Goin' to the BD

I got here 2 days ago and am catching up on sleep, albeit still feeling a bit groggy.

I stopped in London on my way to Bangladesh and got to hang out with Will, of old yore. We walked along the river Thames--retracing the steps of Emma Thompson and Dustin Hoffman in "Last Chance Harvey" (which I watched on the plane the next day). I had fish and chips, cider, and got to "mind the gap" on the tube. The Queen is doing well.


They pulled me and other foreigners from the line in Doha, Qatar and told us the plane was full and they were moving us up. So, I flew FIRST CLASS from Doha to Dhaka, Bangladesh. I got champagne, Brunello wine, fancy dinner, and LEG ROOM! I even had a cappuccino on our descent. I felt so darn spoiled.

In Dhaka I was met by a soldier with my name printed on paper. He walked me through immigration, helped me get my luggage, got me through security (well, I told them I was from America and they didn't even scan my luggage). Then we had to wait a while to check in for my flight from Dhaka to Chittagong. In the course of 2 1/2 hours, my soldier friend had other friends come over, while he went "around" (patrol). I don't speak Bengali and none of them spoke much English, so they passed the time by staring and smiling at me. Eventually it was time to go to the waiting room to get on the plane. I was directed to a curtained space, where a woman soldier surveyed me with a baton. When my flight was called, I tried to say thank you in Bengali ("dhonnobad"), but my soldier friends looked at me like I was crazy. I resorted to the English version, and boarded a rickety bus to head out to the runway.

There were a lot of people involved with getting me checked in for the flight, getting my luggage sorted out, and getting me on the plane. There were at least 15 people standing on the tarmack as we were loading our flight. They had me point to my luggage as I got on the plane, then they loaded it.

The small plane from Dhaka to Chittagong was like those little US Airways jets from Manhattan to Kansas City. In fact, I think it WAS one of those planes. They finish with them in the US, then send them overseas. Not reassuring. I mentally crossed myself about 15 times on the flight. Luckily, we landed ok and all my luggage was in tact.

NOTHING prepared me for the traffic here. The two drivers that have driven me around thus far deserve merit awards. But they are like everyone else in being able to navigate traffic with huge Japanese trucks, small 3 wheeled taxis ("baby taxis"), and rickshaws, plus people walking and mopeds...There is NO ORDER at all. Honking is constant. I had to close my eyes while coming home from the airport as I was sure either the mirrors were going to be ripped off or my stay in Bangladesh would be cut short thanks to a barreling Hino truck with 10 people hanging off the back of it. Luckily, I'm alive. I have no idea how the cars and rickshaws get SO CLOSE to each other, yet aren't completely banged up. Not that the cars are in that great of shape. I'm thinking the driving here makes Nascar look like a walk in the park.

Once we finally arrived at the Access Academy (which prepares students for the university program, starting in August), I got some lunch and a tour. Then I was zipped off to the guest house. Comfortable. And the caretaker--Shaidah--was very nice. I went to bed at 2:30pm when I got there, woke up at 7pm to eat. Then back to bed from 8pm until midnight. Woke up and was really disoriented. Then went back to bed, back up at 4:30 am. Dozed a bit, got up to read a bit and write in my journal, fell back asleep, woke back up at 7 am.

Dinner that night was interesting. Okra of some sort, chicken, a ground coconut dish, and a chapati (can I call it a Bangladeshi tortilla?). The chicken was WELL done and the okra had a mucas-like texture to it. It didn't taste bad, but the appearance threw me off. The reddish coconut dish was good. I foresee myself eating a lot of fruit.

Photos are at: http://picasaweb.google.com/summerbclewis