Inside the Chaos of Thailand’s Annual Buffet for Monkeys

But when I found myself amidst a ravenous troop of long-tailed macaques in a mad, The Hunger Games-esque dash to stuff their faces with as much food as possible, I was absolutely astounded. I had never seen so many monkeys in my life. Let alone ones that are the guests of honor of a lavish feast.

While the Monkey Buffet Festival held in central Thailand in late November may sound like a dystopian vacation for some, daring souls have been flocking to the city of Lopburi to partake in this annual frenzy for over three decades. This unique tradition has been held on the last Sunday of November since 1989 to honor and celebrate the thousands of monkeys that have long lived in the city’s historic grounds. 

Due to the pandemonium that breaks out whenever the feast arrives, the Monkey Buffet may be one of the world’s most unusual festivals.   

“This year, we had over a hundred tables and about 2,000 kilograms of fruits and vegetables,” Yongyuth Kitwatanusont, the festival’s founder and a local business owner, told VICE.

He does not monkey around. The buffet, which over the years has become one of Lopburi’s major attractions, is his way of promoting his beloved hometown. “The feasts have brought many visitors to Lopburi and stimulated our local economy,” he said. “I want international tourists to see what our Lopburi has to offer.” 

In the three decades that the buffet has been held, Yongyuth said the number of monkeys has increased over tenfold. “When we first held the festival, there were about 300 monkeys, now there are about 4,000.”

Though Yongyuth admits that these ravenous primates are not always the ideal buffet guests, to him—and countless other Lopburi locals—they are an important and integral part of the local community. 

“Monkeys are like humans. Sometimes they steal things from tourists but the monkeys of Lopburi have been with us for a very, very long time,” he said. 

Apart from minor bites and scratches, Yongyuth said that there has not been a serious accident or severe injury at the festival since it began. “But we don’t take any chances,” he added, explaining that medics and ambulances are always stationed at the site, ready to treat wounds.

One could say that the buffet grounds in front of Phra Prang Sam Yod, a temple that dates back to the Khmer era, is the macaques’ home turf, since they have resided in this area for hundreds of years.

Back in the 13th century, Phra Prang Sam Yod was constructed in a forest area that was home to many animals, including various troops of monkeys. It was originally built as a Hindu shrine, which was later converted into a Buddhist temple. As the town around it grew and eventually evolved into the city of Lopburi, the monkeys from the forest remained and adapted to coexist with locals.  

The townspeople, for the most part, welcomed—or at least, tolerated—the primates, since many believe them to be the direct descendants of Hanuman, the monkey general and god-king of the apes. This belief stems from a local legend told in the Ramakien, the Thai version of the Ramayana, that offers a more mythical explanation for the abundance of monkeys in the city. 

According to the renowned national epic, after Hanuman helped the deity Phra Ram (Lord Rama) defeat his enemy, the demon king Thotsakan (Ravana), he was rewarded and made king of the town of Lavo, now Lopburi. The god-king of the apes brought his troops of monkeys over to the town. Overtime, descendants of those monkeys populated the community, turning it into the monkey-infested city we know today. 

Like many other locals, this legend plays a prominent role in buffet founder Yongyuth’s life. 

“The logo of my company is a monkey, Hanuman. It is the reason we’ve thrived so much in business all these years,” he said. “Every year we succeed in business, we make wishes and hold a celebration for the monkeys that are his disciples.” 

When Yongyuth started the first buffet in 1989, it was meant to be a small, internal affair to celebrate his company’s success. Much to his surprise, the feast garnered so much media that it quickly turned into a global tourist attraction in the following years. “Back then, I never thought it would blow up internationally and continue for so many years,” he said.  

This year’s feast was served in four rounds. Before each began, the organizers and volunteers rushed to put the finishing touches to the dozens of round tables being prepared. Each table was loaded with elaborate plates of fruits, vegetables, and various snacks. It took at least three people to lift each table and take it across the street to where the ravenous primates were impatiently waiting. 

Even before the tables could be properly placed down, dozens of macaques jumped on and started attacking the food. Many more raced under the tables, to grab at everything and anything that was dropped on the floor. 

As I stood, mesmerized by a trio of monkeys ferociously grappling over a plate of fruits, another leaped onto my shoulder and started gnawing at my backpack. Fortunately for me, it lost interest pretty quickly after realizing I wasn’t wearing anything appetizing, and leaped onto its next target. 

“Watch out!” I yelled, trying to warn a group of tourists nearby, but it was no use. Within a matter of minutes, the designated buffet area in front of the ancient Phra Prang Sam Yod had descended into an anarchic storm of brown fur, tails, and screeching. 

Bits of food and trash were sent flying through the air as the primates pounced on anything edible—or whatever else was in their way. 

There seemed to be two sides to the attendees at the Monkey Buffet Festival. On one end of the gamut are people like Idan Sharon who delightfully embraced the monkeys with open arms—quite literally. Throughout the day, I consistently witnessed the fearless Isreali tourist and his girlfriend, Katerina Petrov, feed, play, pick up, and even swing the primates around with wild abandon. 

“I left the food on me because I wanted them to climb on me,” he told VICE, as a monkey ate a piece of carrot on his head. 

Though Sharon told me he had been bitten and scratched several times, he was still having more fun than a barrel of monkeys. “No, I love it. I don’t mind. It’s fun,” he said, unfazed by his wounds. 

I let out an enormous sigh of relief when Sharon explained that he and Petrov had actually come prepared for this. “We did different vaccines back home because we knew we would feed them,” he said. A list he would later send me revealed that this included two rabies shots, two tetanus shots, a hepatitis shot, and more. 

Then there are the more reserved attendees like Wanchana Daothewan from Chiang Mai who preferred to watch the commotion from a safe—at least, relatively—distance. 

“When I first walked up along the street, I only saw a couple of monkeys. But when I walked in [to where the feast was held] and saw herds of them, I was so frightened,” she told VICE. 

“When I was young, I remember hearing that there were a lot of monkeys in Lopburi, but I never could have imagined that there would be this many of them. Now I know,” she said with a giggle. 

Somewhere in the middle of the gamut is Chanasin Sangrai, a father from Chacheongsao province who brought his children to the festival for the second time. 

“The children really like it. Every year, they ask me to take them,” he told VICE. Asked if he was concerned for his family’s safety and well-being, he told me about an insider tip he had previously received that he believes will keep them safe. “I am a little scared but I was told to bring this elastic band. I was told to snap it at any monkeys that try to climb on us,” he said. 

“Despite what people say, the monkeys are not as scary as you think,” he said. 

After such an intense day of monkey business, I can’t believe I managed to make it out unscathed. While I quickly realized that the Monkey Buffet Festival is not suited for all, for me it was an exhilarating, yet slightly nerve-racking experience, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. 

As a Thai, who grew up constantly hearing about the legends of Hanuman, the festival felt like an offbeat continuation of the lore—something of a sequel come to life.  

I mean, think about it: How often do you get to frolic amongst a feasting flock of monkey gods? 

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