Monkey Town

Lopburi, "Monkey-Town," claimed a second day, and deservedly so. A the day brought the coolest Rat Fink moto I have seen in years.

The Asian sun finally burst out and it was not only hot and humid, it was bright as well. I ambled through the Grand Palace, several ruins and the monkey-town Mecca, the triple towered Buddhist shrine that the monkeys claim.

I flitted from shade to shade, being pigmentally challenged. As the oven of the day cooled, I headed out of town, with a few other travelers and our driver, to swim in a nearby lake. The first plunge into that wondrous water was worth twice the tiny price for the tour.

The next stop was a Wat that literally clings to a huge limestone karst tower. The lonely peak is about a thousand feet high and, behind and above the Wat, it is honey- combed with caves and fissures. In these live bats. Lots and lots of bats

The monks took us through some huge cracks in the rock, entered through doors in the monastery walls. These cracks, an arms breadth wide and fifty feet tall, were filled with the squeaks of bats. Lots of bats. The mass of life hanging above us was a palpable presence.

The monks led us out to a terrace perch where the cave entrance was visible just thirty feet above us. As the sun began to set, the bats began to fly out for the evening hunt. First by the tens, then the hundreds, and, finally, as an airborne river, the bats flowed out into the gloaming of the day. The bats created their own wind, replete with the stench of guano.

They formed clouds around the tower, pulsing out across the valley, visible a kilometer distant. And then the flow sputtered to stragglers and, as the sun dropped below the horizon, they were gone.