chew coca leaves to ward off altitude sickness. Guinness beer used to advertise "Guinness for Strength" to pregnant women. Here in Cuzco they encourage you to chew on the leaves from whence we derive cocaine.

I like the coca tea and it does help a little. Later I'll drink a coca cola with dinner. I think that helps more.

They advise you to stay a few days in Cuzco to "acclimate" to the altitude before going on to Machu Picchu. How is staying longer in Cuzco going to help? It's even higher than Machu Picchu. Besides, my schedule doesn't allow that extra time. I have to head on the train to Machu Picchu early tomorrow morning.

The checkin girl at the hotel is quite nice, she tells me where a salsa club is. But she also advises me that I shouldn't dance tonight. I should rest instead to help avoid altitude sickness. And she says I should drink more coca tea and eat a light dinner without any meat. I know she's trying to be helpful but this is too much mothering for me.

I get a nice big meal of alpaca with Aji sauce and then find the salsa club. I am tired so I only dance for a healthy hour.

The next morning I'm on the train to Machu Picchu. I have enough time when I get there to hike around the major parts of Machu Picchu. I'm tired in the evening so I get a good meal of steak with red wine sauce and a creole soup, then finish it off with a slice of chocolate cake.

Have you noticed the pattern yet? You may want to pause here if you haven't figured it out yet.


I consistently let my pride and determination override the advice given to me by others. I'm not sure if this is one of the seven deadly sins but it should be. I will pay the price for my sinning later tonight.

My body had been kind to me up to this point. Apparently now it decided to teach me a lesson.

That night I had the flu with full force. The grand meal that I had eaten came back up and other things went out the other end. Sleeping wasn't really an option that night so I had to entertain myself with Spanish language TV between frequent repeat visits to the bathroom.

I had planned to get up early the next day to hike up to Huayna Picchu, the highest point on Machu Picchu. That isn't an option any more. The Sun Gate, though, is only one hour round trip. That seems like a reasonable objective.

I'll force myself to keep a nice, slow pace. I soon realize I don't have any say in the matter. My body forces me to slow down much more than I had planned. On the uphill and downhill parts I'm compelled to pause between every step. On the flat parts I'm allowed a slow walking pace. Grandmothers are passing me and asking if I'm ok. They offer food and water to this injured bird but food would only cause me more problems and even water I must drink sparingly.

For a while I question if I can make it. I'd like to turn back but then I'd have to sit in the train station for hours, a fate even worse than this. So I slowly move forward.

Eventually my illness and I reach a agreement: It won't kill me and I won't enjoy living. Accepting fate is important to moving forward so I accept my discomfort.

I reach the top but I'm in no mood to enjoy the natural beauty. I pause and rest for a while, then start back down. This part should be easier but I'm going even slower now. I would gladly accept some extra water now but all of the grandmothers have already completed their hike.

So I keep going, step after agonizingly slow step. I want to quit now but I'm already headed back. That is already as much quitting as I can do.

Eventually I see the bottom. It's teasing me: it's close now but it will still take me a long time to get there. It's taken me over 3 hours, a trip the grandmothers were able to do in one.

Amazon

The morning after arriving in Peru I catch a flight to Puerto Maldonado. This town is one of the good access points for the Peruvian Amazon.

This is not the plane I flew in on.

Puerto Maldonado is the last road in this direction. We must take a boat about two hours up river from here. The scenery reminds me of Apocalypse Now.

Occasionally you see a small house along the river. Not even a village, these are small farmers that live along the river.

Poor people from the Andes also come here to mine gold in the river. They pump sludge up from river muck, then filter out the water and the mud so that only sand and gold remain. They add mercury which binds to the gold. You can then pour out the mercury and heat it until the mercury boils away leaving small amounts of pure gold.

Mercury, you ask? Doesn't that sound dangerous? Mercury can make you mad as a hatter in liquid form, and I imagine it's no less dangerous when boiled into a gaseous form. Can you imagine breathing in mercury vapors? The government tries to get the miners to use companies that capture and re-use the mercury. But the miners don't like the nanny state telling them what to do, so they keep doing it the old way. The miners want more money in their pocket to bring back to their families in the Andes. I hear that some miners also use that money to buy alcohol and other vices in Puerto Maldonado.

About two hours up river we arrive at the lodge, Refugio Amazones. Each day we'll hike or take the boat to a clay lick, or a small lake or other things nearby. The hiking is not hard but it requires patience, something I've been eagerly trying to acquire. You can hear animals frequently but it's hard to see them. We try to be quiet but the animals probably hear us before we hear them.

A frog sits by my window while I brush my teeth. He doesn't seem to mind my intrusion into his jungle.


Sometimes we talk while hiking.
One guide explains his thoughts on the economic recession that he heard from the Peruvian Economics Minister: "People with four houses suddenly found that they could only afford two of them, and people with four cars now can only afford two of them. Do you have any extra houses or cars? No? Then don't worry about the economy and go on with your life."

What is that? That's a picture of me and my guide, Jose Antonio. I'm not sure why he's holding the banana leaves near my ears.

We're waiting at a hideout and Jose notices a spot on a root in a creek about 30 meters from us. "Es una anaconda." I take a few pictures from where we are. We stealthily work out way down to the creek until we are about 5 feet from him. This is the third time that Jose Antonio has seen an anaconda, he's quite excited. I'm able to get a short movie of the back half of it before it slithers back into the muddy creek.

Baptism

In Amman Jordan I go see the ruins from Roman times, when the city was called Philadelphia. It was named Philadelphia for Ptolemy II Philadelphus, the Macedonian Pharoah of Egypt who was perhaps the half-nephew of Alexander the Great. The name "Philadelphia" is usually translated as "Brotherly Love", but with that ending it really means "Sibling Love". The name seems appropriate since Philadelphus married his sister. The ancient Macedonians seemed to practice philadelphia frequently.

The Jordanians are doing an impressive job to rebuild the ruins from the pieces that remain.

In the evening I go to a Turkish bath in Amman to help recover from the desert. Fadhel the masseuse is from Bahdad. Fadhel says that Baghdad will be ready for tourism in two years, and that Irdil in northern Iraq is safe now if you go through Jordan.

Can you imagine the tourism potential of Baghdad? Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, the Garden of Eden. Go visit Saddam's palaces and monuments. Visit the underground tomb where they caught saddam, and go see the square where Blackwater went Rambo. It may sound crazy now, but at one time Tokyo, Seoul and Berlin were war zones also. Tokyo and Seoul are great places to visit now. Berlin not so much.

The next morning I go to Bethany in Jordan. Bethany is the baptism site of Jesus, where John the Baptist did his work. They've recovered the original baptism site that was first identified in the 6th century AD. In the 6th century the think they found the actual site, based on the description in the Bible, because there was only one site at that time which fit the description. They built several churches on the site, but those churches have been destroyed through the ages. The river has shifted course by several hundred meters, and the original baptism site is now an archeological dig. The archeological site has the ruins of the foundations of the old churches and a pond of water where the original baptism area was. They won't let you go into that baptism site now, which is probably good since the water is stagnant and murky.

The modern baptism site is the spot where the river Jordan flows now that is the closest point to the original baptism site. It's a few hundred meters away from the old site. I put my feet into the water at the modern baptism site. You can arrange with a priest to be baptized here, but I didn't arrange that ahead of time. I would like to be baptized here, but I may not come back here for a long time. What should I do? What would you do? I decide to do a full body self immersion baptism. The Jordanian and German tourists in my group are amused, but the military guard appears annoyed. He doesn't speak English so he can't really complain to me. I can't take a picture of myself performing the self-baptism in the water, but I take a picture of the guard afterward making sure that no one else does a self-baptism.

While walking out I talk to the tour guide, who had left us while we were at the river. I ask him about arranging for a priest to baptize you in the water. He says "It is possible to arrange it through one of the churches, but why bother? You're an adult, you don't need a priest to baptize you, just baptize yourself." I admit to him that I did just that but the military guard didn't like it, possibly because I was commando. He says "No, the guard just wanted to make sure that you didn't swim too far into the water. A few more meters and you would have crossed the border into Israel, and the guard might get in trouble."

I still recommend that you arrange with a priest when you go.

Petra

I make it through the Israeli security to Eliat, and I cross the border on foot into the city of Aqaba in Jordan. The difference in culture is immediately apparent: The border guard on the Jordanian side leaves his post for a minute to help me find a taxi.

The taxi driver there asks for 100 JD (about $130) to take me to Petra, or double that to take me to Petra and then onto Amman. I would like to negotiate, but there is no other taxi visible, so my negotiating leverage is limited. We agree to $200 US (down from $260) for the full ride to Petra and onto Amman, which will be about 9 hours including waiting time in Petra.

Beautiful red mountains on the ride from Aqaba to Petra.


I get to Petra around 3pm, the time when most tourists are leaving. I could describe Petra in detail, but that would be pointless: Petra is experiential knowledge, it can not be summed up by words. Go there yourself one day, it is worth it.

I walk through the canyon narrows, to where it opens up onto the Treasury.

I walk past the area that used to be the Petra town square some 2000 years ago. It was destroyed by earthquakes, but the Jordanians are working to piece together the fallen rocks to rebuild it.

I hike up the 1000 or so steps that lead from the town square to the Monastery. Few tourists are left, the people that live there are cleaning up and putting things away for the day. A few hundred meters past the Monastery it opens up to a view of the canyon. It reminds me of the Grand Canyon in Arizona, at about 1/4 the scale.

I start hiking back rapidly but right near the top, at the second cafe stand that I pass, some people that work there are relaxing and smoking a hookah. The tourists are gone and they are enjoying the late afternoon colors on the canyon. At first I think I need to get back quickly, but then I feel a stronger need to pause and enjoy the scene. Soon I am sitting at a small cafe at the top of a gorge, drinking fresh squeezed lemonade with mint. An old man plays arabic tunes on old sitar while the Jordanian guy next to me smokes his hookah.

His wife (or girlfriend? I'm not sure) comes back over to enjoy the hookah and we start talking. Manal (May-NAL) speaks near perfect English, better than my ex-wife. Basal (Bay-SAL) does not speak English, but Manal translates for us when needed.

There's something different about their relationship and about them compared to many people in the Middle East: Manal is not subservient to Basal, they have a roughly peer-to-peer way of dealing with each other. Even though I can't understand what they're saying to each other I can tell that Manal and Basal joke around in a playful way, teasing each other. While we're talking Manal and I start joking around too as if we're old friends. Manal is smoking the hookah too, which is unusual for Middle Eastern women. They ask if I'd like to share some of their shisha, and the three of us spend some time smoking the water pipe.

Manal the philosopher says "Why go to Amman? It's a big city. Big cities are the same everywhere. Life is better here. We work when we want to, we relax when we want to." Looking out over one of the most beautiful sites in the world, it's hard to disagree.