THE first thing I hear is a crack — sharp, fibrous, unmistakably alive. Somewhere to my right, another follows, heavier this time, as a staff member expertly prises open a durian behind a counter. The husk gives way with a deep, woody split, and almost immediately, the smell begins to spread — thick, sweet, and impossible to ignore.

Around me, the hall is already in motion. Workers weave through clusters of visitors carrying trays of freshly opened fruit, their hands steady beneath the weight of golden flesh. Familiar Malay songs drift from hidden speakers overhead. Some people are eating, others photographing, many simply standing still, as though unsure whether to move or linger.

It feels less like a museum than something close to a ritual.

And yet this is KLDEX — the Kuala Lumpur Durian Experience — a space built around Malaysia’s most contested, celebrated and unmistakable fruit — the durian.

Spread across 20,451 square feet beside Tourism Malaysia’s headquarters in Kuala Lumpur, the attraction is part museum, part immersive theatre, part cultural exhibition space and part dining destination.

KLDEX seeks to tell a story that stretches far beyond orchards and harvest seasons. It’s rather fitting as Malaysians in general, do have a curious relationship with durian.

We argue over which variety reigns supreme. We plan road trips around harvest season. We instinctively know how to identify a good fruit with a gentle shake and a sniff.

Yet, for all our collective obsession, most of us know remarkably little about the story behind the fruit itself.

Who named Musang King?

Why is Malaysia so fiercely protective of its durian heritage?

And how did a fruit that naturally belongs to Southeast Asia become so deeply intertwined with our national identity?

These are hardly the questions I expect to find myself contemplating as I step inside Kuala Lumpur’s newest durian-centric attraction. I arrive anticipating something far lighter: a novelty museum filled with playful displays, Instagram-friendly corners and the obligatory shelves of durian-themed souvenirs.

Instead, I find myself on an unexpectedly enlightening journey through history, geography, agriculture and identity.

PRESERVING STORIES

At the centre of it all is Enzo Sim, KLDEX’s chief curator and public relations manager, a history and international politics researcher with a long-standing interest in heritage and colonial-era Southeast Asia. He is also the man shaping the attraction’s narrative — one that stretches far beyond fruit.

Just six months ago, this entire site was little more than an empty plot of land.

“When I came here, it was totally flat land. There was nothing here,” says the bespectacled Sim, sweeping a hand across the space as though tracing the transformation in the air.

Today, that vacant ground has become a fully immersive attraction complete with galleries, performance spaces, interactive installations, a café, retail outlets and even a theatre where specially written durian-themed productions invite visitors to become part of the story.

The speed of the transformation is striking. But for Sim, the urgency is about more than creating another tourist attraction. It is about preserving stories.

“When foreign tourists tell me Musang King comes from Thailand, I am shocked,” he exclaims, adding: “That really strengthened my resolve to do this museum and document these stories.”

His concern is understandable.

Today, famous Malaysian varieties such as Musang King and Black Thorn are increasingly cultivated beyond Malaysia’s borders. While agricultural exchange is inevitable, Sim believes Malaysia must safeguard the stories behind these varieties before they become detached from their origins.

And stories, he insists, are what matter most.

Visitors do not simply walk into KLDEX. They are handed a passport — a durian passport, to be precise. Available for purchase at the entrance, it can be stamped at different stations throughout the museum, turning the journey into something participatory rather than observational.

Shares Sim: “This is an immersive theatre as well as a museum. We want people to interact, not just observe.”

In an age shaped by shrinking attention spans and endless scrolling, KLDEX leans heavily into immersion — touchscreens, theatrical performances, curated photo spots and interactive installations designed to pull visitors into the narrative rather than simply present information.

Passionately, Sim says: “History cannot just sit behind glass anymore. It has to be experienced.”

UNITING ASEAN

And so begins a journey that stretches from ancient civilisations and maritime explorers to modern-day orchards, artificial intelligence and Malaysia’s ambitions for the future of its durian industry.

The first gallery transports visitors far beyond modern Malaysia.

On one wall are motifs inspired by relief carvings from Borobudur, the ninth-century Buddhist monument in Central Java built during the Sailendra dynasty. Some interpretations suggest that spiky fruit-like forms depicted in the carvings may represent durians, offering what could be among the earliest visual references to the fruit in Southeast Asian civilisation.

Whether definitive or not, the exhibit makes a compelling point. Durian existed long before the borders that today divide Southeast Asia into modern nation states. Sim deliberately frames the museum as Asean-centred rather than narrowly nationalistic.

“I wanted this to be an Asean community space,” he shares, adding: “Durian is a fruit that unites the entire Asean community.”

Long before Malaysia, Indonesia or Thailand existed in their present forms, the people of the Nusantara traded, travelled and lived within a shared cultural and ecological landscape where durian was already part of daily life.

Yet while KLDEX embraces a regional perspective, it is equally determined to protect Malaysia’s place within that story. That mission becomes particularly evident in a section dedicated to historical records.

Many Malaysians recognise the name Admiral Zheng He. Fewer know Ma Huan, the translator and chronicler who accompanied him on several voyages to Melaka in the 15th century. In his work Yingya Shenglan (The Overall Survey of the Ocean’s Shores), Ma Huan documented local customs, products and observations from the ports he visited. Among them was durian.

His description was memorably unflattering. According to Sim, Ma Huan compared its smell to rotten beef. In other words, foreigners have been struggling to explain durian for more than six centuries.

Elsewhere, visitors encounter European explorers and scholars who introduced durian to the Western world. Italian traveller Niccolò de’ Conti, Portuguese apothecary Tome Pires, physician Garcia de Orta and naturalist Georg Eberhard Rumphius all documented the fruit in various ways, gradually embedding it within European records.

The lesson is simple but profound: durian was never merely a fruit growing quietly in orchards. It was a travelling ambassador of Southeast Asia.

SCIENCE AND HISTORY BEHIND DURIAN

The museum also delves into the science behind the king of fruits.

Interactive displays explain that there are around 30 recognised species within the Durio genus, though only a handful are commonly consumed. The most familiar is Durio zibethinus, the species from which celebrated varieties, such as Musang King and Black Thorn descend.

Some lesser-known species continue to grow wild in forests and mountainous regions, occasionally incorporated into traditional practices and cooking by Orang Asli communities.

Then comes one of the museum’s biggest revelations — Musang King was not always Musang King.

Its original registered name was Raja Kunyit, a reference to its vibrant turmeric-yellow flesh. As the variety gained commercial prominence and international appeal, the now globally recognised name Musang King emerged.

Within this story are figures associated with its early cultivation and rise, including Tina Chong, who is widely linked to the development and promotion of Musang King orchards in Gua Musang at a time when the industry remained overwhelmingly male-dominated.

The other is Wee Chong Beng, widely regarded as one of the key figures responsible for preserving, propagating and ultimately registering the durian variety that would later become known worldwide as Musang King

For Sim, these are precisely the kinds of stories worth preserving. “I don’t want people like Tina Chong or Wee Chong Beng to be forgotten by history. They are the real pioneers,” points out Sim.

That sentiment echoes throughout the exhibition.

One section draws on oral histories surrounding Chong Chun Seng, an early Kapitan China figure in Kelantan. According to descendants, he is believed to have planted a mother tree of Raja Kunyit in Tanah Merah in 1790.

The original tree was later lost during major floods in the 1970s, but its lineage survived through subsequent cultivation. Like so much of heritage itself, the original may disappear, but its descendants endure.

BENCHMARK FOR EXCELLENCE

Perhaps no installation distils Malaysian durian culture quite as effectively as the simulated durian drop. Every few minutes, a mature replica fruit breaks away from its branch and falls gently into a net below. The display is deceptively simple, yet it illustrates a cultivation practice that many local growers regard as the hallmark of quality.

Rather than harvesting fruits prematurely, growers typically allow durians to mature fully on the tree and detach naturally before collection. The emphasis is on flavour rather than speed.

“Malaysia is known for superior-quality durians rather than quantity,” explains Sim, tone laced with pride.

Today, the country boasts more than 200 registered durian varieties. China, meanwhile, has become the world’s largest consumer market. And demand continues to soar.

Yet Sim believes the industry still lacks something important — a recognised benchmark for excellence.

“Tea has one. Coffee has one. Durian doesn’t,” he says, simply. His vision is to eventually establish grading systems and tasting standards similar to those used in vineyards, tea plantations and specialty coffee industries around the world.

Technology is already reshaping the sector. Interactive exhibits showcase how artificial intelligence is helping farmers predict rainfall, monitor environmental conditions and optimise fertiliser usage. Ancient agricultural practices are increasingly intersecting with modern data and precision farming.

For Sim, this evolution is not a contradiction. It is a necessity because a living culture requires a living narrative.

As we near the end of the tour, I ask him what he hopes visitors will remember 50 years from now.

Surprisingly, his answer has little to do with durian itself.

“I want them to remember Malaysia as one of the most unique countries in the world,” replies Sim, tone solemn. A pause ensues before he continues: “Because at the end of the day, durian is just a food commodity. What makes it interesting are all the stories behind it.”

And perhaps that is KLDEX’s greatest achievement.

A MUSEUM ABOUT US

It takes something familiar — something often reduced to flavour, price and seasonal demand — and reveals it for what it truly is: a story shaped by centuries of migration, trade, labour, innovation, memory and identity.

We often celebrate the fruit itself while overlooking the countless hands that shaped its journey — from the farmers and pioneers who devoted their lives to cultivation, to the communities, historians and generations of Malaysians who ensured its stories endured.

By the time I leave KLDEX, I realise I have been wrong all along.

This is not really a museum about durian; it is a museum about us. And maybe that’s why it really works.

Because for all the debates over whether Musang King is superior to Black Thorn, whether the season has become too expensive, or whether durian smells heavenly or horrific, the fruit remains one of the few things capable of transcending race, language and background.

In that sense, durian may be Malaysia’s most democratic food. Everyone has a story about it. And now, thanks to KLDEX, there is a place dedicated to ensuring those stories are not forgotten.