Total land kilometres travelled: 7,000 and counting…
Dear friends and family – since we last wrote we have been clocking up the mileage and seeing incredible Bangladesh. Bangladesh was like nothing we had ever seen – stunningly beautiful but so simple and almost operating in a little world of its own. No tourists, very little infrastructure, a society deeply rooted in the fundamentals of the Koran and a shocking lack of reliance on The West (including English language and western education) to get things done. The simplicity of life and innocence of the Bangladeshi people was refreshing after the cloying, tourist-savvy industries of insatiable Kolkata. Bangadeshi people taught us to let our guard down again and it was a wonderful experience.
We spent 2 and a half weeks getting back to basics in Bangladesh – here is the journey which unfolded...
Off to Bangladesh - Dramas at the border (take 3):
Once we had the great news that there was no post-election violence in Bangladesh we packed up our backpacks and set off for the next adventure. It takes 16 hours on bus and bus ferry to get from Kolkata to Dhaka.
It took me three days, three visits, one “interview” and many Rupees at the Bangladeshi Embassy in Kolkata to get my Visa stamp in my New Zealand passport. According to all official literature, signs and even the Bangladesh High Commissioner himself – for some lucky reason Irish passport holders are exempt from a visa – no stamp and no fee required. BUT, in this part of the world when things sound this too good to be true – you can be guaranteed dramas ahead! The High Commission warned Cisco that although he doesn’t need a visa – that the immigration guys at the border may or may not agree with this rule. We asked for a letter, some or even a visa stamp and were told it wasn’t Consulate Protocol. But here is a phone number to call when you get in trouble. Hmmmm....
So on the 4th January we set off at 5am for Bangladesh. We were at the Benapole border by 9am – sailed through Indian immigration and customs – but, not surprisingly, things came unstuck when we reached the Bangladeshi officials. To cut a very long and frustrating story short we were told “no visa - no entry” and we had to go back to Kolkata to get a visa in Cisco’s passport. They refused to call the High Commission to get this verified. We were then split up into different rooms and given the same questions over and over again (what were our intentions in Bangladesh, where we will go, how long we will stay, our jobs, our relationship to each other etc). They obviously wanted to corroborate our stories. After about 90 minutes the Official questioning me said it was impossible to get Cisco into Bangladesh and his commander was requesting that he be deported back into India immediately. Soon after Cisco appeared again and said they admitted he doesn’t need a visa but that he must now fly into Bangladesh – no entry by land allowed. All that was missing from this administrative farce was the ubiquitous request for baksheesh to “oil the wheels”. After 2 and a half hours they obviously got bored with their show of power and let Cisco enter on the condition we exit from the same point within 3 weeks OR ELSE. No complaints from us – we grabbed our passports and ran for the bus before they could ask for the cash!
World famous in Bangladesh:
160 million people live in Bangladesh and 85% of them exist on less than 1 GBP per day. Bangladesh is a Muslim country (85% are Sunni Muslim) – which means no more cold beers at the end of each day and I am usually the only woman on each street or in each restaurant. Infact because Muslim men can’t touch women and don’t really see or converse with them, I am for the most part ignored (I am actually scary to small Muslim boys) and Cisco is the definite celebrity attraction. They say Bangladesh is the place you come the closest to having celebrity status (without the salary). We quickly realised we would infact be travelling Bangladesh in a revolving troupe of 35 friends.
The hot topics for discussion were:
“my country?” (aka where are you from?)
“my name is?” (aka what is your name?)
Once they heard we were Julie and Francisco from New Zealand (they can’t pronounce Chloe and have no idea where Zimbabwe is – in the hopes of a speedy interaction it was best to keep things simple) some inquisitive people were thankfully off as fast as they appeared.
For others no amount of hinting or feigned yawning was enough to convey the idea that perhaps we didn’t want to spend our Bangladesh holiday in their constant company. Bangladeshi people are sweet though, very humble and kind and welcoming. We have collected a book full of Bangladeshi cell phone numbers – usually given without their name and certainly without purpose- and I have the feeling our new best friends will genuinely be expecting for us to call...
A big reason for the huge interest in being our new best friends is the fact that very few westerners visit Bangladesh. In the 2.5 weeks that we were there we didn’t see another traveller. It was lovely to feel so remote but our novelty meant we were like animals in a zoo everytime we stepped outside. I estimate we are now the homescreen of approximately 23,500 Bangladeshi mobile phones. Some people asked to take our photos (usually in various poses of their choosing: shaking hands, pretending to read a book together, arms around like we were long lost buddies), some pretended to take a photos of their friend who was suddenly very conveniently standing or sitting beside us, but most often we would have a camera phone thrust in our face. We were tempted to invested in two full length burqas so we could walk along in peace; but the moon telescope (aka THE CAMERA) probably wouldn’t not be convincing accessories for two inconspicuous Muslim women going about their business. I played tricks on the crowd following us one day as we walked along the main road of Cox Bazar – stopping, turning back, crossing the road and crossing straight back again – and yes they followed every move we made. We were tempted to start breakdancing as we walked, but that would have just been mean...
For the record – I am applying for Cisco to have honorary New Zealand citizenship in reward for services rendered towards Bangladesh-New Zealand relations. Bangladeshi men LOVE New Zealand because (they think) we are as mad about cricket as they are. At the end of our trip Cisco was having great yarns about Flemming’s retirement, Vettori’s fast bowling and whether Astle was better than Cairns. Infact by the end he had fabricated a whole split personality of being a New Zealand Professor of Management at Wellington University who plays cricket at the weekends– very funny to listen to until we met a Professor of Economics on the ferry...
The best rickshaw ride of my life in crazy Dhaka:
Dhaka is the capital of Bangladesh. The city has 20 million people and is one of the most heavily populated polluted cities in the world – they say on a good day you can chew the air for breakfast. Dhaka traffic is insane – it took us about 2 hours to travel 20 km. This may have something to do with the estimated 600,000 cycle rickshaws on the roads. The cycle rickshaw wallas (bless them) peddle like crazy through the chaos and the heat for just a handful of cents. These guys cycle like they have engines on board and an inbuilt GPS system. We literally flew through the busy roads – averting collisions with buses, trucks and other rickshaws at the last moment and with a fraction of a molecule to spare. To quote a good friend of ours – if there was newspaper between us and the other vehicle the writing would have been scraped clean off. It feels so damn dangerous, but its simply exhilarating and the biggest (legal) thrill you can get in Bangladesh.
We loved Dhaka for its old-world sense of chaos. All signs are in Bangla script, I had more luck communicating with locals in Hindi (and that is saying something) and they haven’t yet learned from their Indian cousins that tourists are infact both wealthy and stupid and prone to dishing out money to anyone who should ask.
Island life Bangladeshi style:
For the remainder of the trip we visited Chittagong, Cox Bazar (the world’s longest beach) and spent 4 lazy days on Saint Martins Island – a tiny coral island with a population of 5,000 – most of whom live in grass huts and spend their days fishing, fixing nets and living the good life. There are no vehicles or roads on the island: only bikes and one central foothpath which connects one side of the island with the other. We loved being on the island – the only thing missing was being able to swim (I tested it and the water is no barrier to deterring or dispersing our local crowd) and to be able to sit with a cool drink at the end of a long day eating fish and reading. Saint Martins Island is probably the world’s only tropical paradise without a beer fridge. We met amazing people on the island – self sufficient families with no money but who were generous and genuine without expecting anything in return. One amazing family invited us to their hut for an afternoon. Before we left the old granddad climbed the tallest coconut palm and chopped the top off two coconuts for us to drink the juice inside. The way his tribe of children pounced on the empty coconuts to get the few remaining drips showed me this was a very special occasion for them and what they had given to us was an incredible gift.
If all this island life sounds lazy – it was – but we certainly needed it in preparation for the 4 day trek down to Orissa, India where we are now. One 3 hour ferry, two 14 hour overnight bus trips, one (surprisingly uneventful) border crossing, a final 6 hour bus back to Kolkata and then straight on a 12 hour train trip down south to Orissa. We are in a small village in central hills of Orissa as I type this. We are here to see the hill tribes – they live completely segregated from Indian life here (they are exempt from the Indian caste system, and many still hunt with bows and arrows and do not wear clothes). More on this new adventure next time..
With much love and big hugs,
Chloe and Fra xoxoxooxxo
