Durian and its Lovers

My Singaporean friend, Amanda, who lives in Germany for 18 years, bought a fresh durian that cost 30 euros from an Asian shop, drove to me and generously shared it with me (and Johann). 

I had durian today!  Jump, jump, jump!  Yes!  Because of Amanda's weakness to durians, I was suddenly stumbled upon the luck to eat it with her!  If this is not luck, I don't know what is. 

She bought the durian 2 days ago but we couldn't meet until today. After some struggles of tug-of-war with the durian, we finally... ok, I mean, she finally managed to ply open the stubborn, thick-shelled and still not fully ripe durian.  The durian was OK, but it was certainly not worth 9 euros per kilo.  Johann was over the moon eating it, to him, a durian is a durian is a durian.  A durian makes Johann an ultra happy boy.

We purposely opened the durian outside house to share the durian smell in my neighbourhood.  You see, Amanda has taught me the beauty of sharing, so I also quickly picked up this virtue and share immediately.  Not bad, right?  But, the cold weather helped to contract the air molecules containing the pungent smell of the king of fruit so well that even the wind did not manage to spread my love enough.  Sigh!

Actually the Germans call it Stinkfrucht, which literally means stinky fruit.  How could they?!  That is so mean!  Perhaps I can slowly help them change their definition.  I will start with the street I live in first.  But I won't buy fresh durians here.  The seedless, frozen ones have 100% more pungency and oomph! than this authentic looking thorny ball.

Now, play that video again.  Don't you love his love for stinky fruits?