A bunch of us took what in college we would have called a roadtrip to an eastern Thai province, where the specialty is tree fruit. As we would have said during college, we grubbed. Morning, noon, and night, the menu called for durian, rambutan, and mangosteen. These delicacies have a relatively short season, so you have to get them while the getting is good.
A friend from work has a friend who has an orchard, so we went straight to the source and dove in. All of our senses quickly overloaded.
It rained quite hard. We watched the downpour from beneath a classic Thai-style house, built on stilts. The “ceiling” above us was just high enough to accommodate the cab of a pickup truck. We stooped. Diesel oil mixed with fresh-picked fruit to create an odd fragrance. The durian tasted like cake frosting.
After dark, we clubbed. Unintelligible lyrics pulsed in time with some cleverly wired spotlights. The projectors were mounted on spinning, twisting gyroscopes. 
Nobody danced—today’s Thai hipsters prefer standing at tall tables, shimmying slightly, pretending they can hear each other. Rather than talking, I found it easier to send text messages to the people across from me.
Prices in the provinces were only half what we pay in
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