Whitey Got Taka, Welcome To Dhaka (Bangladesh)

Dec 19th, 2009 - As far as international airports go the one in Kathmandu is absurdly undersized. I noticed this on my way in and was reminded on my way out. Nepal wants 2011 to be the ‘Year of Tourism’ but I think they might have an issue with the one million or so tourists they hope will pour into the country during that time. Good luck.

On the GMG Airlines flight from Kathmandu to Dhaka, Bangladesh I was upgraded to business class. This is no surprise for a man of my stature and obvious sophistication. Although ‘business’ class is nothing more than economy class’ older brother the extra leg room was most welcome. I get the feeling that just about every western tourist receives this upgrade as we are a scarce commodity. The folks across the aisle were from France. There were a few unlucky white folk in the rear so perhaps I do have ‘the look’ after all.

I was treated to a natural light show of sorts on the short flight to Dhaka. Much of Bangladesh is covered with alluvial plains and is a child’s scribble drawing of rivers and streams. As we flew above the clouds in the late afternoon the sun was highlighting small portions of this landscape through a light mist of clouds (pollution?). The landscape was barely discernible except for the potions lit with the reddish-orange rays of sunlight. As we progressed the sun followed and lit up small strips of water as it chased us. The visual effect of the light striking the rivers and waterways was remarkable. I was mesmerized. It was a bit like staring at a heart monitor while tripping on acid or some sort of psychedelic alien world chain lightning. Beautiful. Hypnotic. Simple. An unexpected treasure that felt like mine and no one else’s.

I breezed through the exceeding friendly immigration desk, found my checked baggage had actually made the trip with me, and headed out for the taxi fare negotiation extravaganza. The prices started at “bend me over” and gradually eased down to “gentle screwing”. I probably could have done better but I did not have the energy for full blown negotiations.

Wandering (Dhaka, Bangladesh)

Dec 21^st, 2009 - Making your way around Dhaka takes a fair degree of mental fortitude. Patience is an invaluable commodity, a dearth of which might put a serious dent in your sanity. I decided to go for a stroll through Old Dhaka so after breakfast I hailed a taxi (a baby taxi or 'CNG' to be precise). Although these three wheeled circus taxis have meters I’ve discovered that few drivers have any desire whatsoever to use them, especially with foreign interlopers. I guess if they have to maneuver through traffic all the way to the old city (30-40 minutes) they need some incentive. I considered taking a rickshaw but they appeared to want an exorbitant sum. Now I understand why. In addition to the distance, riding a rickshaw across the city would be borderline suicidal as the route takes you through the lion’s den of motorized traffic.

The day after my arrival I spoke with a policeman who told me that the streets were ‘empty’ due to a holiday. Friday begins the weekend here as in other Muslim countries. Empty? The definition of empty is apparently defined by a lack of chaotic insanity. Want fun? Stuff yourself into a caged Bangladeshi baby taxi and let the good times roll. Claustrophobia would not be an asset. Through the caged doorways you can catch glimpses of the festival outside. Buses, cars, motorcycles, rickshaws, and baby taxis swerving every which way while jockeying for position. Negative space is anathema. Fill it all. And, like always, gratuitous use of your horn is mandatory regardless of utility. Every bus you see resembles a recent contestant in a demolition derby as dents, chips, scratches, and missing chunks are a permanent part of the ornamentation. I’ve read that the accident rate here is the statistical equivalent of “not if but when”, especially on buses. Combine that with the palpable nature of the air and you have a very pleasant, if not unique, experience.

How about a leisurely stroll? Nuh-uh. Sidewalks are not in the best of condition, assuming there is one. More often than not you find yourself walking in the road weaving in between vehicles and rickshaws. Only some sort of magician could manage to walk in a straight line. Rickshaw drivers love to pull up right in front of you thereby impeding your lie of progress and exclaim, “Rickshaw?” You either maneuver around them or give them the “It’s your move Skippy” penetrating glance usually to no avail.

Coincidence & A Bottle of Whiskey (Dhaka, Bangladesh)

Dec 26^th, 2009 - Pretty sure this Christmas will live on in the annuls of my memory. So far I would have to say that Bangladesh's most prized asset is its people. Friendliness is an intricate part of the national psyche especially when dealing with foreigners. There may be (but not always) an expectation of reward but this does not necessarily detract from congenial alacrity with which they assist anyone in need. I met a man on the street by the name of Shaiful (at least I think that is his name) who introduced himself to me and so began a pleasant conversation. I can confidentially say that I understood at least sixty percent of what he said.

He told me of his American friend (Mathias, whose name he had written in his cell phone) and his fondness for befriending foreigners. I informed him that I was interested in learning a bit of Bengali and he mentioned that he would very much like to practice his English. It became slightly uncomfortable when he began speaking of the dire employment situation in Dhaka and how he was currently unemployed. His troubles were compounded I was told by the missing out of a recent employment opportunity due to a prolonged about of Dengue Fever. There was then some ambiguous offer to become my personal assistant. Truth be told it was hard not to warm up to the guy and although I was a bit hesitant we exchanged phone numbers. I told him I would be traveling soon so perhaps we could meet in the future. He then began calling and texting every day for the next three days. I am bit ashamed to say that I dodged his calls, not so much because I did not want to speak to him or even meet up for a language exchange but because I was preoccupied with sorting out the details of my Sundarbans extravaganza.

The above was a bit of background, as is this. A couple of nights before I left Nepal I met an American woman who had been volunteering in Kathmandu. After a brief conversation I discovered that she too was going to go Bangladesh a week after I arrived. An exchange of e-mails ensued along with the promise to hook up once she arrived in Dhaka.

I had given her my cell number and yesterday she gave me a call. So with my English pal Alex in tow we went to meet her. She soon informed me that she had been walking along the street in Dhaka when a gentleman approached her and instigated a conversation. After discovering she was from America he informed her that he had two American friends to include a tall American named Richard. As she had my number she asked to borrow his phone. Imagine her surprise when she saw the number in his phone listed as 'Richard - USA'. This just happened to be the same guy (Shaiful) I had met three days earlier. The thing is when she called me the number came up as 'Shaiful' so I did not answer as I was not in the mood for a difficult explanation on the reasons why I could not meet him on that day. Not two minutes later, from another phone, she again rang. This time I picked up immediately. Now imagine how poor Shaiful might have been feeling when right after receiving no answer from his phone I immediately answer when receiving a call from another number. Oops.I felt like an a-hole.

It was time for lunch so we headed off to a restaurant Alex and I had discovered two days before. As we were walking Shaiful called once again. This time I answered and immediately had to explain why I did not answer my phone previously. That settled he then informed me that he was bored and requested to join us. Sensing the awkward potential of such a meeting I once again engaged in a bit of prevarication by telling him I was preparing for my journey and had not the time to meet him. I did say that we could get together when I returned from my journey. Karma can be a real bitch.

Not two minutes after sitting down in the restaurant guess who happens to pop in. I suspect he was in the area and spotted us entering the restaurant. More awkwardness. He told me that he was meeting a friend there but it was clear that he was employing a bit of subterfuge. He also said something about dropping off his resume somewhere to which I wished him luck in his job search. He then asked for my e-mail and mentioned something about people helping people. After handing him my e-mail he then informed me that he would be forwarding his resume to me. I am not exactly sure what he thinks I will be able to do for him but I guess you never know. In a way it is a bit sad as I wish there was some way I could help. Perhaps, when I return to Dhaka I may be able to assist him in one way or another.

And then came the liquor expedition. My friend Alex and I thought a bit of whiskey might be a nice New Years Eve treat while sitting on a boat in the mangrove waiting for a tiger to pounce on us. Problem is, alcohol is not so easy to come by in Muslim Bangladesh. Options are a bit limited. It is available at premium hotels (like the Sheraton for instance) for an exorbitant sum. There are warehouse type establishments that do sell spirits to those with a foreign passport but it was Friday, their holy day, so that was out. There are clubs established by embassies (British Club, American Club, etc.) but at the very least a temporary membership is required. We had not the time nor the patience for that. So that left us with only one option: the black market. Yippee. Every time I mount a rickshaw I am consistently offered, beer, whiskey, hashish, and a lady. So to the rickshaw driver we went.....for the whiskey. Maybe I can save the hash and lady for Valentine's Day.

What started off as a seemingly simple endeavor slowly degenerated into mind numbing frustration that began at one of those aforementioned warehouses (closed) and ended with me exchanging cash with the friend of a guy who knew another guy and retrieving the contraband from beneath the seat of yet another rickshaw driver. I'm like an alcoholic James Bond. So we (the infidels) ended up dropping close to $60 on a bottle of not so premium whiskey.  Although it is not a crime for a foreigner to possess alcohol I am fairly certain it is frowned upon by the more devout elements of Bangladeshi society. And I am fairly certain that I participated in a criminal act, at least as far as my Bangladeshi co-conspirators are concerned. It may not even be a big deal but then again. All this so I could have a sip on New Years. Gosh, I'm awesome. Oh yeah, in the process of all this I also managed to lose my cell phone. Awesome.

We ended the day with a ten hour train ride from Dhaka to Khulna. Not exactly comfort but not too bad as far as local standards go. Once again Valium helped. We arrived in Khulna at around 5 am and made our way to the hotel where we were more than happy to get some sleep. Tomorrow begins are foray into the Sundarbans.

Today I entered the office of a local cell phone network in order to get another phone. Buying a phone here requires a few hoops. I had to fill out a form (name, address, father's name, mother's name, etc.), hand over a copy of my passport, provide two photos, and leave my thumb print in three separate places. I am pretty sure purchasing a hand gun back home requires less. Had I not been so intrigued by the whole thing I might have been slightly annoyed. Just to sweeten the deal I was given two pieces of candy, a free pen, and a generous portion of cotton candy on a stick. And if that was not enough I was also afforded the opportunity to win even more fabulous prizes. Hit the center of a target on the wall with one of three foam balls and I shudder to think what fortune would have befallen me. As it was I came up short. In fact my performance was downright pathetic. I think the pressure got to me. The employee taking pictures of the whole thing threw off my concentration. Perhaps, that was part their diabolical plan all along.

Dhaka & Didion (Dhaka, Bangladesh)

Jan 12th, 2010 - Can I be frank? Dhaka is not the nicest city I’ve ever visited. Not really the place for a pied-a-terre.  To be perfectly honest the words ‘hell’ and hole’ come to mind when summing up my experience so far. Too harsh? Perhaps, but I feel I should highlight the ‘walk a mile in a man’s shoes’ adage.  Pack 13 million people into a fairly small area and see what happens. Too many people. Too many vehicles. Too much refuse in the street. Sprinkle a layer of dust over everything, apply chaos theory, and you have the makings of a charming Asian city. At least it’s flat. Still, getting from one area of the city to the next is a nightmarish mix of vertigo and asphyxiation, at least from the viewpoint of a CNG (autorickshaw). My advice: Find an area with everything you need within walking distance and settle. Want to blend in? Forget it, at least if you are a 6’4’’ white guy with a long head.

Folks (as in men, women, and children) are constantly hacking and spitting with such intensity that I sometimes mistake the sound for that of a jetliner during takeoff.  Not a real surprise considering all the crap floating in the air. It is unavoidable. Trust me I know.  But they do not screw around. It happens everywhere (streets, restaurants, public places, etc) and is often so pronounced that you think folks are attempting to be funny. The other a day a gentleman, while staring me directly in the eye as I passed, scrounged up a monster in his mouth, swished it around a bit, and then pelted the ground to his side. Up until he let loose he never broke eye contact. I honestly believed he was about to spit on me. I am fairly easy going but that would have most likely provoked a negative response from me. It may have taken physical form.  Luckily, for both of us, expectorating is such a normal part of everyone’s life here it is often done unconsciously. In this instance it was merely combined with the usual ‘foreigner gawking’ that is such a part of my everyday experience.

If you want to escape the crowds good luck. That goes for pretty much the whole country. Imagine if half the population of America moved to Iowa or if all the folks in France and Germany decided to head for the United Kingdom. And when you consider that B’desh is basically just one giant floodplain with endless networks of rivers and streams you realize real estate is tight. If not for the people being so friendly I think I would have giddy-upped on outta here right after the Sundarbans. 

Dhaka-Jessore-Satkhira-Munshigonj (Southwest Bangladesh)

Jan 19th, 2010 - I thought I went to Munshigonj find a tiger. I didn't. I went there to get a taste of country life in Bangladesh and mingle with the folks that make a trip to the B'desh worth the hassle. I just didn't know it at the time. Sure, I'd like to see another tiger but you just can't buy this kind of experience. What’s that Lennon (as in John) said about life happening and other plans?

Itinery: Dhaka-Jessore-Satkhira-Munshigonj. I bought a ticket from an upscale bus company for the Jessore-Dhaka segment of the journey. These buses are actually quite comfortable. I was told the journey would take four hours. It lasted about seven, well within the margin of error in these parts. I inadvertently discovered an effective way of capturing the chaos present on the streets of Dhaka. Sit in the front seat. As the windshield is enormous and the seats elevated above the driver it provides a unique vantage point from which to snap some photos.

There is a downside. Were we to stop abruptly or, God forbid, collide with another vehicle, I would have been doing my Superman impression through the front windshield (And no there weren't any safety belts). Just watching events unfold up close like that can be a tad distressing. Having read about the horrendous accident statistics in Bangladesh does little to quell one’s anxiety. Best to just close your eyes and find a happy place. 

And Now Mr. Kaa (Munshiganj, Bangladesh)

Feb 8th, 2010 - I have to see a man about a snake. Tomorrow I head a couple of hours south of Dhaka to roam around a village of snake charmers.....I think. Would it really be me if I had any true idea about what I was getting myself into? No, no it would not. I have a guide who will bring me to a village to meet a 'mentor'. Not really sure what that means but I am told he is one of the head charmers, the charmer in charge if you will. What do these people do exactly? They charm the friggin pants off snakes, sell medicines, and predict the future.....I think (Okay I made up that last one up). I've been told they even keep these slitherers in every room of their house. Provocative, isn't it? It will probably just be some guy that has been hit by lightning 13 times who drools a lot and hisses uncontrollably while wrestling a stuffed python he received as gift from his mother. I suppose that scenario does have its appeal also. Guess I'll find out tomorrow...probably.