I first came upon a durian in a wilderness park in Malaysia. Piled in the camp store were what looked like small cannonballs covered with blunt spines. A scent hung in the air, reminiscent of sewer waste: I had found the fabled durian.
Guidebooks I'd read had cautiously spoken of durians, with the word infamous usually mentioned. This had been enough to set my mind on trying what Asians called "the king of fruit."
A park ranger, seeing me pawing through the durians, gave me a hand. He picked up each one, sniffing the spiky ball and turning it. A few were set aside, and these received repeat inspection. Finally, he handed me one. "This " he said, as I juggled it between hands, trying to find a comfortable way to hold it, "is good." I thanked him and bought it.
Carrying the durian by its stem, I walked back toward my cabin. A Malaysian saw the durian and smiled. "A durian! Where did you get it?"
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