Rajshahi Division, Bangladesh

There is a certain beauty in chaos. Watching starlings flock over the fields of southern England or the endless ribbon of 5 million bats leaving Deer Cave in Malaysia showcases how individuals following a discreet set of rules can turn what should be a total shit fight into a thing of magnificent wonder. The manic streets of Dhaka are similar in many respects, it is a shining example of humanity doing its thing and when viewed from a distance it must be poetry in motion. Dhaka however is not a city to be viewed from a distance, it is a city to be experienced at point blank range, in all its visceral glory, but make sure you know the rules before stepping out...

Salahuddin told me that Bangladeshi’s do not follow the rules. Perhaps not the governments laws and regulations, but the laws of physics and the rules of the street are strictly adhered to. It breaks down like this. The bigger, louder and faster you are the greater your right of way. Hence, the buses are top dog and lords of the road. The extensive damage done to these buses is not caused by them crashing into something else, no, it is done by the ‘something else’ being in breach of the rules and failing to get out of the way in time.

Right at the bottom of the heap, the single celled protozoa of street life is the lowly pedestrian. To be a pedestrian in Dhaka requires 360 degree vision, a head on a swivel and the reflexes and agility of a cat. Crossing the road inspires devout belief in an almighty and prayers are sure to help, though not with closed eyes!

In between these two extremes is a broad spectrum of lifeforms, the most numerous of these is the rickshaw which, here in Bangladesh is the traditional cycle rickshaw and very numerous indeed. The Lonely Planet guide tells us that there are upwards of half a million of these on the streets of Dhaka and I don’t doubt that this is a serious underestimation of their numbers but, whose counting?

Bangladesh is certainly not a popular tourist destination and as such provides the would be traveller with a very sharp double edged sword upon which to fling themselves. On the plus side it is unspoiled by the masses, you can’t get a chicken burger or a banana pancake here for love nor money, if you know what I mean. As you stroll through the utterly magical streets of old Dhaka another “foreign” face in the crowd at any time at all will be a big surprise. All this lends it a brilliant undiscovered land feel. It is so far off the beaten track that the true romantic essence of travel, long since lost to the rest of the world, can be had here in abundance.

The downside is that the romance comes at a price. For sure this is not a financial price, where else in the world can you find a hotel room for 2 pound a night or eat a sensational 3 course meal for 2 for less than a quid. Apologies, there I go again talking about the positives. The price is that travel here is not comfortable. The hotel rooms at 2 quid a night are not particularly nice, unless stained sheets and ammonia toilets are your idea of a good time. Even if you wanted to spend more, it is unlikely you’d be able to find a more expensive place to stay in, outside of the big cities at any rate, options are pretty limited.

As mentioned before, the food is great but even the cleanest of restaurants here would get a spit and sawdust reputation back home. Navigating the streets is not just suicidal, there is also the gaping, sewage filled holes, the stench of stale piss and the insane sari clad eunuch beggars cum muggers to avoid; a veritable minefield of less than pleasant experiences.

Worse than all of that however is the nationwide staring contest, if taken to the Olympics I am sure Bangladesh would win gold, silver and bronze in this event. Dhaka is not too bad for this, you can, of sorts, get lost in the big city. In Bogra however, our first point of call outside the capital, there didn’t seem to be anywhere to hide, everybody stares. At first it is quite comical but before long it can become quite disconcerting and eventually down right unsettling. Now, you might think I am over exaggerating things here by saying “everyone”  stares, and you are right, out of the thousands upon thousands of people out on the streets there is probably a few dozen that don’t stare, the rest though, they are well up for checking us out at great length. Much of the staring is also of the really intense type, the kind you would expect from Hannibal Lecter as he ponders which of your eyeballs he is going to eat first. Heaven knows why their stares look so intimidating however as cracking a big fat smile in their direction almost always has them reciprocating with a wide grin and a cheery wave. Although, it has to be said this is not always the case.

Along with the staring comes the numerous people who shout out from the crowd “What is your country?”, the smaller group that follows you for a brief one sided conversation as they try out their standard phrases and an even smaller number that want you to engage them as your tour guide. Altogether it is the kind of place that can take you out of your comfort zone in the blink of an eye.

Along with the wobbly moments of these early days where I think, what have I done coming here for one month, how on earth am I going to cope, this is too much; there are also plenty of moments of pure magic. The number of people that go out of their way to assist us across the road through the murderous traffic, the waiters who are so eager to please and are thrilled that we love Bangladeshi food, the english speakers who stop to assist with translation regarding directions for a rickshaw driver and the total strangers who give up their afternoons to escort us around their city with pride. In the end it is a roller coaster of ups and downs, intense during both swings of the arc. I am pretty sure that when we leave Bangladesh it won’t be with the kind of relaxed feeling with which we left Fort Cochin, this is not the place to come if you want to unwind. More than any other place, Bangladesh seems to be about the journey rather than the destination. It is about the experiences rather than the sights and above all it will be about the indelible memories, the kind that can only be achieved by being pushed to the outer limits of your comfort zone by such a challenging place and then being pulled back inside by the warmth of a strangers guiding help and quick smile. Utterly spellbinding.

Dr Jones beckoned us on to Dinajpur, the jumping off point for Kantanagar Temple, a remote Hindu temple that promised to be worth the epic journey to find it. Almost all of Bangladesh’s must see archaeological sights in the north have no infrastructure set up to help you get to them. We had already failed to get out to either of the significant sights near Bogra as we had been too tired and too stressed to bother with all the effort. Heading up country so soon after arriving had proven to be a bit too much of a head spin for us both. From our hotel in Dinajpur we decided to walk to the bus station, it was further, noisier, dustier and more stressful than it looked on the map. With tickets finally in hand we gratefully boarded a bus heading in the right direction. Half an hour later we were ushered off with the conductor pointing into the fields to the west of the road. In a cloud of dust, noise and diesel fumes the bus roared off, leaving us standing a little shellshocked by the wayside. We followed a sandy track through a cutting down to a wide flood plain and crossed over a river on a rickety bamboo bridge. Through a village ripped by dust devils we pressed on, scarves wrapped firmly over our mouth and nose till we arrived at a junction with a surfaced road and several ways on. We asked at a roadside tea shack for directions, certain we were in the wrong place. After bemused looks and much shouting at each other in Bengali we were pointed to a building behind us. At this distance from the bland walls we had just walked past and from this direction, unobscured by the trees, we could clearly see the top of an obviously very old and very impressive building, cue embarrassing feelings of stupidity.

Sights like this are always a gamble. Some make an impression on you, others do not. I am not a Taj Mahal man but I am a Potala Palace man, don’t know why, that is just the way it is. Would this small pile of bricks in a dusty corner of Bangladesh be worth the journey to find it, I held my breath. The answer came as we stepped through the doorway into the courtyard and saw the temple in full for the first time… wow… lasting impression made instantaneously.

The visual effect of the temple was immediate and arresting. I was rooted to the spot by awe whilst my eyes scanned the surface which is entirely covered in intricate carvings. Built from earth tone red bricks the structure rises almost organically out of the dusty yellow ground and certainly does evoke images of fedora wearing, bullwhip toting archaeologists.

The overall effect is not dominating or overpowering, the relatively small size of this temple keeps it in touch with humanity, but it maintains a solid and dignified stance apart from the material world, elevated as it is on a raised stage.

As I move closer I am able to appreciate its depth of beauty as the building reveals its various levels of detail. Face to face the extent of this is staggering. Each brick is a mini diorama of delight featuring the demons, horses, archers, monkeys, boats and lovers who have been playing out their endless story over the past 250 years since the building was completed.

So, would I say it was worth the journey?

No, I'd say the journey was worthy of the prize. All the better that this gem is secreted away up here on a road to nowhere. The mystique and adventure of getting here are as much a part of this place as its undeniable aesthetic qualities. Each complements the other creating an experience that in total is much greater than the sum of its parts.

We are now in Rajshahi and hoping to go to Puthia tomorrow, another hidden treasure of this country.