Let me begin with the annotation that this blog will be text only.  In the rush to depart from Kathmandu, there was a camera mix-up, singular, in that Tori took my camera in her bag.  This kind of thing happens when the cameras are identical.  It was only a single mix though, and I did not manage to pocket Tori’s camera in exchange.  Thus evidence of my trip to Bangladesh is for now limited to this blog and some passport paraphernalia.  Maybe a parasite or two as well, but that will have to pend a blood test upon my soon-triumphant return to China.  In the meantime I will attempt to paint a picture for you…with words.  And as any of us who grew up with Reading Rainbow knows, you can go anywhere with the content within a book.  I hope that Levar will agree with me that the same may be said for blogs.

I am however a bit hard-pressed to describe Dhaka as a city without simply making comparisons to the Indian megapolises, so feel free to just transpose the India pictures and apply them to here.  The one bit that is a bit different is the domination of city roads by small transit, namely the green, caged, CNG’s that are basically tuk-tuks and used for longer travel, and then the more elaborately and creatively decorated rickshaws that wander the streets.  The latter is more charming but it does not afford the anonymity or speed of the CNGs, which became my preferred mode of transport.  I ended up couchsurfing here, using a website of the same name to find generous and interesting people who would take me into their home during my time in Dhaka.  The concept was personified by Alex, a German doing urban development work (I know, I was excited too!) here in Dhaka and living with his Argentine wife and two grade school age boys. It had been some time since I’d tried couchsurfing but I thought after the general wearing down that the subcontinent has had, it was worth trying again.

Little did I know how great it would truly be.  I’d never been so fully ensconced in a diplomatic or expat enclave before as when I arrived at their home in Dhaka the first night, and was amazed and quite excited to see nothing less than genuine Tillamook ice cream at the table for dessert.  I expanded on the wonders this caused me a bit verbally before partaking.  Feeling a bit under the weather, I, like of all of Bangladesh, relaxed on Friday.  This is the Muslim version of Sunday, though it seems to be taken a bit more seriously than our Sabbath and many many things are just closed that day.  The city is more peaceful but it is hard to get out and do things.  The upside then to being sick was I felt justified just hanging out as it were, and ended up a soccer tournament among the international schools here, similar to the jamborees that started our seasons of youth soccer.  It felt like I had been transported back to the fields at Waluga (chicken biryani aside) and I could only smile a bit at the thought that so many thousands of miles from where I grew up, there were still things that could remind me of home.

Home was on my mind when I did my trip to the Visa and Immigration Office as well, namely in the sense of ‘i just want to be home’ instead of there.  It was a bad omen that the first 3 CNG drivers didn’t know what place I wanted to go to, even when I pointed to it on the map.  After finding one and then wandering the streets near the slums a bit, I found said office, a confused building of lines and mounds of people all waiting and pushing for…what?  I figured the lines with the Bangladeshis are not likely what I want, so just went office to office until I was told ‘4th floor, elevator’.  A simple sign in English could have saved everyone the trouble of me lumbering about poking my nose in places.  I needed the ‘change of route’ form, as I had arrived via air but would leave by land.  This is a free service that takes 3 days to process.  I have yet to discern why it exists.  On my return I was aggravated again by waiting an hour and a half, the only actions taken were to give me a further form to fill out, then to hand me the form with two embossed seals 90 minutes later.  I was placated somewhat by meeting a Chinese fellow rom Shenzhen and getting to speak Chinese for just the second time since I left the mainland in January

My day in between was spent in Old Dhaka, an aptly named network of narrow alleys, rickshaws, shops, and people.  Lots and lots of people.  Bangladesh is not that large of a country, but the population is massive and growing, and Dhaka is the center of it all, with estimates of some 13 million or so here.  I visited the Ahsan Manzil, a colonial style pink building on the banks of the local river where I was met by a Bangladeshi guy who informed me that the women here are all ‘snakes’ but so are the men.  I wasn’t sure what to make of his take on relationships but he was a very nice guy overall and helped me find a later rickshaw to the Lalbagh Fort, a small and unimposing piece of architecture left over from past empires.  The best part perhaps was the rickshaw ride itself, a slow journey through the heart of the old city, and the people who are quite friendly and somewhat stunned to see you, more than even the Chinese.  I counted 6 foreigners outside of the foreign enclave in total.  Which was a bit crazy in and of itself.

Now I am onward to the countryside and then to Kolkata before heading back home to Beijing.