This was a little monkey we met at a sanctuary on a trip to Costa Rica back in 2008. By ‘sanctuary’, I mean ‘two expats from the Bay Area who decided to call themselves a sanctuary so they could charge tourists to come to their house and pet monkeys.’
I gave them some advice on abscess treatment and my e-mail address, which they never used.
We were far to the South, on Drake Bay in one the few remaining areas of contiguous rainforest still left in Costa Rica.
I desperately wanted to fly into the middle of the rainforest and hike out- the only region in the country still large enough to support big game. To do so involved landing at a ranger station on a single engine prop on a runway so short the grizzled pilot has to zig zag a little so the plane could stop before reaching the end.
My husband did not have the same reaction to this itinerary as I did. “We have kids,” he said. “That’s right!” I responded, “and they should know their parents always live life to the fullest.”
To preserve the marriage, I relented, and we took a motorboat across the bay to this little hut of injured and abandoned monkeys instead.
But I still totally want to fly into that rainforest.