I’m on my way to Japan. I’m surprised they’re letting me back in after the last little fracas.
Nevertheless, I am going back — my sister lives in Tokyo, did I mention that? Or as they say in Korea, I am going to the dokkyor.
Ah, it’s all in the past now. It’s almost funny when I can think back with this much distance between.
I was down in the south part of the main Island — I forget the name of the area now, funny that, but it was winter or nearing it and I was at that place that’s famous for the spa bath monkeys. The ones with red noses.
Man, you know I just wanted to get warmed up a bit – so I went in the water in the main section with the monkeys.
They didn’t take to kind to this, you see.
First it was just dirty looks, then looking away stiffly when I looked at them, as if they were saying, “good day, sir!” in a huffy English way. However, after living in Korea for two and a half years, I used to this kind of thing. I ignored it and enjoyed take-a-bath.
One of them splashed me.
I splashed back.
A larger one waded over slowly and in quite a deliberate kind of way, stood up and slapped me across the face.
A monkey slapped _me_ across the face.
I would have none of this, yet could not lower myself to the truly barbaric notion of fisticuffs with a monkey.
I beat a retreat to the edge of the pool and was making to get out.
A monkey jumped on my back and puled me back down!
I wrestled free, got out quickly with several of the monkeys hot on my heels.
They were surprisingly fast little buggers and I was only just in front of them. I lost my advantage as I bent down to grab my backpack. I felt a push in the back, lost balance and went sprawling. Stuff from my bag went everywhere.
The silver of my pocket-knife, glinting orange in the light of sunset caught a monkey’s eye.
The monkey grabbed it, flipped out the blade and it was on. Two centimetres of raw stainless-steel terror!
Action music started blaring from speakers in tree-branches!
We danced around eachother keeping a low center of gravity, each waiting for a moment of weakness, the time to strike.
Needless to say, things did not turn out all beer n skittles for the monkey, for it is *I* writing this weblogue memoir and not he.
Caused a big international incident. On the re-entry form it asked ‘had I ever been convicted of a criminal felony in this country?’ I just lied — seemed to work okay.
So I’m here staying with my sister, did I mention that? Her place is _tiny_.