See Thailand – Hotels, Travel, Tourism Info

We know you want a better quaff
Thailand is justly renowned for the wonderful and abundant tropical fruit it cultivates and enjoys, year-round.  Mango.  Papaya.  Custard apple.  Mangosteen.  Rambuton.  Champu.   Pineapple.  The list is long and delicious.  But there is a fly in this oriental ointment.  Durio kutejensis. Otherwise known to tourists and expats as “stinkfruit.”

The Thais themselves lovingly call it “the king of fruits”, but if it is royalty it is the kind that Shakespeare might have written about in one of his ghastly historical plays.  Ugly.  Dangerous.  Foul to the core.

The durian is encased in a thorny green carapace that looks like a football out of a Stephen King novel.  It can weigh up to twelve pounds when ripe, and loiters at the top of a tall tree trunk, waiting to fall upon the unwary.  Workers at durian plantations wear motorcycle helmets when out amongst the trees.  The fruit inside is a firm, cream-colored pulp.  The smell and taste . . .well, here we enter the realm of controversy.  The Thais relish it raw, cooked in curries, and even made into taffy!  Most foreigners, including yours truly, find the smell to be somewhere between a moldy gym locker and vomit, and the taste even worse.  In Thailand, in consideration of the many tourists who stream through the country, durian is banned from all forms of public transportation.  That should tell you something about this sinister cultivar.

I was first introduced to the durian over thirty years ago in Thailand as a young man on a volunteer mission for my church.  An open and hospitable people, the Thais gladly welcomed me into their homes to hear about my religion, and to offer me something to drink and eat.  Thai etiquette demands that visitors always be offered something, and that the visitor must partake.  Usually I was given a glass of ginger tea or a sweet made out of sticky rice and sweetened coconut milk.  No problem there.  But occasionally an effusive Thai, flattered that I had come half way around the world and learned their language, would offer me a piece of bilious-looking durian.  My very first taste was a disaster.  I had to excuse myself to go retch in the toilet.  After that, whenever I scented the parlous fruit I excused myself from partaking by saying I was currently fasting – something Thai Buddhist monks often do; the Thais always respected my little white lie.

Fast forward thirty-some odd years and I am back in Thailand, settled in the Gulf of Thailand fishing village of Ban Phe.  I work for TEFL International, a non-profit teacher training organization.  I spend my free time swimming in the ocean, collecting sea shells on the beach . . . and eating superlative Thai dishes like green papaya salad, steamed sea bass with lemon grass, and shrimp fried rice.  Prices are ridiculously low; my heaping plate of shrimp fried rice costs under a dollar.  For desert I may have a fresh mango smoothie or perhaps a slab of seedless watermelon that has been cooling in a tub of ice for the last two hours.  Watermelon is always in season here in Thailand.

Yessiree, I’m an acclimated Thai expat.   I speak the lingo; I understand the culture; I have a host of Thai friends.  But I will not, I cannot, eat the durian.  That is where I draw the line.  But, of course, if you happen to be in Ban Phe some bright tropical day, and want to try it yourself, just look me up.  I work on Suan Son Road, just a half block from the beach.  Just ask for the TEFL International School.  I’ll be in the office, answering the phone or replying to emails, and I’ll be pleased as punch to take you out and treat you to the biggest, smelliest, piece of durian you want.

I like to watch others suffer.