One exciting morning, leaving a family home with four generations and an impressive display of traditional dolls (one of the photos posted earlier), I announced that I felt certain I would finally see some of the elusive monkeys that day. After a long and solitary walk on the beach and among the cliffs, I reached a fishing village. In a corner, tucked against a mountain, I found an old Buddhist temple with a young priest - Zen, I was informed but couldn't detect on my own. In the chill of the reception room, sipping the bitter tea and nibbling sweet bean-filled little cakes, the priest pointed out the thin glass of the sliding doors to the well-groomed garden...a family of monkeys parading along the edge of the garden for some extended minutes before disappearing into the mountain rhododendrons. I was satistisfied indeed - monkeys! Finally.
The next morning, I started out early with the hope of reaching a town of size before dark. In the quiet just after dawn, alone on the serpentine seaside road, I heard some strange noise on the steep mountainside. I stopped, the noise stopped; I continued, the noise resumed. A game was afoot. They were well camouflaged, but I saw them eventually, scattered on the hillside walking with me and looking my way - at least five or six monkeys, and when I stopped walking, each stopped as well and turned its back to me, nonchalantly mimicking a tree stump. Companionably, we walked for a few kilometers together until the topography changed and I crossed over a bridge as they went up a side valley.