Christian the Monkey

Today, I met a monkey.

The kids surrounding the docks where the boats depart for Ballestas Island are, just like everyone else in this tourist area, just trying to make a buck. Supposedly, if you give in to one of them by buying a post card or something similar, you're seen as an easy mark for the rest. And we all were able to resist fairly well, until the kid showed up with the monkey.

For a approximately 33 cents, one can get one's photo taken with Christian the monkey.

Until Rosie told me about her disappointing childhood experience as a monkey owner, I would have to say that I always thought that a monkey might be the ultimate pet/companion. If you
still harbor such illusions, please permit Rosie at some point to convince you otherwise. However, despite my monkey party getting pooped on, I have to say that I couldn't resist the opportunity to actually pet a monkey. After initially walking away, the voice of future regret
whispered to me, "This is the first time in 35 years you've had a chance to pet a monkey, do you really want to wait 'til you're 70?", so I turned around a went back to the kid with Christian
the Monkey.

I gave the kid the money, and, unexpectedly, the kid gave me the monkey.  Just shoved him into my arms. I guess I expected that the photo would be of me, Christian the Monkey, and the kid,
that Christian required special training to handle. But no, I was on my own with Christian, who was a perfect gentlemonkey. He was light as a feather, took a second to groom his very soft coat, and looks great on camera. He was awesome.

Rosie's wrong. Monkeys rock.

Matt