Now, That Hit The Fucking Spot!

Just finished off four small Durian; you gotta know: Durianless since Sunday, I was, previous to having done, one unhappy camper. I did share ’em out with the De Talak peeps; so it weren’t quite the gluttonous outburst as it may on first blush sound.

The gang’s all here (well much of it, anyway).

  • The Japanesians, returned from Ko Samet (though just now out the door to get the Night Train to Chiang Mai). They will’ve returned at about the time the Durian fest shall be concluding; at which time they want to go bowling. Er, do Vivo Barefoot produce a bowling shoe? (Only semi-joking here, folks: the line is pretty huge; wouldn’t be totally shocked if they did do.)
  • Lee, the Finnish Chinaman, returned from Krabi (where he dropped his i-phone “into the sea…it’s totally dead, into the sea; you cannot fix it anymore”). He’s back to Finland on Sunday.
  • Two of the Koreans, still here from when last I left. One of whom is becoming a fairly avid Durianoholic (at Khlong Toei, as I type these words, making his first-ever purchase).
  • The super-nice Japanesienne and her Italian boyfriend, looking to rent an apartment and open a business here. She appears both aghast and elated that there is such an event as the World Durian Festival 2012.
  • Carolyn, the stock-market-playing grandma, has been here continuously since my first visit, though, cleared of gout, she’s off to Hua Hin tomorrow.
  • Chris, the Indonesian with the impeccable Queen’s English.
  • The Koreanne shopping addict, returned from Cambodia.
  • Not to mention Rata, who burst forth a fascinating and hilarious rant against the private school in her neighbourhood, whose children’s parents’ rude and ignorant behaviours whilst dropping the brats off for schooling have sent the residents into a tizzy.

Just another day in the vortex! To think, I’d not even expected to bed down here for this night (nor, of course, to’ve attended Lumphini Aerobics!). My plan was to bust out to Chanthaburi straight away; but the train rolled into Bangkok four hours (count ’em!) behind schedule; and as I don’t have the faintest foggiest idea where I’m going to drop stakes in Chanthaburi, I want to get there plenty early in the day to be able to have a look around.

The last hour or so of the train ride was taken up in conversation with a twenty-something Thai; spoke pretty good English, but his accent made it often difficult to work out what he was saying. This didn’t prevent him from insisting that I answer his queries concerning American practices in re lightning rods, charcoal, hydroelectric power, uranium, potatoes, voltage, and other increasingly bizarre topics. Son of a bitch had the nerve to complain to me about my accent whene’er I tried to use some Thai words.

The Durian in Nong Khai were incredibly expensive, but the lychees incredibly inexpensive — not to mention scary-delish. I decided that the Lychee is my third-favourite fruit; Durian and Mango neck-and-neck for the Top O’ The Pops. At its best, Durian is untouchable — but bullshit fruits are more common than I’d hope (still, I’m better at selecting too-right Durian than I am Watermelon), while Mangoes are consistently ace-high.

Have taken another decision as well; to wit, I’e concluded that to open Durian with a knife is a sacrilege. If the Durian ain’t ripe enough to open by hand, it ain’t ripe enough to eat. You can carve that into my fuckin’ tombstone; ’cause it’s my Biblical Law now, bay-bee.

Dreaming of Durian eaten and still to-be eaten, I remain…

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