We’re only 50 metres from the hotel when we hear her.
A little girl, younger than The Boy Child, is crying her heart out.
Her mother is clutching her hand and looking as though she has no idea what to do next.
Curiosity piqued, we stop and follow the mother’s gaze.
A Macaque has the child’s pink rucksack in one hand and is helping itself to prawn cocktail crisps with the other.
The Boy Child shrieks and is plainly nervous.
The Macaque rifles through the rucksack and triumphantly starts on a ham sandwich.