Accidental Gibraltar Safari

Gibraltar is 95% a huge slab of rock, sticking up from the Mediterranean in one direction and out from Spain in the other direction. As soon as I saw the behemoth rock I knew I would forsake the cable car and climb up it instead, forgetting yet again that walking uphill in the [sub]tropics is not my favorite pastime. The angry eye of the sun beat down on me as I wound through the streets of the cute seaside town, up the stairs of its back alleys, and finally through switchback hiking trails of the national park. Maybe an hour later, I reached the Top of the Rock (yes that’s its actual name, bless the Brits’ hearts). I was roasted and dehydrated and a bit delirious by that point. Walking the narrow bridge into the terminal cable car/restaurant entrance in such a state, I was not expecting to come face-to-face with a wild Barbary macaque. 

I have a healthy fear of macaques. I worked with them for awhile and know that a) they’re mischievous little sh*ts and b) they can carry a form of herpes that doesn’t affect the monkeys but is usually lethal if passed to humans via bites or scratches. So I was wary as I passed the wild animal, but also emboldened by all the other people who were walking within a few feet of him and crouching down to take photos without consequence. I crouched down to take my own photo, and immediately knew I’d made a mistake. I stood, but it was too late: his expression shifted and he lunged off the ground at me. A 30-pound wild macaque landed squarely atop my backpack and bare shoulders, his fingers gripping my hair and neck, his teeth hovering unseen behind me but definitely too close to both my skull and jugular. I froze in a standing fetal position, my eyes screwed shut and hands curled into useless fists at breast height. My life flashed before my eyes. Not a single other person moved to help me. The monkey seemed content to just perch there and enjoy the view. After either three seconds or three minutes (I’m not sure which), I finally realized my only option was to help myself, and I did the only thing I could think of: I shook him off. Aware of his sharp fingernails and very aware that my actions might piss him off, I slooowly tilted my shoulders towards the ground until he slid off and landed on the ground with a satisfying smack. As I ran away one of my shaking hands felt around my neck for any open wounds, and the other furiously consulted the Internet, where I happily learned that Gibraltar’s macaques are routinely tested for herpes B and always come back clean.

On my flight back down the stairs, I finally heard a park guide telling people that the monkeys are friendly, but it’s best to wear any backpacks on your chest to dissuade the monkeys from jumping. A little late with the advice, sir!!

The one who jumped on my back, 0.5 seconds before launch / a more chill monkey