The traveler's blues

The day had started badly. An email informed me that a scheduled transaction with my credit card had been declined. I'd had problems the day before, issues I had to resolve without delay. Then, I struggle with the heat, and here it's a heatwave 365 days a year, and then all the negative aspects of my day started piling up to the point where I considered making a chart about it. In short, a blue that was turning black.

The credit card issue was resolved quickly, a suspicious transaction, and the service was impeccable despite it being Saturday night at my bank, here it's Sunday morning.

Instead of going to have lunch next door at the chapatis which cost nothing, I'd rather go across the street for eggs Benedict, cappuccino and why not a second one in the air conditioning.

I had planned to visit the Petronas Twin Towers. Picturesque neighborhoods are all well and good, but Asia is becoming the world's economic engine, and I'm in one of the cities experiencing phenomenal growth. These twin towers are a reflection of that. Another reason draws me to these buildings, which I find ugly compared to those they have, in a way, replaced: the World Trade Center in New York. I've only been there once, and that was with my dear friend Raoul, who has since passed away. I always associate him with this complex and its tragic fate. Moreover, he's central to this trip: I'm going to attend his son's wedding in La Réunion. So, off to the twin towers I go.

Access is through a mega shopping mall teeming with a diverse crowd. Good idea, I'll hang out there and see what they buy, plus it's nice and air-conditioned. I head to the ticket office only to find that the towers are fully booked for the day. In the vast, deserted entrance hall—it's Sunday, after all—a piano resonates with the rather primitive but pleasant touch of an elderly Chinese man, under the smiling gaze of the security guard and a Formula One car mounted on the wall. An atmosphere of surprising eclecticism that I find quite appealing.

Then there's the shopping center with its high-end boutiques, others that you find in every major city, and a section offering the latest electronic gadgets: drones, microphones, mini-cameras. I barely manage to resist and settle for an Ipen to replace the one I lost, sold for 35% less than in Montreal.

Since I don't drink alcohol, I can indulge in a sweet treat and I order a plate of fruit with a dark chocolate fondue. A couple sits at the next table. The woman's face is completely covered by a black veil, and she has to lift it to eat her ice cream cone with a spoon. When they leave, I notice that her husband has several bags from high-end boutiques, including one from Victoria's Secret.

I'm hanging around the mall, partly because the daily downpour outside is dragging on forever. But the sky finally clears, and I head back to the hostel by a different route, where I stumble upon the durian festival. Durian, that stinky fruit, is a hot topic of conversation, and trying it was on my shortlist of things to do.

It's huge, crowded, and they're offering a free portion to the first arrivals. They stamp my hand to prevent abuse, and then I'm entitled to the holy grail. The enormous fruit contains creamy flesh surrounding its pit. Once opened, it gives off such a strong odor that it's forbidden to eat it in public places and hotels.

It has a scent, but not overpowering, and it's not particularly unpleasant. The fruit is yellowish and creamy in texture. Its taste is similar to caramel, but less sweet, more subtle, with a vanilla aftertaste and an oriental touch, I would say. Very pleasant.

Inside the building, which resembles a large sugar shack, long tables are occupied by groups in a relaxed, family atmosphere. At the center of the tables are durians, some more whole than others. Near the entrance, a team is busy preparing the fruit. Those opening the shells skillfully wield machetes to crack them open and extract the tender flesh. Further on, several kiosks offer various preparations, including the famous Portuguese pastel de nata, but with durian, of course. On the mezzanine, there's a rather kitschy art exhibition on the theme.

Just as I was about to end my visit, a middle-aged Chinese man greeted me and struck up a conversation, inviting me to share some fruit. A little hesitant, I accepted. He turned out to be very enthusiastic and talkative, asking me questions about my trip. He was with his son and daughter-in-law. "Are you alone?" "Yes, where is your wife?" "In Canada. She's coming to join me in France. I'm taking a short break." His daughter-in-law took the opportunity to add that she too would like to take a short break and go backpacking solo in Japan. The atmosphere was friendly and very pleasant. He was of Chinese descent; his father was born there, but he was born here, 100% Malaysian. "Have you ever been to China?" "You must go. There's so much to see, the people are incredibly welcoming, and it's very safe. Several times, I left my bag lying around for hours, and without fail, it was still there. Wasn't the language too difficult?" No, now with phone translators it's easy. After exchanging photos and long handshakes, I continue on my way.

My morning blues had dissipated.

https://youtu.be/ZxnKOePKVRQ?si=ftKgesrFhaqCzzFa