I recently visited a monkey park for the first time, in the Arashiyama district of western Kyoto. Japan is, apparently, just brimming full of wild monkeys—I have heard many stories about the run-ins that different English teachers have had with monkeys in the mountains or forests, in the countryside, and even (or especially) in an outhouse.

The monkeys at Iwatayama Monkey Park are all wild and freely roam the park, which is on Mount Arashiyama, near the Togetsukyo Bridge (which is famous, incidentally, for its view of the nearby mountains in leaf-peeping season).

The walk up Mount Arashiyama is somewhat steep, with tall trees lining both sides of the trail. Along the way, before you have actually seen any monkeys, are ominous-looking signs, warning you not to show the monkeys any food, give them any food, or look them in the eye (direct eye contact can be seen by the monkeys as a sign of aggression—they’re very sensitive, just like you and I).

Eventually, you get to a bend in the road and take a smaller path up towards an overlook point, which is where the majority of the monkeys are. On the overlook point, which also offers a generous view of Kyoto, the monkeys freely frolic (pardon the alliteration), and caretakers keep the more aggressive monkeys in line with the help of a broom (I don't think PETA would like this very much). You can also go into a small cabin to feed the monkeys (the humans go inside and feed the monkeys outside, through wire-fence windows).

The monkeys are what I expected monkeys to be like: red-faced, red-bottomed, flea-picking, aggressive. Your typical monkey. The ones at Iwatayama are Japanese macaque monkeys. None of them bothered me, but I did see one baring its teeth at an innocent-looking gentleman who just happened to walk by it.

The most interesting monkey I saw was a younger one, a baby, who kept scraping a small rock against a bigger rock. I’m not sure what it was trying to do—make music? Discover fire? Make a weapon?

My most favorite pictures from my visit were of the expressions on the faces of monkeys who were being groomed by their partners. They looked as blissful as I must look when I step into the soaking tub at an onsen.

Shortly after visiting the monkey park, I lunched at one of the best udon places I’ve visited yet in Japan, called Ozuru.

Ozuru is an udon restaurant located on the main street of Arashiyama, close to Tenryu-ji temple and the Bamboo Forest. This was my second visit to Ozuru. Their specialty is tempura udon, which can be ordered a la carte or in a set meal. You can also order the cold tempura udon (i.e. the noodles do not come in a broth) or hot tempura udon (udon with hot broth). I ordered the hot tempura udon set.

Their tempura, especially the shrimp tempura, is the best I have had. Anywhere. The shrimp tempura is huge—really, I don't know where they're getting their shrimp. The tempura batter is so crisp that, when you bite into it, you and the person next to you can both hear the sound of the crunch. This is not an exaggeration.

The shrimp on the inside is tender and fresh, and the batter is so light it makes me want to cry. And the actual udon, oh the udon, has that rare springy quality when you bite into it that is the hallmark of the best kind of noodle. In Cantonese, we call that dahn ngah—which translates into “bounces off your teeth." This means the noodle is so elastic that it slides and bounces off your teeth, as opposed to being a floury mess when you bite into it.

And did I mention that the flavored rice—flavored with shitake mushrooms, pork, and assorted grains--that came with my tempura set was also aromatic and delicious? Perfect for a cold autumn day? I soon forgot about the monkeys.