Belated Bangladesh

The below excerpt was started some time ago whilst we were still in Bangladesh. For no good reason I have been tardy in finishing it. Although I have been brought back safely to my comfort zone here in Nepal, I still want to put this post up as a reminder of our/my experiences there. It was an adventure unlike any I have ever experienced!

A few words on Bangladesh. Sitting in our cabin aboard the Rocket I finally have the time and peace and quiet to gather my thoughts. The gentle hum of the steamer as it heads up river may well put me to sleep before I finish writing, no matter. Rich has filled you in on many of the details of our crazy journey through this mad country as I have remained silent trying to come to terms with our surroundings. I have to say I am feeling rather shell shocked. This country is utterly bonkers! I have never felt such a vast range of emotions in such a short space of time and in quick succession to one another. I think the best way to describe the experience of the past 3 weeks is to liken it to that of being on a roller coaster.

I have been fond of the thrill of the ride since I was very little, in fact it would be fair to say I had no fear and was always front of the queue. As I have grown older, and become more aware of my own mortality, I have found the experience much more daunting. First is the anticipation, the heady mix of excitement and fear as you wait to board. Your heart beats faster and your pulse quickens, your palms start to sweat. Once strapped in, you check the over head harness once and then twice to make sure it has engaged securely with the catch. Slowly the train leaves the safety of the platform and you realise there is no going back. Ahead lies the first steep ascent of track, which is taken at a painfully slow speed, this allows you time to consider what you have done and what you are about to experience. As you reach the top of the climb your stomach is full to bursting with butterflies and your breathing is urgent and shallow, the carriage teeters on the edge of oblivion until you can almost take no more. Then without warning the carriage plummets, leaving your stomach behind and your body pinned to the seat as you twist and turn defying gravity as you go. Delighted to still be of this world, you have only moments to recognise this fact before the train speeds off again to whisk you upside down and loop the loop. A few more twists and turns and then finally a gentle amble along some timid track brings you back to the haven of the platform. The ride is over almost before it began. You disembark wobbly legged, fuzzy of head and perhaps slightly nauseous, but definitely glad to be back on solid ground.

Reading back through my diary entries for Bangladesh I am both amused and bemused by the range of moods and emotions I have felt. To be honest I feel like I have had an intense work out session and am now sitting head in hands on the bench trying to catch my breath. I have hated and loved this country, not quite in equal parts! I have been pushed to the very edge of my comfort zone, although this could yet still be tested…

We have met some wonderfully genuine people, and many not so. I can’t help but chuckle to myself at my naivety in thinking this country would be similar to our experience of India. Gone are the reassuring head wobbles and warm smiles, instead we are met wherever we go with intense staring that is less of a novelty and rather more disconcerting. As a closet feminist I have found the ‘equality’ in a largely Muslim country more than a little tiring, I wonder how the women here really feel about their ‘place’. I have often felt like sticking out my tongue or raising a finger at an enquiring gent who entreats Rich, the ‘Sir, sir’, and ignores my presence as that of a dumb mute. It has become difficult to remain polite at the near constant entreaties for our country and occupation. I have had to bite my tongue a fair few times as Rich is asked ‘…..and who is She?’ as a thumb gestures over a shoulder in my direction whilst I trot obediently behind my good husband. If I am not being stared at with confused disbelief that I should be allowed to accompany Rich on his travels, then I am being leered at as if I am touting myself in nothing but my knickers in a window in Amsterdam. I am actually very well covered and my shape is disguised beneath layers of loose fabric. I should have been expecting all of the above, as on our first night in Bangladesh whilst we checked in to the Hotel Cairo I was told that I was lucky. The reason for this apparently was that I should have managed to snare a younger gent, me being 33 years and Rich only 31. I nodded in agreement to communicate my humble and grateful understanding of this most unusual and unlikely situation.

At the risk of sounding patronising and cliche, the level of poverty and over population is quite breath taking. Daily we are clung on to by dirty but very cute young children, some expertly carrying younger siblings on their hips as a mother would. They know what they need to do to survive and they go about their task with heart breaking skill. The divide between the rich and poor here is a gaping ravine. We have taken to eating in the cosmopolitan area of Gulshan whilst in Dhaka. This is a sign of our weakness as our taste for for porotta and oily vegetable curry for breakfast, lunch and dinner has waned. Whilst we feast on pizza or burritos in a sterilized air conditioned capsule, outside the dust and dirt ridden babies scramble amongst the debris to scavenge whatever morsel they can. We eat beside Bangladesh’s slickly attired hip elite who catch up on the gossip with one another whilst expertly taking calls, texting and checking Facebook from their hand helds, just like any other youths in a cosmopolitan city.  They leave the restaurant and make it to their flashy 4 x 4’s untouched and blinded to the tiny begging hands.

Often we are told that Bangladesh is a very poor country, either by a rickshaw driver or a fruit stall holder. This much is obvious. Although the streets are strewn with rubbish as there seems to be no official means of refuse collection, the Bangladeshis waste nothing. Every item is treasured and carefully mended or stripped of its reusable parts. Disposable is not a term they know here. The humble coconut provides a huge variety of needs. It is a drink, a snack, the husk is used to scrub bathing elephants, the fibre is used to stuff mattresses, make rope and floor mats with. I am sure it is used for more still.

During our travels in Asia we have witnessed the imbalance of ‘work’ ethic between male and female more than once. There always seems to be a large group of chaps gathered at a tea stall, or around a radio with a few beers, whilst the women tend the crops/house/children/washing... the list goes on. Bangladesh seems no exception, there are the usual collection of gents who while away the day drinking tea and scratching their crotches, but for the most part the working class seem to be working very hard indeed. This is never more apparent than with the rickshaw drivers, who even once they have fleeced you for more than the going rate, will shift our bums from one side of the city to another for little more than a few pennies. If you were to watch a satellite clip of Bangladesh I am sure it would resemble armies of ants, busily and skillfully going about their work, from dawn until well after dusk. Although the locals seem fiercely aware of the many difficulties and flawed systems in their land, they are keen to let you know how proud they are of it and to extend us their ‘famous’ Bangladesh hospitality.

Taking any form of public transport is terrifying and yet strangely exhilarating, especially when you make it to your destination in one piece. Having a driving license and good working knowledge of the highway code as we know it does not seem to be a requirement to allow you control of any vehicle. Expert command of the horn though is a must for survival. I am sure my hearing may have been permanently impaired. I am impressed though by the variety of tunes and ditties the horn can be, there must be a thriving market here for horn downloads, much like mobile phone ringtones. Lane traffic control does not exist, although there are markings on the road should anyone ever decide this may be a sensible avenue to explore.

So what else to say? I could go on, but I think you get the picture. It was a wild 3 weeks, I am not pretending I am glad we were there instead of exploring the pink, blue or gold cities of Rajasthan, but in hindsight it was definitely a character building experience. Even through the tears there were some awesome moments which I will treasure. Further exploiting the cliches, I really am thankful that I have choices that I do and hope I can take this with me.