The Durian Apocalypse

Wow, kind of a whirlwind weekend there. Haven’t even fired up the laptop in three days, or some shit.

Friday, it was off to Chachoengsao, about an hour-and-a-half east of Bangkok, by rail (thirteen Baht!). Purpose of Day-Trip: to visit Wat Sothon. I had, while in Chantaburi, been browsing Wikitravel to see if there were any more towns around that appeared as charming. In its Chachoengsao entry, it states that Wat Sothon is “reputed to be the largest Wat in the world”. Looking for confirmation, I found a book saying that it is “probably” the largest.

After a leisurely hour’s walk from the train station, the temple came into view.

Not as big as I’d have expected the world’s largest to be; but it’s pretty together. More than its heft, however, I quite like the restraint shewn in the design of the exterior. I love to look at the big palaces of glitz sparkling in the noonday sun – sure, who doesn’t? But it ain’t the only way to go, as we can see here. Rather lovely, too.

There’re a bunch of copies of this explanation sign posted around the grounds. Quite the little cliffhanger, cutting off in mid-sentence as it does.

Just in case one can’t find one’s way, from two feet in front of the door, into and/or out of the hall…

The interior is as restrained as the exterior. Unfortunately, the stairs to get up to the upper levels were locked out.

Best part is actually the floor, if you would believe it. It’s all decorated out in an oceanic theme.

And if you was wondering, “Dude, that shit’s nice and all. But in among all the elephant-fish and the tiger-fish the and buffalo fish; never could they find a spare bit of floor to lay down a god damned lotus-bearing merman?”

Uh, yes, they could!

Chinese temple on the grounds also gots a great floor.

Pretty cool shrine in there, too.

The best sign in the temple – maybe in Thailand entire!:

I asked Rata what does the sign say? It’s that the reader of the sign has reached the dead end of a dead-end street, and must be very stubborn/stupid to have come all the way this far. As stupid as a buffalo, basically. Now Rata wants to get one of these signs to put up in the hostel.

From certain angles, the temple looks architecturally much like a magic kingdom.

Wandered around the grounds for a couple of hours, checking everything out. Was just getting ready to leave, and thought I’d go over and look in that non-descript little shed over there. Figured it must be a food court; and being about lunch-hour, hoped there’d be some weird eats on display.

Turned out to be not a frickin’ food court, but rather the site of the all-important Buddha – the one described in the sign! I’d totally forgotten about that shit! There were so many pilgrims mobbing the scene that it was more difficult than not to get an unobstructed shot of him. But here he is; quite a nice likeness, I should certainly say.

Everybody and their brother was all hot-and-bothered to rub the little gold squares into Lord Buddha’s person. The looks on their faces were that in so doing, they expected to hereafter be on the receiving end of most excellent luck. So they’ve got that going for them.

Lo and behold (there’s one in every crowd, ain’t it?), one of the supporting Buddhae, up there on the dais, had got a gold square stuck into him like as though it were a freakin’ booger hanging down. Wasn’t me! (Wish I’d thought of it…)

Oddest thing going on in there was that everybody – I mean everybody – was offering up  a basket of eggs.

I mean, in the abstract it’s no more odd than offering flowers, or bananas, or oranges — or certainly bottled water with a straw in it. Just that I’ve never before seen this particular offering. Huhn, I guess there must be a lot of brown-egg-bearing chickens (or ducks?) in Chachoengsao.

Anyhow, I arrived back to Bangkok in time for aerobics; so that was nice.

So, Saturday, as I mentioned before, I wanted to go up to this Durian orchard in Nakhon Nayok. I’d told Dree, the Korean Durian-head, of my proposed mission; and himself and his three Chinese friends joined me as well.

We busted out of the hostel at 6:15 in the AM, and caught a cab up to Mo Chit bus terminal (the taxis here are quite inexpensive when shared between a few people). The trip up to Nakhon Nayok took a few hours. According to the outline Rata’d secured, I was to moto-taxi it from the bus terminal up to “Durian Temple”.

As there were five of us and not one, now, we got a regular car-taxi; and I didn’t have to set my fear of motorcycles against my obsession with Durian. Which event brought me peace of mind – but I guess I didn’t, in the end, experience any kind of defining moment of personal growth. Looking deep into the core of one’s being to see just what it’s all worth, and all that. Oh, well; maybe next time.

“Durian Temple” is so-called because it’s located up on “Durian Mountain”. The mountain is so-called…well, I suppose it must be because the area is too right for Durian trees. Anyway, what do you think? Durian Temple is pink? Yes, Bob: Durian Temple is pink!!

Very beautiful, too.

Put in a call to the farm; and after some issues with the language barrier, we finally worked out that a representative from the farm would come and pick us up at Durian Temple. Turned out, the representative was the farmer hisself!

So what was going on up there, there was an NGO whose charge is something to do with biodiversity, and it had set up this field trip to the farm (if you didn’t read the article I linked to before, in short: it’s an organic farm begun about forty years ago, whose mission has been to preserve rare species of Durian). When we arrived, everybody was busy sampling the many different varieties of Durian grown on the farm.

That’s the farmer carving up the Durian there (it was his now-deceased father what started the farm); girl on his immediate left is from Scotland. I think she must be some sort of bigwig in the organisation’s structure. She was talking to us for a while, giving us the lowdown on the day’s activities. Everybody was pretty astounded that we’d just shown up, seemingly out of the blue, to chow down the Durian; and wanted to know how we even knew of the farm’s existence; let alone that we’d come all the way from Bangkok to simply check it out.

Here are some of the fruits the farmer had lined up to let us try. The fucked-up part was that all the Durian had been frozen, because Thais love to eat their Durian cold. (Crazy mofos that they are.) Not that they were rock-solid by the time we were eating them; but they were plenty damned cold. Still awesome and all, don’t get me wrong. But, shit…

After the Durian tasting, the farm served lunch to everybody. We were invited to join in as well; but I had a walk around the orchard while they were doing.

Oh my god Durian! There’re other fruits, including pineapples, interspersed with the Durian trees.

Check all the sproutin’ Durian seeds! Future Durian trees of tomorrow, yo.

After lunch, it was time to get down to brass tacks and open up the ol’ pocketbooks. I wanted to purchase this torpedo-looking one; but wasn’t permitted, as it had been brought out only for demonstration’s purpose. I think they were worried it’d be all suck-ass, as you can see that it’s quite well advanced in its self-opening.

I bet it’d have been great, but didn’t press the issue none.

After this, the farmer had a discussion with the attendees, presumably to do with his methods and results and whatnot. The discussion was all in Thai, alas. Would really loved to have been privy to the proceedings’ exchange. But, that’s that; I don’t speak Thai, so far as I’m aware.

Dree asked me how we would be able to get back to the bus station. I proposed that we hitchhike; and Dree very happily told me that he loved the way I think (or words to that effect).

We wanted to get a group shot with the farmer, but were somewhat shy to interrupt the ongoing tete-a-tetes for such a touristic conceit. Instead, we finally decided to just say goodbye; at which point the farmer broke away from the discussion, and we were able to wrangle a few moments to get a shot.

We asked a few of his employees from which road to hitchhike to the bus station, and they told us to go out to the end of the driveway, then go right, right, and right again, and we’d be on the main road back to town.

Just as we were setting off down the drive, bags of Durian (and in my case pineapple) in tow, we were stopped, and directed to enjoy a ride into town on the farm’s behalf. We went in the farmer’s truck, driven by one of his workers (I dunno, maybe it was even his son?). Here’s one of the Chinamen, standing up behind the cab. Just tell me this guy ain’t Livin’ The Life, Man!. (Or if you do tell me that, you’re a damned fool.)

We tried to pay our impromptu chauffeur, but he wouldn’t hear of  it.

The bus to Bangkok was an hour late in arriving; but arrive it at last did. As we were boarding, the ticket-seller lady, who’d come out from behind the booth to inform us that our bus had arrived (was pretty obvious already), grabbed my bags of fruit and went off, I assumed, to put it down in the coach’s underneath storage. I watched her closely as she done so; and was horrified to witness her giving it to the driver of a second bus which had pulled in after ours.

I heard her calling out “Mo Chit!” while she was doing; but I didn’t want to be separated from my premium-priced farm-fresh Durian, so made mad-motion to go out and apprehend her little operation before it’d come to full (if one’ll pardon the pun) fruition. But the bus started moving, and we were just out of there before I even knew what was what.

So I spent a most anxious couple of hours, seated next to a maniacal nasal-spray huffer, who eventually shot up at least twenty times between Nayok and Bangkok. (The Thais are so crazy with this frickin’ nasal spray. I think it’s just for kicks; to have a nice scent in their noses. But you see them walking all around town with these damned spray nozzles jammed up their friggin’ nostrils. They’re nuts!)

So we pulled into Bangkok, and exiting the bus, Dree noticed my Durianless hands, and made as though to remind me to go back to my seat and grab it. “Where is your Durian?” he asked.

“Fuckin’, that lady took it from me!! I have to go find it!” They had not had theirs (one large one to share among the four of them) taken from them.

I very animatedly sought out the porter to inquire the whereabouts of my Durian. He held up one finger to indicate it’d be just a moment or two. “Next bus.”

“Next bus?” I happily executed a very heartfelt wai in his  general direction, and began to try to explain to my colleagues what I knew (which was not much) about what had gone down, and what was still in future to go down.

Every few minutes, we’d look at the porter accusingly. “Next bus,” he always and ever smiled, holding aloft the one index finger. “Next bus.”

After about fifteen minutes’ time, the porter motioned for all of us to get back onto our bus; which was now of course fully empty, save for the driver, and this one lady dressed in civilian clothes, laughing her ass off at my plight.

“Where are we going?” my companions asked, after boarding (this time their Durian had been taken from them, and stored underneath).

“How the fuck would I know?? I don’t speak Thai!”

The porter used hand gestures to indicate that the Durian are too stinky, and thus the need to keep them locked up in quarantine. I asked why, though, did it have to be quarantined on the “next bus”?

I think he thought I was talking about my friends’ Durian, not mine. And, anyway, he didn’t even really speak English. So he just kept fanning his hand in front of his nose, to ward off the Durian’s supposed evil stench.

I hoped they might be taking us to Ekkamai terminal, to meet with the other bus there. Ekkiamai’s totally close to the hostel, so that would’ve been just fine. But instead, they just drove us around to the other side of the terminal! We could’ve walked in five minutes, but instead we drove, just the handful of us.

We followed the porter into the terminal…

…where he burst triumphantly into the carrier’s control booth, calling out for the Durian.

Naturally, neither his brethren nor his sistren had the faintest clue what the fuck he was on about. After debriefing them, he left us, smiling all the while, assuring us that the Durian would soon be produced, and we would be on our collective way.

We stood there waiting, in front of the ticket window, for five minutes or so; when at last a couple of layabout employees of the carrier asked us what we wanted.

I cried out, “I want my Durian!”

“Where do you want to go?” they asked.

“I don’t want to go anywhere! I want my Durian!!”

Following some moments of perplexity, they asked us to go out in the lobby to sit down and wait.

After several minutes’ waiting, I purposed to take matters into my own hands, and burst into the control booth myself, demanding to know the whereabouts of my Durian. After failing to communicate in mutually exclusive languages, the clerk typed into her translation engine that (as translated), “The Durian is yet to come.”

“How long?” I wanted to know. “Five minutes?” I wondered, holding up my five fingers.

The translation engine spat out: “Better yet, you will only have to wait up to one hour.”

“One hour?? Are you crazy? This is crazy!” I was kind of flying off the handle.

I demanded to know just what in Buddha’s holy name was going on. After a “farang”-laced cellphone conversation of some minutes’ duration, she typed madly away, and then very smugly pointed to the screen. “You like the car the fruit is driving.”

The look on her face said that not only had all of my questions by this statement been answered; but that all conceivable questions in the environs of this or any other universe had hereby been put to rest.

“You like the car the fruit is driving”??

She pointed insistently at the screen.

“What does that even mean? I don’t know what that means! That doesn’t mean anything!”

I grabbed her calculator and typed in the 360 Baht I’d paid for my fruit; telling her that I wanted to be reimbursed. At this point some people came up to the window wanting to purchase tickets. She turned to deal with them, completely disrespecting me from here on out.

Sulking, I went back out to the lobby and told my friends to go on without me; that I’d catch up with them later, back at the hostel. They decided to go have some dinner, and then come back and see what at that time would be what.

After about forty minutes’ contemplation of life without the Durian, an older gentleman dressed in the company’s (admittedly very smart) dark-blue trousers and light-blue oxford got my attention and motioned for me to follow him. Which I done, back out to where the first bus had dropped us off, and where a second bus was here waiting.

I took a deep breath, and he opened up the luggage hold. There it was. The Durian (and the pineapple) had been returned to its rightful owner. I thanked him profusely, and made back to the terminal.

Funnily, that older gentleman, my saviour, never uttered even a single word to me. (Usually, you can hardly ever shut these Thais up, propounding god-knows-what Thai-language oration upon the hapless farang; though it ought, one would guess, to be clear that not a word of said oration has been understood.)

When I got back to the terminal, the lads were just returning from dinner; noting my quarry, Dree held up his arms in exaltation. After making a point to thank the translation-typing-clerk for her all’s-well-that-ends-well services, we went out to get a cab; and as we were driving out of the terminal, I declared, “This has been…an interesting day.”

Little did I suspect how much “interest” was yet to come. To wit, best…cab  driver…ever!!

After shifting gears or executing turns, he would make an exaggerated follow-through with his left hand, and then let the hand hang in there air like an apparition — to our ever-more-delighted giggles. “This guy is awesome!” I couldn’t help, after the third or fourth time, exclaim.

We entered onto the expressway, the driver apparently mistaking the tollbooth’s gate as the starting line for the Bangkok Grand Prix. Weaving in, about, and through Bangkok’s notoriously crowded motorways like a demon possessed, he thrilled and beguiled us all to pieces. I’m talking, he was just threading the needle, man! What a sight to behold.

From out of nowhere, he relaxed the pace a little, and turned on the radio…for about ten seconds, before turning it back off again. After which, it was back to the races. Dree professed his fear. But personally, I never felt in danger. This goddam guy, he was a dare-devil, no doubt; but he was so smooth. He seemed, to me, totally in control of his situation.

This clip is from near the end, after he’d slacked it off quite a bit. It’s still pretty good; but nothing nearly so spectacular as we’d earlier been given to experience.

And the son of a bitch delivered us to Khlong Toei in record time, too. Sixteen minutes from Mo Chit, right through the teeth of the rush-hour (yes, even on Saturday) traffic! Frickin’ superstar, is what he is.

For dinner, I et the pineapple and of the two Durian. Both excellent; though the latter wasn’t, in honesty, quite worth the one-hundred-Baht-to-the-kilo price for which it’d been procured.

Sunday I wanted to head up to Ko Kret. It’s an island formed a coupla hundred years ago when a channel was cut to shortcut a bend in the river. At the time of the cut, the area was a Mon (Burmese) enclave; and the island has remained so to the present day.

About twenty kilometres from downtown; but even so, I was a bit disappointed that the trip couldn’t be achieved all in one go. Instead, one must transfer buses from either Central World or Victory Monument.

The first bus kicked ass, ‘cause it was all decked out with images of the king, from various points in his life.

The island’s supposed to be a step back in time, with the inhabitants living much as they had done at the time the island came into being.

Arriving at Pak Kret Market, opposite the island, one boards the ferry (two Baht for the round-trip) ‘cross the river to be deposited at Wat Paramaiyaikawat (say that three times fast!).

This Burmese temple is most famed for the spire, located at isle’s northeast tip, which now lists in the river’s current. And yep, true as advertised, there it was.

Ah, whatever. For me, the real highlights here were two in number. First off, you know I’m gonna say, “The murals.” Lord help me, I just can’t get enough of these scenes from daily life. (As opposed to murals depicting scenes from Buddha’s enchanted life; which are great the first dozen times are so, but which can end up feeling all of a same same.)

Secondly, the many Buddhas throughout the grounds caught my fascination, but good.

The reclining Buddha here looks as stoned out of his gourd as does the Saturday Buddha back at Mt. Phousi in Luang Prabang – probably even a little more-so.

Then – I still can’t even believe I was privileged to have seen this shit – motherfucking Mullet Buddha!!!

He’s goddamned Lord Buddha, and he’s got a motherfucking mullet! With a frickin’ bubble on top, to boot. How wonderful is this world? Ironically enough,  the fact of the existence of this-here Mullet Buddha kind of makes me believe in the existence of a supernatural god (though not necessarily a loving one…).

Okay, then, there’s this whole lineup of Black Buddhas with golden hair. Hain’t never seen that one before – quite striking, though, it is.

Then there’s a half ‘n’ half Black/Gold Buddha.

And a Black Buddha with a golden head.

And even a, like, Birdshit Buddha (with golden head).

The chandeliers in the Main Temple are maybe the most beautiful chandeliers ever have I seen – and I don’t mean, “Most beautiful in a temple.” I mean, “Most beautiful full stop.”

There’s also a little museum housing odd and interesting relics. Too bad many of them are behind glass, rendering photography a maddeningly difficult proposition.

This is probably the freakiest sight on the island; owing principally to those crazy marble-eyes.

And this, somehow, perfectly encapsulates my views concerning religion: an entire shelf of mass-produced Buddha images, having gone unsold, is left to gather dust in the corner of a little backwater museum.

Leaving the Temple grounds, there’s a walking-path around the U-shaped (if the “U” were filled in solid, I mean) island, with stopping points along the way to see locally produced handicrafts and whatnot.

Turns out, it’s just endless rows of the same- (to me) looking trinkets one can find in extremis throughout Thailand. Bleah. There were a few pretty good buskers strewn here and about, at least.

I can’t believe that all the crap the people here are selling is hand-made; but certainly it’s true that the lane fronts their actual houses. On the other side of the one row is the river, and of the other row, the interior of the island. The houses certainly seem authentically dated.

There’re several smaller temples along the path. At the first one, business is gotten down to in a suitable fashion.

The shrine here: is it the tackiest shrine ever, or is it simply the best? Maybe it’s both!

Meanwhile, this character — with the painted-on black haircut — looks less the wild hippie philosopher/Enlightened One, and more the straight-laced CEO of Buddha, Inc..

Adjacent the Temple entrance was a small amphitheater, at which the goings-on at the time were what I gather to’ve been traditional Burmese song and dance. The dance was pretty weird, with not really any hip shaking, but plenty of strange and fascinating hand gestures (believe it or not).

After this dance number, the band you see arrayed behind the dancers got to bust a groove.

Laid a quite-good-sized whipping onto the llama’s ass, too.

Apart from the trinkets, there were also of course plenty of eats for sale. Had not previously seen this ensemble anywheres on offer. Dig in, carnivores!

Was somewhat tempted to get this shirt. Took me a while of wondering what “kohkred” might be, until I finally was able to realise that it’s simply an alternative spelling of “Ko Kret”.

After this, the trinket-sellers fall away, and with them all the visitors. Those few choosing to walk the entirety of the island’s perimeter are treated indeed to a scene out of yesteryear. Country living, so close to the heart of Bangkok.

The smell of bittermelon is very strong in this area.

We had this growing wild over at Hawaii The Big Island. Its taste is certainly bitter enough indeed to earn its moniker; but the aroma is wonderful. It was always a treat to be tasked to working in an area with these growing nearby.

The walk would’ve been quite peaceful and soothing and the whole nine yards – had it not been for the fucking motorcycles roaring up and down the path every two minutes are so. I’m telling you, these god damned motorcycles: they’re the devil right through.

Another small Wat, on the south side of the island, was exceptionally cute.

The east side of the island is renowned for its many a “Pottery Village”, at which kiln-fired ceramics of very fine quality are supposed to be produced. But I didn’t see anything like this going on. It was all quiet as a mouse.

Weren’t even any vendors to speak of – excepting this awesome lady, hawking some sort of skin cream. She gave me a good, long spiel, all in Thai, as Thais are wont to do. In the end, I could only shrug and delight in the awesomeness of her being.

Around about this area exists this pretty strangely adorned residence. Number 8… Number 8… Number8… Number 8….

Back this side of the river, temple had a little hoedown going on. You can’t really see it in the photo; but whenever the monks gather in groups like this, they look so beautiful all decked out in orange.

At the market, this Durian vendor had clearly pulled an excellent trade of a Sunday afternoon. I like how organised their rinds-pile is. Down here at Khlong Toei, they just throw ‘em on the ground all willy-nilly-like.

One of the pleasures of travel: one just never knows what one is going to see. Even in a small corner of a decrepit out-of-the way temple…

…may be lurking a friendly local family of zebras!

Was actually able to get back down to the park without transfer; from where I could, after aerobics, walk over to the Durian Truck, and then on back to the hostel. Aerobics is beginning earlier now – about 5:00 in the PM rather that 5:30; I should guess to avoid the now-on-season evening rains.

I hadn’t supposed, upon leaving in the morning, that my remaining Durian from the farm would yet be quite ready to eat – hence my visit to the Durian Truck. Turns out that it was ready though, so I up and ate them both. Shared a good bit of them out, too.

There’s a Japanesienne here now who’s very fond of the King Of Fruits, after having first tried it in Indonesia a few months back. And of course the hostel staff love it, and were keen to try the farm-fresh. A Frenchwoman desired to try it for the first time; ditto a Belgienne. Neither of them were over the moon for it, the poor dears. And a very nice Taiwanesienne gave it the old college try, despite being averse to its most beautiful aroma. Said it tasted reminded her of eating garlic.

At dinner, Rata told us all about the Thai lady-boy phenomenon, in a manner which only she could do. Then she decided she wanted to go make a donation at her Temple, and invited us to come along with. It was a Chinese temple over near the Sam Yan subway station.

The scene was pretty crazy: even at 10:00 in the PM, zillions of people were there making donation. It was this whole big-deal process of writing your name out on a form, and then posting it onto a coffin, and sticking incense into various pots…

…(the former only to be a few seconds later snatched up and disposed of by this-here temple employee)…

…and ringing the gong and the bells – here’s Rata doing so…

…and finally burning the duplicate copy of your donation-form (to bring to god’s attention the fact of your having made a donation).

Ah, religion and sanity, they don’t mix so well. But for the godless rubbernecker, it’s a marvel to watch the wheels turning.

After all that rigmarole, Rata took us on a tour of Chinatown by night; showing us the Royal Palace and the rest of the famous sites, all lit up as they then were. She was almost at wits’ end when her favourite toast vendor was nowhere to be found (don’t even suspect that I’m shitting you!). She showed us the house in which she’d grown up; and gave a stirringly long-winded history of the Chinatown area, as well as her family’s immigrant experience. So much fun!

The scene at the hostel generally is as lively as ever. Nick, the Albanian/German, has returned from Krabi; and Chris, the Indonesian with the astonishing command of the English language, returned from…can’t remember where. He’s going to be managing a brand-new resort hotel a few hours’ drive from here.

Lots of very interesting newer peeps, too; including a lady, bit older than myself, whose parents are both from Seattle (though she’s never lived there). She rattled off a bunch off cool-sounding travel books which I’ve dutifully noted down for future purpose.

Couple of European gentlemen arrived back from a shopping blowout at MBK Centre, complaining hilariously of the taxi drivers’ incompetence. The drivers didn’t know from any of the proposed destinations (including MBK itself!), apparently, and kept having to stop and ask directions. After I verified that they understood the English just fine, but just didn’t know their way around the city; one of the Europeans concluded fairly resoundingly that the taxi drivers here “are shit”.

That was very funny, to be sure; but it most certainly did not jibe with my recent taxi-driver experience!

To-day, Monday, caught up on some much-needed sleep.

Down at the check-in desk, Rata was listening to some incredible old-time Thai Pop. I had her send me a link. Oh my gosh, just wait’ll you hear this stuff! Holy shit; wig-flipping is absolutely guaranteed!

I’d been planning keep it light on the Durian-consumption front, even though my big-belly situation has improved some since my return from Chanthaburi. Over at the market getting some lychees and some longkongs, and thought, “Okay, let’s just have this small little one, looks a bit underpriced.”

And that “small little one”, looks a bit underpriced, was so friggin’ delicious I nearly had to shit in my pants to see if I could even believe it! God damn that was good. So I promptly scurried back over to that same vendor, and got me two more small ones. And even they were pants-crappingly delicious as well! Almost went, then, to get some more; but finally decided to throttle it back a little.

Yeah, it’s…well, first off, thanks for asking. Yeah, it’s…it could be better. I did manage to suffer through Tuesday without Durian. So I figured, every-other day would still get me slimmed down, yes?

Yes, so I et one yesterday, Wednesday. I used the Durian Truck located out near the Boxing Stadium, rather than the Khlong Toei vendors. A little more expensive there, and the Truck, operated by a husband-and-wife team, is not every day in session. But when it is in session, it’s all Stop The Presses This Shit Is So god Damned Delicious! time.

In other words, to-day, Thursday, I et two fruits from the Durian Truck. And though you may expect that I’m all about to chuck the diet; you may just need to re-expect. The diet will live on! Tomorrow is a new day!

But, also. Looking for orchards to which to pay visit, I ferreted out this Bangkok Post piece from a few years back.

At the Suan La-ong Fa (Sky Mist Orchard) in tambon Khao Phra of Nakhon Nayok’s Muang district, over 50 species of the popular fruit, some with names completely unknown to most Thais, can be found. The orchard has, against virtually impossible odds, managed to preserve some near-extinct durian.

And so I sez, “Rata, does this place accept visitors?” Given this loan lead, Rata – what a star! – did the leg-work in learning that not only does the orchard welcome visitors; but that on Saturday – two days from now – there’s some sort of festival, or show, or expo, or something going on there. She’s got the directions all written out for me. Couple of hours from here.

It’s a bit of an expedition. The one real catch is that one of the segments is via moto-taxi. Which, not only have I a morbid fear of motorcycles; but speaking as a pedestrian, I find them even more loathsome than their four-wheeled cousins.

But when it comes to Durian, I think, probably, my “convictions” are right out the window. If the moto cracks up and I’m never heard from again; know that it was all in the service of Durian.

So, anyway, the transition to Rainy Season was much less gradual than I’d been expecting. Two days ago was still hotter than the proverbial Blazes; yesterday was cloudy all day long, then, come evening, the sky opened up and belted us a good one. To-day was off-and-on raining all the whole entire time. I did at one point spy one or two patches of blue up there in the heavens. But only one or two.

For better or worse, it did let up enough for me to patronise the Durian Truck.

Yesterday I visited the Royal Barges Museum, over on the west side of the river. I’d had it on good authority that the museum would be worth the 100 Baht admission fee. Uh, no. The boats were pretty neat (not sure why they call them “barges” – they’re ornate long-boats used for Royal processions) and all; but there were only, like, eight of them. Took ten or fifteen minutes to check them all out. It’s maybe worth about 20 Baht, at most.

Worse, though, they wanted 100 more Baht for photo-taking permission. Jeez, talk about a “royal” reaming! Well, it wouldn’t have mattered, ‘cause I stupidly formatted my camera’s card before I’d got the latest batch of pictures from it. Just ‘cause I’m, y’know, stupid.

So that means also no pictures from Wat Suwannaram. It’s located near the museum, and is renowned for the quality of its murals. And they are quite something – possibly even worth making a return trip to re-take the photos. Visited a few more temples, and generally wandered around Thonburi for the day.

Was all excited to then rock out to Lumphini aerobics. I’d missed them Monday owing to the bowling match, then Tuesday with the sore foot. Wednesday would be the day! And then…and then…the skies darkened, the winds picked up, the thunder/lightning drew ever more the near. And the sky opened up wide.

And the aerobics were not to be.

If this is the bottom-line bottom-line of rainy season…I’m not so sure I’m for it!

Be that as it may, I do have some media to share in lieu of the lost, and also the never-were, photos. First up, the group pics of Bowling Match 2012, from De Talak’s Facebook.

Next, a photo’d been sort of lost in the shuffle. It’s actually from Nong Khai, at Passport Control. I’m in love with dude second from the left.

Finally, a very, very special treat for y’alls! Almost certainly the most special treat since Brain Power Center back January.

The potty-mouthed Canadian is gone, off to Vietnam. He’s left memories to last a lifetime. But: what of those that weren’t present, and thus no memories by which to revel in his Canada-fied glory? That’s right, motherfuckers: surreptitious cellphone recordings! Hey, if he’s gonna have a loud/obnoxious conversation right there in the common room, it’s fair game to put same on the Internet for alls to enjoy. (To his credit, this has got to be the only loud/obnoxious cellphone conversation in World History that’s actually been interesting enough to circulate Internetside…)

Yowp, you’re gonna love this quite much!

Canadian Cellphone 1

Canadian Cellphone 2

Canadian Cellphone 3

Canadian Cellphone 4

Canadian Cellphone 5

Am I to0 good to all y’alls? I think I probably may be too good to all y’alls.

Bad news: Chanthaburi World Durian Festival 2012 is at its end. Good news: I can now feel free to moderate my Durian consumption; and hopefully lose this frickin’ gut I got on me! Uh, by the way, Buddha’s big round belly? Eating Durian; being a Fat/Lazy Fuck. No other explanation.

Fat/Lazy Fuck?

Back in Bangkok now, Monday afternoon. The Japanese used-clothesters have returned from Chiang Mai and want to “play bowling”. I had (to my mind casually) asked them, before, whether they put any English in their rolls? Simple question’s been haunting them ever since, ‘cause they thought that anybody who would ask such a question must be some kind of a ringer.

To-day I reassured them that, no, not only is my roll straight as a arrow; but I haven’t even bowled in twenty years (or what). But now I’m wondering why they were so worried about it? Will there be stakes? We’ll see!

As far as the last days in Chanthaburi went: it breaks down like this.

Saturday morning, I was to it to pay for a coupla more nights at the hotel, and noticed this pricelist. Another use of the term “washing powder”. Love it! What is/are Kongtip vs. LM/LM cigarettes? Got me!

I wanted to go visit this exhibition whose posters I’d seen around town. At the DERM Gallery, if you’re keeping track of these things. In typical Thailand fashion, the locals I asked for directions were only-too-willing to help out…and also typically Thailand, their directions were opposed to the tune of one hundred eighty degrees.

Luckily, they all agreed upon the road on which the gallery is sited; so it was just a matter of walking its length in both directions. Turns out, I’d already seen this exhibition during a previous walk down there along the river road, had made a mental note to come check it out, then forgotten about it. Turns out they were one and the same; though I didn’t see any signs to the effect of “DERM Gallery”.

Visited a temple while heading in the wrong direction. Not too fond of the temples in Chanthaburi, to be honest. They’re mostly these gaudy/cartoon-y Chinese constructions. This one, I thought it funny that the sign tells in English what the sign is regarding, but everything else is in Thai.

I guess we can figure that the temple was either built or begun in 2368 (N.B., in the Buddhist calendar, it’s currently 2555).

The art show was quite good. Scenes from Chanthaburi, mostly centering on the river area. Here’re a few of my faves. Photos of photos: lame as; but at least photos of photos were permitted here, so, strike while the iron’s hot and all.

Also took a stroll down “Gems Street”, in session Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Not really floating my boat, I’m afraid.

In some more scenes from the wonderful Namphu Market, we see the freakiest/coolest vendor in Chanthaburi (probably can’t tell, but she’s always got her face all dolled up with white makeup)…

…some beautiful storm-clouds rolling in…

…lady slicing up a jakfruit…

…lady on a bicycle (one of the very few bicyclists in town)…

…a trio of ladies vending kebab (“Thai BBQ!” they kept trying to entice me)…

…and a hamming-it-up moto-taxi driver.

Also at the market…well, one is continually reading about the dire situation of global fish populations. In this light, it’s sobering and depressing, but also pretty amazing to see the quantities offered up for sale at just two small stalls in one Market in one small-ish town in one small-ish country in the World.

In happier news, Sunday at the park was some kind of kayak regatta. If you think these announcers are crazed during (what I’m guessing to be) the participants’ introductions…

…just wait ‘til you hear the call of an actual race (and note that they’re even more excitable during the closely contested heats).

At the Festival, a portrayal to live by!

Though, not everybody found it quite so inspirational as all that.

Here’s the Rambutan/Mangosteen-eating contest. Beforehand, I’d been sitting down by the river, watching the races, and was invited to join in. Rambutans? Fuck that shit! I politely declined – but it was a fun occasion to witness.

Well, shit. Can’t get the file uploaded. Must be corrupted or something. If anybody wants to come and visit, I’ll let you watch it in person.

Sunday evening, made a brief visit to a wonderful temple I’d been wanting to visit all week. The gates’d been closed all week long, and finally now they were open. I think for some or other event soon to begin, as the Ordination Hall was all set up with chairs in theater-style and the novices were sweeping off the walking-paths. So I felt sort of like I oughtn’t really be there during this time, and made the visit of much shorter duration than I’d’ve liked.

But, damn, this was a really great space! All set in amongst lots of beautiful trees, and with some incredibly ornate and strikingly unusual-looking structures all about the grounds. For example!

To-day, Monday, after de-boarding the bus at Bangkok’s Ekkamai terminal, I figured I could just cross the street and catch the same city bus by which I’d arrived to the terminal for my outbound trip to Chanthaburi.

At the stop, a group of yellow-shirted ladies arrived and motioned for me to sit down and wait, rather than standing. I was all right standing. They asked me (or so I guessed) where I was headed. When I told them Khlong Toei, they grew consternated; as though they were of the belief that there shouldn’t be any Khlong-Toei-bound carriages arriving soon…nor ever.

I used my digits to indicate to them my intention to catch the same #149 by which I’d arrived. (It wasn’t on the list of routes serving this stop – but it’s not at all unusual, I’ve found, for routes to be wrongly omitted from the stops’ lists.) Another, blue-shirted, lady agreed with them that I was up shit creek if I thought I was going to get to Khlong Toei from there.

But after she hopped her own bus, a young gentleman, speaking fine English with a vaguely Creole-sounding accent, but to-that-point only silently observing, joined the fray. He told me to get to Khlong Toei, I should cross the street and catch the #149 – but that it’d be a long time waiting.

While I was trying to confirm that this would mean that it was a circular, rather than a to-and-fro’, route, a rather heated exchange erupted (in Thai, natch), involving the fine young gentleman and the ringleader of the yellow-shirted ladies. After some time, he again advised catching the #149 on the other side of the street.

“But it takes a long time?” I asked.

“Yeah. Just go sit in the shade and wait for it.”

But before I could do, another heated exchanged between the two, after which the fine young gentleman asked, “Can you take a taxi? It shouldn’t be more than sixty Baht.”

I said that, come to that, I could just take the Skytrain – but that I preferred to take the bus. One final heated exchange ensued, before I was finally sent off to the other side of the street to wait. And factually, it wasn’t a very long wait at all. Okay, maybe somewhat so by Bangkok standards; but for those used to waiting for the bus in Sea-Town, it was a comparative walk in the park. But shit-howdy how I’d sure love to know just what line of thinking was exchanged between the fine young gentleman and the yellow-shirted lady.

Turned out it wasn’t really a circular route; but rather that Ekkamai was the end of the line. Instead of laying over at the terminal, however (like is done at Sai Tai Mai), they just loop around to the main route via the next road over – hence the catching of the bus on the same side of the street to which one’d exited.

Anyhow, a super-fun bus ride. Good rule of thumb for Bangkok city buses: any time you’ve entered a bus with wooden planks for the flooring, you’re in for a super-fun ride. Don’t usually feature music, however; and never music this righteous, nor with a driver this awesome.

Tuesday morning update, check it out.

We went last night to “play bowling”. There were six hostel guests, and one hostel staffer; the latter acting as de facto guide/host for the evening. All told: three Japanesians, one American, one Thai, one German, one Dutchman. Four bucks a game, not so bad. We split it into two teams, determining to take the average score to figure the winning side; the loser agreeing to pay for the next game.

Right out the gate, I opened up with a very nice 0-1; and after two frames my tally stood at a so-impressive four pins down b/w sixteen left standing. I don’t think I even notched my first spare until the fifth or sixth frame. But once I finally found the perfect ball; I began to pick up steam. Indeed, my 159 in our second game proved to be the highest score of the fourteen person-games for the evening’s event (i.e., seven rollers multiplied by two games per the each). Funnily enough, that was more less my average score back when. Guess some things never change.

Most craziest thing that happened was probably when I was standing front of the ball-return, looking up at the scores, and a god damned bowling ball fell out and landed on my foot! What the shit is it with all my foot injuries here? I walked it off, and thought it had after a few minutes healed just right; but now this morning it’s bothering me. I think it should be fine by tomorrow. But, shit. Man.

Anyhow, here’s to it.

Yoshi, one of the two Japanese instigators of the Bowling In Bangkok, in an early, pre-flash-use, shot.

Daisuke, his used-clothes partner-in-crime, in a newly-activated-flash-use scenario.

Couldn’t count the number of times he went over the line – lucky thing good ol’ Walter Sobchak wasn’t there to fuck him up two times!

A crazy-weird “ghost” image; also pre-flash.

The third Japanesian, new to the hostel. Looks more, here, as though he’d just lost control of his basketball dribble! He’s a good man, and a good bowler.

The post-tourney group-photo gather-‘round.

We split the two games; although our team had far the highest two-game average (this little fillip counted for nothing or less than). After, we went for eats to Khlong Toei (cooked-food division). The German noted that he’d tried under-ripe Durian, on some Thais’ advice; and thought it okay, but would like to try some soft.

I promptly went and got some; soiling my slim-down-vow in one fell swoop. Well, I figured there’s always tomorrow, right? Also, when I’d returned to the hostel, they’d presented me with a couple of packs of freeze-dried Durian. I’ve heard about this before now. I think it’s available in the States, but I could never find any at the Asian Markets. Pretty delish, as it happens; not as sweet as I’d been expecting.

I think the German found the Durian basically tolerable. The Dutchman seemed quite impressed (his first-ever sampling); the Japanesians, you’ll recall, had a few weeks back said it was okay but that they’d no need to ever try it again. Well, they done tried it again, and now they’re whistling a different tune; saying it’s rather begun to grow on them.

They’ve just split the hostel, and in fact split up; one heading to Singapore, the other to Hong Kong.

Only a few familiar faces now remain.

The Koreans have returned from Chiang Mai – the one whom I’d earlier reported to be fast becoming addicted to Durian kept e-mailing me during the Festival asking for updates, and wishing he could’ve been there. I went searching and found a couple slated for Penang in July; he says he hopes to be able to cross my path then. Durian Power speak the word!

The Aussie who’d organised the art project has returned from Cambodia, where he’d spent some weeks building a yurt! I am in receipt of notice that he needs to “fuck off to MBK” (one of the mega-shopping-centres) for something or other.

The Japanesienne and her Italian boyfriend are still looking for an apartment.

And Carolyn, rather than repairing to Hua Hin, has flewn all the way back to the States!

Really interesting new arrivals include a Frenchman who lived nine years in Japan, and speaks apparently impeccable Japanese. He was up ‘til very late hours of the night holding forth with the three Japanesians. Don’t know about what they were speaking, but he had them laughing their asses off all night long. I’m talking, like, every fifteen or twenty seconds the Japanesians would bust out cracking up. It was pretty nuts.

Dude’s also a martial arts instructor; came here specifically to learn/teach Muay Thai Boxing; but owing to a motorcycle accident, is now laid up, no boxing, until his wounds have healed. They’re pretty nasty looking, I do declare.

Canadian music-festival enthusiast sporting many tattoos, and cursing nearly as much as my own self. He put in a rush-order for a Vietnam Visa (having to pay double the cost, or something like) ‘cause his friend wanted to meet him in Hanoi; only to find out that his friend’s rented a motorcycle to ride to Saigon; so now he (the Canadian) doesn’t know when he’ll be able to see him (the friend) to give him (the friend) a hockey jersey he (the Canadian) had purchased for him and’s been lugging around for a month’s time.

After setting forth with all the gory details, he (the Canadian) concluded with the opinion that he (the friend) is a “fucking dickhead” – to my never-ending delight.

He (the Canadian) had lost his camera, then found it. Latest I heard from him, he was asking another guest, “You haven’t seen a pair of sandals anywhere?”

There’s also a German girl who’s as fascinated as myself with the Bangkok city bus system. I’ve given her some pointers; as well as told her where to find mangoes as good as the ones I was just-then devouring.

Well I cannot seem to hold on to a fucking thought
This whirlwind’s got me and I’m racing out the door
It’s nice for a while, but when I try to focus
All of my convictions come crashing down around me again

A dark side to eating orchards’ and orchards’ worth of Durian, you say? But what, pray, could it possibly be? Is such practice not the most unmitigated bliss? Well, it’s like this: eating orchards’ and orchards’ worth of Durian doth transform the eater into a Fat/Lazy Fuck.

What, just eat fewer, you say? Just control oneself, you say? And so will the eater say, to hisself or herself, with frequency. Easier said than done, however! The Durian haunts one’s waking and sleeping moments. One may eat other than Durian, one may do other than eating Durian, one may (attempt to) think about other than Durian.

But in the end, the Durianist’s “convictions come crashing down” around him or her again…and again…and again. Never been addicted to smack, nor even alcohol (or what have you). But this is surely akin. Of course, Durian is known as one of the more nutritious foods. It’s considered the King Of Fruits not only for its deliciousity, but also for its exceptional food value.

But who wants to be an zombified Fat/Lazy Fuck? Perhaps this is why the season is so brief in most places; generally clocking in at a few months’ time: okay, be a Fat/Lazy Fuck for a coupla months each year, but otherwise eating Mangoes and stuff.

Truth be told, I didn’t come to the World Durian Festival 2012 to not eat Durian. Will attempt, at Fest’s conclusion, to exert some modicum of self-control. As for to-day, however, scored either some frighteningly kick-assed deals…or maybe taken for a ride. Suspect the former.

It’s nearing the conclusion now; tomorrow the Festival’s last and final hurrah. So many vendors, so many Durian, and (frankly) surprisingly few attendees can mean this: there are now many Durian in the “Farang Zone”; i.e., perfectly, wonderfully, self-openingly ripe. Thais won’t buy ‘em this way; so the hawk-eyed vendors call out to the passing Farang (who’d thought he’d already made all the Durian purchases required for the day’s eating), “Hey you!” — gesticulating toward the basket to which the fully ripe Durian have been relocated.

One and one-half kilos of Kan Yao (my fave), normally priced at 70-80 Baht per kilo, for 60 Baht total? Yes, please! Two kilos of Mon Thong (my second-fave), normally priced at 50-60 to the kilo, for 40 Baht total? Yes, please! (For more in re Thai Durian varieties here is one helpful page.)

The wagon’s shaking and I feel it start to tilt
And I just go tumbling right back in a whirlwind again

To give an idea of the poor attendance (actually, it was pretty packed last weekend), here’s the scene from a few nights ago, at the mainstage. Gots to love the one guy up front though, in for all his worth!

The band were quite thumping, too. And what a backdrop!

And check the massive inflatable namesake off the side of the stage.

Yesterday, Friday, I signed up the Durian-Eating Contest. They told me it’d begin at about 5:00; but at about 5:00, it was instead some ceremony, or dedication, or such-like.

Here’re the Door Prizes. Chanthaburi may be the King Of Weird, but this is actually pretty par for the course as Thailand goes.

Finally, it was time to throw down. Here are a few of my competitors.

And the small but enthusiastic audience.

It looked I’d be the only farang to participate; but at the last minute, this Aussie gentleman joined up.

Despite its name, the contest’s rules required the participant to, before digging in to the Durian, eat all of those fucking Rambutans first. Such contemptible bullshit! But being a guest, I didn’t want to rock the boat. In this clip, I on two occasions clarify that all of the fucking Rambutans must be eaten first.

My intention had been to just leave the camera running straight on through the contest; but audience-members kept grabbing it and taking pictures of me with it. Weirdos! But I’m glad they did; ‘cause they came up with some pretty cool shots.

But at last I did manage to record most of  the contest proper.

Ha! You see that shit? The ending-whistle blown even before I was able to get in my first bite of Durian. Fucking Rambutans! Although, it doesn’t appear to me that I’m getting them into my mouth so much more slowly that the competition – I think most peeps must’ve gulped ‘em down with minimal chewing: not conducive to digestion, yo!

In case you’re wondering why I kept eating after they’d already blewn the whistle. It’s ’cause I hadn’t realised they were gonna come around and weight everybody’s Durian (to determine the champeen). I just figured that somebody had already finished his or her Durian off and thereby won the title; and that I was therefore free to go ahead and eat mine up. Everybody else got their remains packaged up to take home, and then just split. So I was left there by my lonesome, eating the Durian —  much to the audience’s delight.

The Grand Prize was a potted Durian tree, but all participants received one of these bunny-cups…

…wrapped in this. I like how it’s now the “amazing” World Durian Festival.

In other news-about-town, so many people here have poodles! Not only this, but they take the poodles out with them where’er they go. Seems like every fourth or fifth motorcycle has got a poodle riding along.

From the Weird-‘n’-Wacky Signs Dept., you’ve gotta be in love with this dude.

For more bunny-love, here’s the City Arch (most medium-sized cities in Thailand have an arch on the main drag, at the city limits).

At the festival, watching one of the musical acts, this gentleman turned up to watch as well. He’s the second – second – gentleman I’ve seen here carrying around a women’s purse. One, you could say, well, probably some kind of Charles Manson character (or what). But two? It’s officially a town craze.

He later asked me from whence I’d come; when I told him from whence, he began jumping around like a maniac, huge smile on his face…and then performed a pantomime of a soldier firing off his rifle. Goofnut. (Yes, yes: I’m all too aware that the locals consider me — barefoot farang schlepping enormous quantities of Durian hither and yon — to be the goofnut. I can even hear them laughing about me after our brief encounters.)

No evening complete without a stroll through the Market.

Finally, here as everywhere, old ladies love to feed the animals. The catch is that here, they just look a little bit more wackier in doing so.

A strange and wonderful town!

And speaking of strange and wonderful, recent search terms by which people landed at this blog:

• “can durian be planted the botom of the mountain”
• “issue about trend in smuggling for example durian festival and rumors of price in malaysia”