After all, it has already been placed on the red list of threatened species by the World Conservation Monitoring Centre.

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Although endemic to Borneo, most Sabahans and Sarawakians I’ve met don’t know about these “tortoise durians” or, durio testudinarum. Likewise, the cluelessness on the Indonesian side of the island, Kalimantan.

Unlike regular durian, the kura kura durian hangs just about ground level from its tree when it fruits. It’s presumed that the fruit’s low-lying position gives credence to its name – even a tortoise can reach it.

Whenever I’ve shown friends pictures of these durians, they’ve always been fascinated by the existence of such a species. Of course, their enthusiasm couldn’t mirror my obsession, and soon, I was itching to “meet” this special durian tree.

Although I regard myself a durian lover, my elevated sugar levels have kept me away from this super delicious king of fruits the past two years.

A Borneo Post report indicated that I could find some kura kura durian trees in Kampung Selanyau, Bekenu Sibuti, about 60km from Miri, Sarawak.

Thanks to my colleague, Stephen Then, who is based in this lovely and famous oil-producing city, the trip was made a little easier since he had mapped out our route into this village.

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You don’t see many signboards like these in the city. Photo: Florence Teh

The two-hour drive wasn’t exactly scenic, but more monotonous with the endless oil palm plantations, although a few “beware of crocodiles” signboards at some river banks immediately caught the attention of this city dude.

Upon reaching the village, we had to stop several times to ask villagers if they knew where these special durian trees were located.

One makcik told me she had tasted the kura kura durian but wasn’t certain if it came from the top of the hill. The hill? Now that was certainly not encouraging.

Continuing our drive along the dusty trail, we once again resorted to stopping to ask for directions, this time from a group of teenagers who swore that no such durians existed in the village. Only regular durians, they said.

The intrepid durian hunter that I am, I wasn’t going to give up, especially since I had flown all the way from Kuala Lumpur to realise this “mission”. If I had to spend the night in a mosquito-infested village, then that’s what I was willing to do.

By this point in the day, Then began to look a little worried as daylight was fast fading, so we needed to find the trees soon.

Finally, we met someone who knew about the trees, and this kind soul was even prepared to lead us to them. We made a pitstop at the village head’s home for a courtesy call since he was the owner of these trees that had grown on his land.

We drove deeper into the jungle until we finally had to stop and continue the journey on foot. As we got closer, I began to feel more optimistic that we’d find these incredible trees, which may just disappear from the face of the Earth soon.

Amazingly, no other villages in Miri has this species of durian.

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Kura kura durian grows at the base of its tree, very close to the ground. Photo: Cikgu Yus

According to a Borneo Post report, Kampung Selanyau JKKK deputy chairman Johnny Mungkil revealed, “visitors from Peninsular Malaysia and overseas come here to get a glimpse of the trees and fruit.”

He said villagers who own the kura kura durian trees include Taib Mawang (three), Sayah Mawan (two), Aspa Yahya (two big trees) and Midah Japar (three).

Apparently, some of the trees are over 50 years old. The tree is unique because it flowers and bears fruit at the lower portion of the trunk. This feature draws visitors in droves to Kampung Selanyau.

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A rare kura kura durian tree at Kampung Selanyau, Bekenu Sibuti in Miri, Sarawak.

Thanks to Cikgu Yus, a teacher whose father owns a piece of land on which a few of these jungle trees stand, I finally saw what the kura kura durian trees looked like.

The trees were not cultivated – they just happened to grow on their land.

Unfortunately for me, by the time I saw them, the season was already almost over, and the fruits left hanging on the trees were still unripe. It was a classic case of so near, yet so far – I found these fruits but had no chance to taste them.

Cikgy Yus could sense my disappointment so, to cheer me up, she showed me some photographs of durians clustered like balls around the base of a tree.

One villager shared that this yellow-flesh durian isn’t as sweet as regular durian and is an acquired taste.

Durian expert Lindsay Gasik has a better description. She wrote: “… this durian has more in common, texture-wise, with a crunchy jackfruit than with durian. It’s brown-sugar sweet, almost like a chico sapote, and each rubbery sec of flesh peels away cleanly from the seed. And it has almost no aroma.”

Like me, she too had travelled to Borneo in search of the fabled fruit, narrating that “a few years ago, I rode a bus over 36 hours, slept on the floor without a mosquito net, contracted both intestinal parasites and some form of dengue, and got held hostage by a tribe upriver, just to find Durian Kura Kura.”

Eventually, she found them at a market in Limbang, a small town in Sarawak adjacent to Brunei.

“Finding durian kura kura in Limbang was annoyingly easy. It almost made me mad. It was just there, at the daily market, sold in a pile like every other random and equally rare fruit.

“Hey, it’s a special durian. So darn worth it because durian kura kura doesn’t taste like durian. It’s weird, and really unique, and finding it was one of the highlights of my durian life so far.”

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Gasik, an American, who writes extensively on durians at yearofthedurian.com wrote: “I had never seen them being sold at a market before. Yet, there they were, just chilling like they’re not one of the most difficult to find durians. Locals have always told me they don’t like them, so they’re not worth going into the jungle to pick them.”

She blogged that her husband, Rob, and her, were lucky to find the kura kura durians twice in Borneo “as it is one of the rarest edible durian species. Many people don’t consider it edible because of the strong, musky odour it has when ripe.

“Yet, the flavour is sweet and juicy, a contrast to the usually heavy durian. That’s reason enough to appreciate this jungle durian.

“Where it gets its fame is that, instead of growing on the branches, these durians sprout from the trunk and roots of the tree.”

Yes, I desperately wanted to taste the fruits, but I wasn’t entirely let down. I was just thrilled that I managed to locate these jungle durian trees. I’ve had my fair share of adventures, but this must be one of the most unusual durian trails.

INSIDE A DARK, low-ceilinged room once frequented by Picasso and Modigliani when they were still struggling artists, a group of tourists from Russia, Canada and Australia are listening to traditional French songs.

This is the Lapin Agile, a small house surrounded by acacia trees which is home to the last cabaret in Montmartre, an iconic neighbourhood perched on a hilltop in the middle of Paris.

But in recent decades, this village-like district of steep, hills and sweeping views has been transformed by the arrival of mass tourism.

Tourists look at the work of painters in Place du Tertre in the Montmartre district of Paris.  Faced with mass tourism and junk souvenirs, the Montmartre neighbourhood tries to preserve its village soul of yesteryear. /AFP

“It’s the last of the traditional cabarets,” says owner Yves Mathieu, grumbling about the proliferation of souvenir shops selling Paris mugs and Eiffel tower key rings clogging the nearby cobblestoned streets.

“I’m 90 years old but I’m not giving up,” he says pointing to the cabaret’s sparse furnishings of plain wooden tables and benches.

Its walls are decorated with copies of works by Pablo Picasso and Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, artists whose original paintings once helped pay for their meals there.

Many folk singers also made their debut here – among them Leo Ferre, Georges Brassens and Charles Aznavour who passed away earlier this month aged 94.

But these days, the top of the hill – “la Butte” – which was once a 19th-century mecca for artists, risks being swamped by industrial-scale international tourism.

Some 12 million tourists tramp up its slopes every year, usually to admire the white-stone Sacre Coeur basilica, the panoramic views of Paris, or to visit the most famous of the French capital’s vineyards.

But the Place du Tertre, a village-like square at the top, is threatening to become some sort of “Disneyland”, says Alain Coquard, president of the self-proclaimed “Republic of Montmartre”, an association set up in 1921 to oppose urban development.

For now, Montmartre hasn’t yet turned into Venice, he says of the historic Italian city which is visited by around 24 million tourists annually every year.

“There is still stuff worth saving,” says Coquard.

But for long-time residents, it’s another story.

“Here, at the top of the Butte, it’s game over,” sighs this 76-year-old, sitting at his usual table in a restaurant once painted by Vincent Van Gogh.

Spiralling rents have driven out ordinary shopkeepers, says Frederic Loup who owns a pharmacy which has been serving local residents since 1927. Today, it is the only local shop left in the area.

“The baker left. The butcher also left. The problem is the rents, which only the souvenir shops can afford,” he says.

Once favoured by penniless artists at the end of the 19th century for its cheap lodgings, Montmartre has seen property prices sky-rocket over the past three decades, with its homes snapped up by the rich and famous.

The Sacre Coeur Basilica in Montmartre in Paris risks being swamped by industrialscale international tourism. /AFP

Already a hit with the tourists, Montmartre won further acclaim when its picturesque streets hit the big screen in 1991 with the release of “Amelie”, a light-hearted romantic comedy which painted a rosy, idealised version of the neighbourhood.

But while the area’s unique charm has caught the attention of stars like Hollywood actor Johnny Depp, locals are moving out.

Thirty years ago, the cost of an apartment was around 1,500 euros (Bt56,300) per square metre.

Today, buyers are looking at 10,000 or even 20,000 euros per square metre, says Brice Moyse who heads Immopolis, an estate agency which specialises in properties in Montmartre.

With such prices, there no chance that any struggling writer or artist could even think of following in the footsteps of Pissarro or Renoir by moving into the district.

Those artists who do work there tend to make a living by rushing off pencil sketches of tourists or more elaborate paintings of city landscapes which they sell to visitors.

But even they fear being chased away.

Much of the artwork in local tourist shops is made in China and sold at bargain prices.

“They are forgers, parasites!” fumes street artist Midani M’Barki, referring to the Chinese competition.

M’Barki, who heads the Paris-Montmartre artists’ association, also rails against the way local cafes and restaurants have increasingly taken over the pavements, squeezing out painters.

A recent bylaw gives street artists the right to ply their trade on the pavements, but the space taken by restaurant tables and chairs has expanded.

“We’re now in the gutter and the terraces are thriving,” says M’Barki who has worked in the area since 1970.

“We should be given half the space,” he says angrily.

“If we don’t get it, we’ll leave. And without us, there won’t be any Montmartre.”