Impressions of Bangladesh – a loooong, superficial essay

A difficult task to describe my impressions of Bangladesh, but I’ll try. So much has happened in the two weeks I was there, I don’t even know where to begin. I hardly think and feel that I know a place after only two weeks. I think even spending a few years in a place, you still can hardly understand it… But here it is.

Myanmar refugee camp
Tagged along on Mikey’s journalism assignment to report on a Myanmar refugee camp near Teknaf. Certainly an eye opening experience, and one of those experiences you don’t enjoy, but were glad you saw. The conditions in which the Burmese refugees live are atrocious. The smell of human waste, and body odour – basically a human zoo of 7,000 people crammed into a tiny plot of land – permeates the air. I could even smell it inside our hired car from a ways back on the road. The children in the refugee camp, though malnourished, actually seem pretty happy, friendly, and full of joy, as kids usually are. Though they don’t know anything outside the camp. Whenever we’d stop on the road, a huge crowd would basically form around us, so we had to keep moving into the rows of shanties.

Bengali people in the tourism industry
All of the people I’ve met in the tourism industry are just amazing. So hardworking, and they really enjoy their jobs, getting to travel and meet people. We stayed in an Eco-cottage across the road from the wild Elephant sanctuary near Teknaf. I had quite a lengthy conversation with the owner. Very smart, and super nice guy, with an extremely pleasant demeanor. I feel for him a bit – in the way that he’s smart, eager, hard working and motivated, but the opportunities, or amount of tourism dollars flowing through just aren’t there yet. I really want to see him succeed. He asked me to tell my friends to come visit, which I would wholeheartedly, but in reality, I don’t think any of my friends would come. But the good news is that Mikey’s guidebook will help put them on the map, and in a few years, his business will take off.

And on that note…

Travel and tourism in Bangladesh
Mike says the best reason to visit Bangladesh is not its sites (of which I’ve found a bit underwhelming – the beach at Cox’s Bazaar doesn’t compare to any which I’ve visited, the temples just haven’t stood the test of time and monsoons, and so on), but its people. Half the time I was in Bangladesh, I didn’t have anything to “do”. I’ve found it really hard travelling in Bangladesh, even though Mike has made it as easy as it could possibly be, taking care of all the travel arrangements and itinerary. I think as a woman travelling in a Muslim country (though Bangladesh is downright modern compared to any other Muslim country, due to its Buddhist presence in the past), I definitely had a different experience than a man would. I didn’t feel comfortable just striking up conversations with random people (usually men, since the average person I’d encounter on the street was 95% likely to be a man), even though Bengali people are extraordinarily friendly.

In fact, when Mike, Bel, and I were in a coffee shop in Chittagong, a local struck up a conversation with Mike. He told us he went to university in Toronto but had returned home. Obviously quite wealthy, even by his appearance – polished leather shoes, two fancy mobile phones. He invited us to his house for dinner, but Mike declined as we weren’t in Chittagong for long. Later I asked, was he for real? Apparently it’s quite common for Bengali people to be hospitable and open their house to others, and whatever dinner they would have served would be the best they could afford. It just blows my mind that people could be so open and hospitable, with no hidden agendas.

Travelling as a foreign woman in Bangladesh
But going back to my thoughts on travelling in a Muslim country as a female… Maybe these are self-imposed limits, feeling like I can’t just strike up random conversations with people. Part of it is due to my shyness as well. But the scarcity of women in public is a bit intimidating… A woman in a burka, riding a rickshaw (accompanied by a male of course), stared at me as she passed. I’m pretty sure her mouth was open, even though it was covered by the burka. I had felt like all I do is sleep and stay in a lot, not doing much. But I mainly only had this feeling in the cities.

City vs. Countryside
Mike had the right idea to get the hell out of the cities as much as possible. Even walking a few blocks in Chittagong would absolutely exhaust me – the heat, humidity, noise, stench of garbage, pollution, incessant begging, with beggars following me for blocks, open-mouthed stares from groups of men on the street who look at me like I’m from another planet… I felt more like an outsider and bystander than someone experiencing a country.

The hilarious thing is, Mike said when he was scoping out hotels in Cox’s Bazaar, instead of being greeted by friendly and professional staff, the man at reception would stare at him, mouth wide open… Not exactly ready and welcoming for international travellers?

Anyway, getting back on track… In the countryside, villages look more beautiful and healthy than people in the cities. Some of them are downright stunning! Going back into Chittagong, I can see that no one in their right mind would live in the city instead of the countryside unless they had to.

My bug phobia
Bangladesh is definitely not good for my bug phobia. In Mike’s friend’s flat in Cox’s Bazaar, we entered the dining room, flicked on the light, only to come face to face with two motherfucking giant roaches, just hanging out on the floor. They were seriously 2” long and 1” high. Mike left the light on and left the room, saying they don’t like the light and they’ll go hide. Every time I’d encounter a roach in Bangladesh (and it was often), I’d scream, running out of the room. In Mike’s friend’s flat in Chittagong, the power constantly goes out, several times a day, and would stay down anywhere from minutes to hours. That was the only time I’ve been scared of the dark; every time I’d go to use the bathroom, I’d fear for my life that the power would go out and the roaches would come out.

The first night in Chittagong: I went to go brush my teeth, and opened the door to the bathroom, peeked inside and saw one crouching in the corner. I held back my scream, as I didn’t want to freak out Monica, who I had JUST met, and was sleeping in the room nearby. I thought, okay, maybe I can get over this… And just as I was about to step in, I looked down and saw a roach just millimeters below my toe. I brushed my teeth in the kitchen instead. The power went out as I was brushing, and I was so thankful I wasn’t trapped in the dark with 2 cockroaches.

One thing I liked about the more rustic places we stayed in Bangladesh, is that they were generally free of roaches, and at night I could sleep peacefully, sealed off from bugs inside a mosquito net.

Dangers
I’m not taking anti-malarials, and am instead trying not to get bit, especially between dusk and dawn (when malarial mosquitos are active). In Bandarban, in the Chittagong Hill Tracts, checking into my room, I see right on the front page of the newspaper, 242 malaria deaths in Rangamati (another district in the Hill Tracts, from 2005 until now). Eeeps. Our local guide in Bandarban told us how he contracted malaria while guiding in the Chittagong Hill Tracts; he was 95% dead, but recovered. The Irishman he was guiding (an expat in Bangladesh) didn’t make it… The other tourists were fine as they were on anti-malarials. A very real danger that maybe I’ve been too lax about.

The Chittagong Hill Tracts are also a volatile region, and the Canadian consulate advises against all travel to this region. However, Mike knows how to weigh local advice with the overly cautionary government advisories, and though we needed to apply for a special permit, and be accompanied by police escort in order to visit a remote village, I felt entirely safe. The reason why it is a volatile region is a complicated one, but basically, nothing would happen to us while we were on an organized tour with a local guide, and with police escort. The minority village visit was one of the highlights of the trip for me. The region has just re-opened to tourists, and even then, the village rarely gets visitors. So they put on a special traditional dance show, just for the three of us (Mike, Bel and myself)! We had a fantastic spread for lunch at a local’s hut. (We were going to do a homestay, but it had rained the previous 4 days in a row, and we had cancelled the overnight stay in case the hills would just be too muddy.) And they gave us some drinking vessels, made from a dried gourd – absolutely beautiful. The best souvenir I’ve ever had; I just hope it makes it through Canadian customs home (I’m not even going to try to get it through Australian customs).

My near heart attack
I had left most of my belongings in Mike’s friend’s flat in Chittagong while we went on an excurion in the Hill Tracts. When we returned, I started reorganizing my bags, only I noticed it looked like someone went through my belongings. My cell phone was missing. Shit. Whoever stole it could have been talking for hours on it, racking $1000’s of dollars in airtime against my account. I told Mike that my cell phone was missing, and he made some calls. Apparently another girl who lived at the flat had noticed some missing money as well. I couldn’t be 100% sure it had gone missing from inside the flat, as I had also stupidly left it inside my bag while it was stowed in the bottom compartment of the bus to Chittagong. I was trying to think after I notified my cell phone company, what’s done is done, but I couldn’t stop stressing about it. But, the next day, my cell phone was returned by the cleaning lady who said it “fell out” of my bag. I looked at the “recent calls” made, and it looks like only five minutes of airtime was used before my battery died, costing me $25 at most. I thank my lucky stars. I heard the cleaning lady is going to lose her job now as well… And oh yeah, my phone now has a security code lock on it.

The soundtrack to Bangladesh
Bangla is such a melodic language. Often times, people would just randomly burst into song – rickshaw-wallahs, construction workers, people on the train… Taking the train is definitely an experience. On the train, passengers, buskers, hawkers of pakora, fruits, and snacks, and beggars would all break into song. Whenever the train stopped at a station, beggars would come on, singing beautifully. The most shocking thing I’ve seen in Bangladesh was a woman beggar, with acid burn – her nose was missing, and her face was horribly disfigured. Normally I don’t give to beggars, and her case I would, but I was just so shocked by the sight of her face, I couldn’t move. She was singing the most beautiful, sorrowful song I’ve ever heard.

Border crossing into India
Ah, border crossings in 3rd world countries are always fun… Mike overstayed his 60 day visa, so we were worried about possible problems at the border. (The border crossing we used isn’t on the internet nor in guidebooks, but based on local advice, it is a functioning crossing.) Ordinarily you would pay the overstay fee at the airport, but overland could have different “rules” or ways of doing things. We tried to pay the overstay fee at the bank 15 minutes before the border, where we paid our “border crossing fee” of 200 takka, but they had no idea about it.

So, onward to the border, where worst case scenerio, Mike would try to pay the overstay fee “to” the immigration agent. The guy there wasn’t very friendly – in fact, he was almost hostile when Mike didn’t have his Bangaldesh departure card. Mostly he was pissed that we interrupted him reading the newspaper. He scrutinized his passport and visa expiry dates. (At this point I was worried the differences between my new Canadian passport and his old style Canadian passport would cause a problem.) But at this point a small group of Bengalis entered the office, forming a rare lineup, and the agent didn’t notice the overstay – we completely lucked out!

Walked over to the Indian side, where right in our sightline, was a Wine Store! What a welcome from a Muslim, alcohol free country. The Indian immigration agent was so friendly in contrast. Definitely the deadest border crossing I’ve ever been to, being first in line both times.

Almost clear of Indian customs, the customs agent asked to see our personal electronics. On the underside of Mike’s laptop, he had stuck an old, used up Chinese visa that he had peeled out of his passport to make room for new visas. I burst out laughing, though it didn’t seem like the customs agent noticed that it was a visa.
In the Indian customs office, a driver was trying to get us to hire him. He quoted 2000 rupees and wouldn’t budge at all on his price. We ended up hiring a jeep instead of his compact car at 1800 rupees instead. We stopped in the town of Dawki to get some rupees on the black market, literally… From a woman selling fish on the street. Then down the road for alcohol! Two large bottles of beer and one of gin, for less than $4 Canadian! We were on our way!

But first, the other driver who we talked to in the Indian customs office jumped into the front bench of our jeep. I guessed he was leaving his car in Dawki at the border and going home to Shillong for the day.

Cracked open a cold beer to drink in the jeep. Bad idea. To get to Cherrapunjee, it’s practically a vertical ascent of 1500 m from the sea-level flood plains of Bangladesh. In 60 km of road. Cherrapunjee looks deceptively close to Dawki on a map, but it’s a two hour drive to go 60 km, whipping back and forth like a snake at high speeds. Needless to say, we both weren’t feeling so hot with the beer in our bellies.

However, the drive up was absolutely breathtaking. We drove up through the clouds! The warm monsoon air of Bangladesh hits the hills of Northeast India and condense, forming clouds. Absolutely stunning and ethereal. And it’s only at this time of year, during the monsoon, which is not the “ideal” time of year to travel, that you can see these thick and rolling clouds, as well as the appearance of dozens of waterfalls, coming from the top of the hills. These waterfalls are formed just by the amount of rainwater that falls during the monsoon season!

We found out during the drive that the other driver who tagged along for the ride is actually a school teacher going back home for the weekend. He had excellent English! He speaks English, Karsi (the local dialect of the minority group present around Shillong), Bangla, Hindi, AND Nepalese! I felt a little bit dumb with mainly knowing only one. Oh, the interesting things you find out during a journey…

Driving up into the clouds of India

Heading to India tomorrow

Just in Sylhet, in a fancy-schmancy hotel, heading for the India border tomorrow. Nice to have constant power after roughing it in an eco-cottage (though beautiful and secluded, with a stream behind our own bamboo hut in a lime grove) for a few days. We hiked in a national park and saw primates in the wild!

I can’t believe 2 weeks in Bangladesh have passed so quickly!! There’s so much I could write about, yet I also hardly feel qualified or articulate enough to write about some of the things I’ve seen. We visited a Myanmar refugee camp, as part of one of Mikey’s journalism assignments. Visited the Chittagong Hill Tracts, which is kind of against Canadian consulate advice, though we (Mikey, Bel, and myself) each had our own personal police escort(!). But the village we visited there was one of the highlights of the trip – I’ll have to write more about it later.

Every time we go back into the cities, I think, no one would live in the city unless they had to. The constant begging, pollution, noise, stench of garbage and sewage, coupled with the heat and humidity wear me down physically and mentally – even from just walking a few blocks. Sometimes the heat and humidity (in both the cities and countryside) are so brutal, that sitting perfectly still, in the shade or indoors, sweat will be just pouring off my entire face. I’m drinking 3L of water a day and showering twice a day, but most importantly, staying healthy.

Right now I’m reading Bangladesh: Reflections on the Water, which is an extremely insightful, and well written book on Bangladesh. Also, a plug for Mikey’s guide, which will be published by Bradt Travel Guide in 2009. His website is joybangla.info, check it out!

Still alive in Chittagong

I have limited internet access here, as I feel bad about commandeering Mike’s laptop, since he needs it for actual work. Will blog when I have more time.

Photos! – Edit: Check out my old blog entries as well

Nolan’s Flickr photos are up!

Edit: Figured out how to paste photos from Flickr now.

I’m trying to go back and edit my old blog entries by pasting in the accompanying photos. Check them out!

Quick poll: Should I get a sari made while in India / Bangladesh?

Debating about getting a sari made. Where can I possibly wear one? And will I actually wear it? I might feel weird wearing one outside of South Asia. They’re so beautiful, but I find the longer I stay in a place, the more my viewpoint and taste in things change. Until I bring it home and wonder, what was I thinking?

Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh

This is Bangladesh?! (Sunday June 15, 2008)

Flew from Dhaka to Cox’s Bazar – while riding in the cockpit! When we boarded  the plane, the pilot recognized Mikey from a party, so he was able to ride in the cockpit for takeoff (and landing). I got to sit up there awhile as well, just before landing, and the view coming in Cox’s Bazar is absolutely breathtaking – THE best view I’ve ever seen from a plane. Broad horizon of green, water filled farmland interspersed with waterways, and hugged by the ocean.

Walked along the beach. Pleasant enough, but I wouldn’t exactly hop on a plane abroad for it. But for Bangladeshis, it is THE place to go for a vacation.

Had dinner at a superb place, called the Mermaid Café, serving fusion Bengali cuisine made with locally sourced organic ingredients. Seriously five star quality! Juicy chicken with a side of creamy fettucine alfredo… Tender beef slices wrapped around roasted red peppers… Apparently the owners hired a consultant, an international sous-chef from overseas, and for less than $10 Cdn, you can have better food than we had at our five star resort in Mexico! Better than most meals I have in any Edmonton restaurant! Best of all, the meal was complimentary, due to Mikey’s guidebook author status. Here I was, bracing myself for stomach troubles, repetitive curry dishes, and generally keeping my expectations low, where now, I’ve just been blown away. Mikey did say this day (and place) was a more of an anomaly than commonplace. And I was thinking, this is all in a day’s work for a starving guidebook writer?

***

This is Bangladesh… (Monday June 16, 2008)

Rained all night and for most of the day so far. Mikey was working today, so I just went exploring – with plans to visit the Buddhist temple in town, as well as pick up some groceries. Now I don’t mind the rain, generally, but for the most part, I was pretty miserable today. When you’re “forced” to wear long pants, and a long shawl draped over your upper half – that for me, keeps falling off – trying to keep all that fabric clean is a constant, tiring battle! The city centre, which I had to walk by, is pretty filthy, with sewage canals running on the sides of each road, and half the time there aren’t any sidewalks. Sometimes I’d walk on the road, but when traffic honked from behind I was forced into walking on sandy, muddy areas, getting sand into my sandals. I just prayed that every time I walked on squishy, grey ground, that it didn’t contain any sewage.

I think if I were free to wear what I wanted and didn’t have to constantly worry about keeping my clothes dry and clean, I wouldn’t have been in such a bad mood today. Well, I mean, I’m always free to wear what I want, but I prefer to err on the side of conservatism so as not to offend anyone. So far I feel that I’m being treated with respect, despite lots of curious attention, and I believe it is because I’m dressing conservatively.  There are a few “look on the bright side” things to make of the day so far. I didn’t see a single foreigner the whole day I was out today – that’s kind of cool? I had a little boy about 10 years old, walk along side me for a few blocks, occasionally yelling out, “hello!” and seeming pleased whenever I’d return the greeting.

The power’s been out for awhile now, so it’s getting a tad warm in here…

I’ve been pondering a question recently: what do I get out of travel? I’ve been asked it once, and I don’t have a good explanation ready for people who don’t have the travel bug. One thing I will say about travelling, is you get much more appreciation for the little things you take for granted in Canada. A constant supply of electricity. Clean water. Having many clean clothes to choose from in your closet. Not worrying about whether what you eat next will make you sick. Appreciation for all the choices and opportunities I have available to me, that in most cases, the local people will never have – like the choice to travel, to read and learn about anything you wish, how to make a living, what to do with time (or just having time period).

I really admire all the people I meet abroad. They seem so passionate about their jobs, and 100% of them really enjoy what they’re doing (obviously, or they would have left already). Compared to… I don’t know, 10% of people I know back home who enjoy their jobs? Nolan’s mom said that Wuhan, China is like a second home to her, and that the life there really suits her. As in, having a simple life; she said her house in Edmonton just seems too big now. It really bothers that we’re so wasteful in Canada – not only wasting water and electricity freely, but living in huge houses, on huge plots of land, driving huge vehicles… The idea of living abroad in Asia after Australia is appealing to me, though right now it’s just an idea rattling around in my brain.

Very, very, very, very hot

This morning we went on a walk through Old Dhaka. The day started out nice and cool, and I was dressed in my new salwaar kameez top, long loose pants, and shawl, since the old city is on the conservative side. Saw the city’s first mosque, where our guide explained some of the history and details, and the rest of us were huddled around. I wanted to laugh out loud when men and boys who were passing by would wonder what was going on, and stop to stare, slowly drawing a small crowd, bottlenecking the street. This would happen every time we stopped as a group – our group would draw in a small crowd of curious looky-loos.

At the end of the walk, I glanced down at my shirt and realized that it was just about completely soaked in sweat, minus about 4″ at the bottom! Thank god I had that shawl covering my upper half, since my shirt was just about see-thru! I’ve been to very hot places before (the scorching, dry heat of Cambodia, as well as Hong Kong’s wall of humidity and heat spewing from buses and air conditioners) but nothing like this. It is just very, very, very, very hot. It’s so hot I can’t even think to put it into better words.

Just taking a siesta before dinner and drinks tonight. Tomorrow Mikey and I fly to Cox’s Bazaar!

***

As a side note, every time I finish writing a blog entry and step away, I think, oops, I forgot to mention this! Oops, I forgot to mention that!

On the flight in to Bangladesh on Dragonair, I was browsing the in-flight magazine. There was an article on Dhaka, and I thought, hey, I’m going there! Flip to the article. “By Mikey Leung” – hey, I know that guy! Not only do I know him, but I’m going to be travelling with him! Pretty cool, huh

All caught up in Bangladesh

Pretty much caught up on the blog now! Now let’s see how far I fall behind in blogging in Bangladesh! Today was not too taxing, just a mission to find local clothes (salwar kameez), but I failed miserably, finding only one shirt and two beautiful shawls. Mikey’s friend Bel is able to lend me a few shirts for the trip though fortunately!

The biggest thing I’ve noticed, riding through Bangladesh in the back of a rickshaw, is that there are hardly any women to be seen in public. Dhaka is a little more forward than the rest of Bangladesh though, apparently, so I’m still in store for some major culture shocks…

And now the power just cut out again… Though it usually turns back on fairly shortly. Later!

Sunday June 8, 2008 (backdated entry) – a “nothing much” travel day in Guilin, China

Staying at the Look Sunrise Inn, Nolan had nightmares both nights. The first night, of us getting on the wrong buses and getting lost. The second, was of him trying to leave our room, but people were in the hallway, and wouldn’t let him pass unless he could figure out what they were saying. I thought it was strange that he was so worried and troubled by not knowing or understanding the situation (“being lost”). Whereas he thought I was the weird one for not being fazed by it at all.

Today was a sort of nothing “travel” day. Rained as we left Dazhai. Rained in Guilin when we arrived. The taxi in the queue said, “bu yao!” (didn’t want) our fare when I asked if he’d go the 2 km up the road. Another taxi in the queue offered, “For 30 Y”. Forget that. We hailed one from the street, cost 8 Y.

Our welcome back meal in Guilin was KFC – they’re all over China, even one in Yangshuo – a meal where we didn’t have to nibble carefully over chicken or fish bones and just chow down. Of course, I didn’t feel so good after chowing down there (all that grease). Then chilled out in an internet cafe before our overnight train. At the train station, we recognized one girl who had also stayed at the Look Sunrise Inn (the second night), but she didn’t seem to notice or recognize us strangely – maybe all white people look the same?

Saturday June 7, 2008 (backdated entry) – Hilarious miscommunications in Dazhai

Up at 3:30 AM for our 4 AM departure up to lookout #1 with the group from dinner, and the female tout (mom) from the guesthouse. Tiring but totally worth the climb. The view and photos we got were spectacular and exceeded my expectations.

Sunrise at Lookout #1

The man (dad) of the farmer’s house at the top was still in his PJ’s, lounging around while a circus of amateur photographers with expensive camera set up tripods like a fortress. He was funny to watch – he kind of had a thoughtful look on his face. Then he took out the money from his fanny pack and counted it (money made by selling cold drinks and bowls of noodles). I wonder what he was thinking – maybe about all the money he was making while still in his PJ’s? The grandma, dressed in traditional Yao clothing, and grandpa, were watching a documentary on TV about the Longji Rice Terraces, broadcast in heavily accented English. I thought it was hilarious how they were watching a documentary about themselves!

After, we hiked to Lookout #2 and then tried to find our way back to the guesthouse. We walked all the way down to the base of the village, where one old Yao woman yelled out “Hello!” to try to get us to go to her restaurant. Continued walking, when a young woman in traditional Yao clothing ran up to us and tried to tell us something. At first we tried to shrug her off, until I looked at her face and thought, “Hey, she looks like the woman from the guesthouse… Maybe it’s her?” She opened her jacket revealing her clothes underneath, and took out an earring, trying to convey, “it’s me! Under this clothing!” Nolan STILL didn’t recognize her! And looked confused as to why she was stripping and trying to sell us her earring. Comic misunderstanding was put to rest when I told him it was her. We still didn’t understand what she was trying to tell us though.

Back at the guesthouse, took a nap and lazed about. The grandma seems to know the most English out of anyone at the guesthouse, knowing numbers 1, 2, 3, Hello, and How much-y? She tried to sell me all sorts of stuff, and attempted to “teach” the granddaughter how to sell as well… She instructed her to bring the little hand embroidered cell phone cases to me and ask, “How much-y?” Pretty cute. She said for 5Y we could take photos of her combing out her long hair.

After that, Nolan took a photo of me dressed in Yao clothing, with the grandma, super long hair done up in Yao style, and the granddaughter standing in the background. (A really nice photo – I’ll post it up later. I just love the hot pink Yao embroidered jackets.) I showed the little girl the photo of herself, and she didn’t look too happy, pulling on the little ponytail on the top of her head.

We definitely escaped the backpacker crowd as Dazhai is mainly touristed by Chinese tourists, and hardly any English spoken, besides from some of the Chinese tourists. Nolan found it a bit disconcerting that it was so difficult to convey simple requests (like for cold water), but it didn’t faze me at all. Maybe because I’m used to not knowing what’s going on, especially when my relatives speak Chinese to me?