I'd heard stories about the wild monkeys of Gibraltar, how they lured tourists into a false sense of security, so much so the simple act of pulling a snack out of a pocket could initiate a snatch-and-run routine that puts a New York City mugger to shame.
Last month's visit to Gibraltar was the last stop on Hampstead Middle School's "Adventure in Spain" itinerary. Who knew that a bustling city, home to thousands of people, rested just below the famous rock, people who conversed in Spanish one second, then switched to the King's English the next?
And the surprises kept coming, beginning with my first encounter with a native.
The forest monkey, it's official classification, looked to be about the size of my 3-year-old grandson. But it was difficult to tell, because it was stretched out on the hood of a tourist's car, enjoying the sunshine, like a Patriots fan in the Gillette Stadium parking lot after tailgating a little too long.
At the top of the rock, where we saw the Atlantic Ocean kiss the Mediterranean Sea, our guide established the ground rules. Under no circumstances were we allowed to touch the monkeys, even though it was tempting, to say the least.
A big one, at least the size of one particular seventh-grader on the trip, sat on the top of a stair railing and allowed the guide to stroke its chin. Then it looked at me as if we were long-lost relatives itching to get reacquainted. I decided it was probably a ruse, a way to get me to forget where I was so I'd innocently grab that granola bar from my pocket.
Hey, Curious George, I didn't just fall off the banana truck.
As 14 students and their 10 adult chaperones enjoyed the view from atop the rock, a monkey, as if shot from a cannon, flew through the air and landed on the shoulders of an eighth-grade girl. She reacted like she'd just won the lottery — sort of.
To my left, out of the corner of my eye, a blur of furry arms and legs blew by me and landed on a rock wall. Another monkey had turned the shoulders of two male chaperones into its own private trampoline, and traveled 10 yards in about a second and a half.
Before I'd wiped the grin off my face, I felt some added weight on my shoulders, as if a boulder had just been dropped into my backpack. Then I felt human-like fingers digging gently into my scalp, like my favorite hairdresser at Super Cuts.
According to the guide, monkeys look for dried flecks of skin containing the sodium they crave. I guess to my new friend, I looked like a giant saltshaker.
Time stood still as the monkey acted like my scalp was a big old bucket of Hampton Beach fries. When the guide announced it was time to head to the van, I was left in the lurch, with the proverbial monkey on my back.
But with a simple sweep of his arm, the guide shooed Donkey Kong away.
I left Gibraltar far sadder than I'd arrived, wondering if the inimitable Marlin Perkins ever had it so good.
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John Edmondson is a teacher in Hampstead. His column appears weekly in the Derry News.
