Stop touching me, monkey!

Yes, you read that right. I did not say "Stop touching my monkey!" Instead, I said "Stop touching me, monkey!"

Why? Because I was attacked by a monkey. Yes, attacked. Viciously assaulted. Violently violated. Traumatically terrorized.

In other words, it scratched me.

(A brief interlude for those of you -- namely, my dear Mother -- who won't be able to read the rest of this post without knowing the following immediately: yes, I went to the doctor, and no, I don't have rabies, and yes, I'll live.)

We're in Mamallapuram, a town renowned for its stone carvings and ancient temples. We were visiting the Siva Temple, perched high on a hilltop with just a small walkway between the stone temple walls and the fence preventing us tourists from plummeting to the rocks below. All around the temple are rhesus monkeys (or something similar), who seem relatively unconcerned with all the tourists. So far, so good.

Two of the monkeys decided they wanted the sugary drink in the possession of a small Indian child nearby. They climbed up the rocks and came towards us all, blocking the stairs down and coming much closer than we would like. If you look at the photo in the link above, you'll see that there's not a lot of room to maneuver. We tried to get to the stairs, but then one of the monkeys jumped up on the fence railing right next to me.

Deborah, unconcerned about the welfare of the small child, climbed through the fence and on to the rocks below. I, of course, was far more brave (and by "brave," I mean "too slow to think to crawl through the fence"). I ducked and tried not to wet myself.

The monkey seemed upset that I was blocking its way to sugary bliss, and it scratched me on the back of my neck.

In case you're wondering, monkeys have sharp claws.

(Another pause for those who may be concerned with my well-being: I had two very superficial scratches. It's not like I was getting lightheaded from the blood loss.)

In the meantime, the child's father gave the monkey the orange soda, and we all ran down the stairs. I wiped my bleeding neck with an antibacterial cloth while the other tourists said, "injection, injection!" So, naturally, the next thing we did was to go and visit some of the other temple sights. And then go to a travel agent to book some plane tickets. And then to the ATM. And then to get some candy.

I was debating whether to go to the clinic. Would you have gone? I mean, do you really want to get a shot from some clinic in a small town in India? It's not like the monkey bit me or anything ('cause then I would've gone a little more quickly -- I probably would've skipped the travel agent and gone to the clinic right after the candy store). Plus going to the clinic would probably take, oh, four hours, and I really had other things I wanted to do today (like eating lunch. And dinner. And more candy).

Anyway, the clinic was nearby, so we decided to pop in. I was immediately told that I needed an injection. I asked what the injection was for, and was immediately taken in to see the doctor (since the first woman's English wasn't so great). The doctor asked if my Tetanus shots were up to date (they are), and then said that I didn't need anything. She said they give a rabies shot if you get a bite, but for a scratch, it's just a Tetanus booster. Then the nurse scrubbed down my neck with alcohol (ow!), and we were sent on our way. Total time: 3 minutes. And it was free. And, after such a traumatizing experience, I declared that I was entitled to all the candy and ice cream I wanted. I got a Cadbury bar, and Indian sweets, and an ice cream bar. Though I do have a hankering for a banana and some grubs....