Making friends in the wild: our long-tailed macaques

Joel Cooper Straits Times 15 May 11;

Whenever I get a day off work, I like nothing better than to relax in the company of my new friends.

They are a lively, free-spirited bunch who really know how to have fun.

OK, they can be a little boisterous at times. Fights have been known to break out, and I once caught two of them sharing an, ahem, intimate moment in full view of several shocked passers-by.

Not that my friends cared. After all, they are only long-tailed macaques.

My friendship with the wild monkeys of MacRitchie Reservoir Park is perhaps a little one-sided. Most of the time they either ignore me or simply stare with a slightly bored expression that seems to say: 'Give me some food, or get lost.'

But even though I'm far from the first Homo sapien to intrude on their territory, every moment I spend with them feels like a rare and magical privilege.

It reminds me of a wildlife documentary I watched as a child, in which the presenter manages to ingratiate himself with a band of mountain gorillas, who lovingly groom him for insects as if he were just another member of the family.

My monkeys do not actually touch me, of course - except for one time when a surprisingly heavy patriarch trod on my foot with his front paw. I could tell by his bulging belly, bushy white sideburns and the way he sauntered confidently around that he was Commander-in-Chief of Monkey Land, so I let the insult pass.

I can't honestly say that my new friends recognise me, either. This is fair enough, as although I might think I've seen an individual monkey before, I have no way of genuinely telling them apart.

When they interact as a family, however, their personalities begin to shine through. Glued to the spot, I crouch in the shade of the jungle canopy and watch as a vibrant tableau of familiar relationships takes shape before me.

There are the bickering, hormone-charged youths who wrestle on the boardwalk next to the reservoir. They remind me of my brother and I as kids growing up in England. In fact, their furry fringes look a bit like the haircut I had as a teenager.

Then there are the lovers, stretched out languorously in a haze of conjugal bliss, tenderly picking bugs from one another's hairy flanks. Ah, the joys of romance.

But by far the most arresting sight I have witnessed during my day-pass visits to Monkey Land was that of a wide-eyed baby, clinging fearlessly to its mother's belly as she leapt through thin air from branch to branch. Safely back on solid ground, she cradled her baby in a tender embrace.

Meanwhile, the clan formed a protective shield around the curious infant, gently batting its paw away each time it reached out to touch my shoe.

The bond between mother and child moved me deeply and I could not help thinking about the happy day when, I hope, my wife and I will have a little monkey of our own.

Fascinating as they are, it was not the macaques that first drew me to MacRitchie. Instead, I was attracted by its winding forest trails, which are ideal for running. During my seven years spent living in London, I would often jog along the banks of the River Thames, in the shadow of Big Ben.

Impressive though that route was, nothing compares to the freedom of racing through the jungle, with shafts of milky sunlight filtering through the foliage and the shrill cry of cicadas filling your ears.

When I moved to Singapore in October, I found it a frustrating place to jog. My late working hours on The Straits Times news desk meant I had no time to run at night, away from the sun's relentless glare.

As for jogging during the day - forget it. My ang moh face would turn red as a tomato within minutes.

I ended up pounding away week after week on a gym treadmill, with nothing to occupy my brain but daydreams of tackling more interesting routes - up and down Arabian dunes with the desert sand whipping through my hair, or across polar glaciers, pursued by hungry bears.

Then I discovered MacRitchie, a place where I could jog to my heart's content, shielded from the sun by lush vegetation. Nowadays, I do far less actual running there, as my attention is distracted by the monkeys. I guess I should try to do more.

After all, there is a saying: 'The traveller who drags his feet raises only dust.'

Its author? The legendary Sun Wukong, otherwise known as the Monkey King. Maybe my new friends aren't so simple after all.

The writer, from England, is a Straits Times copy editor. He has lived in Singapore for seven months.

Joel Cooper