Creative titl, no?
We left rabbit island with our newly reunited friend Kate. The three of us headed off to Kampot for 2.5 great days. Kampot is a riverside town at the Tonle Sap delta. It's got loads of crumbling french buildings which adds a colonial charm to this city. It's also got the most fantastic remains of an old french casino/hotel, church and palace at the top of their little mountain. This is the bokor hill station. The view is breathtaking, and we were lucky enough to have a perfect blue sky day. The casino/hotel is super eerie with its old grandeur. Plus it was used as a shelter for shooting at Khmer Rouge soldiers holding up in the catholic church.
The casino is built on multi-levels so its easy to get lost and trapped. I was unable to get back out the front door at one point as the maze of staircases seemed to lead me in circles. This is the place horror movies and nightmares are made. The casino has a cameo in a Matt Dillon movie. 2000riel to whomever can name the movie (I've forgotten the name).
On the way to the hill station we trekked for about 2 hrs in jungle on our way to a three tiered waterfall. It was like being in a giant's play pen full of little building blocks. But to us the blocks are massive and tumbled all over. The water is the colour of rust. The guide was not able to tell us why, but Paul and I figure it's because the rocks have red in them and they appear rusted. Must be iron?
The next day Kate, Paul and I rented motorbikes and toured all over hell's half acre. This included a jaunt through some rice paddies where I was attacked by a dog and drove my bike off the (very) narrow escarpment between the paddies. We also headed out to a pepper plantation (Kampot is world famous for its pepper, some of the most expensive in the world) and to several villages. Loved it.
More on the pepper. I have now eaten pepper fresh off the pepper tree. It's powerful, flavourful and green. It's a teeny tiny fruit really. There is no question that Kampot pepper is the best pepper I have ever had.
The following morning we took the 12hour bus ride to Battambang. On the bus we met Vince from Belgium who is now travelling with us. Our first night in the hotel we met some young people wearing matching t-shirts. I, being the sociable one, asked what was with the outfits (I said it with better manners than that though). Turns out the are performers in a circus currently in town. This is an artistic circus, not the abused animal kind. We immediately headed out to the night circus to be amazed by the Cambodian act (Puthot) . The acts of athleticism and balance were astounding. The modern dance performance was interesting for 20min and then dreadfully boring for 25 more minutes. The final show was the young people we met in the hotel earlier. They are a brazilian drum group from Germany (yeah, we also thought this strange). They were super high energy and got the crowd just jumping along.
Today we hired 'Happy' the Tuk Tuk driver to tour us all around. Temples, vistas, the killing caves, fruit bats, a suspension bridge and a Khmer heritage house. Great. The best part though was the bamboo train. It's a bamboo platform balanced on two sets of attached rollers with a motor sitting on top the whole contraption. Not only does it go quite fast, but it is easily taken apart, removed from the track and reassembled when meeting other such devices. It was a load of fun and Paul was able to get the best haircut and shave of his life at the tiny village at the end. Paul was the barbers first ever foreigner and he told us (through a translator that his hands were shaking as a result). Fittingly, it was Paul's first ever outdoor haircut, and with a manual razor.
Tomorrow all four of us are taking the boat to Siem Reap. The adventure continues
Linds
Friday, December 10, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Lost in Kep
We bought bus tickets to Kampot but thought Kep looked nice. So we got off the bus early. We had read that Rabbit island is pretty undeveloped and will not stay that way much longer. So we hired a boat to the island and checked into the tiny bungalow guest house overlooking the beach. We were pretty pumped to get into the crystal clear water and get rid of the heat and grime of Phnom Penh. When who should appear, shouting, "Hey that's my bikkini (which she had given to me a week earlier) but Kate, our dear friend from Englan. We met Kate on the bus to Luang Prabang and seperated ways when we left Vang Vieng. She ended up at this small remote island the same way we did. She got off the bus at a stop that looked nice. Knowing nothing about the area she took the advice of Marting, her current travelling companion, and headed over to Rabbit island. It's lovely, and we're so happy to be reunited with "our girl".
There's not much to report as Rabbit island is one of the places where everything moves real slow. We sunbathed, swam and splashed about (or, as Paul says "frolicked") for 2 days. I think we needed a touch of the slow paced. Kate had already been there 4 days, so was ready to leave with us.
We're now in Kampot. We just arrived at our awesome little guest house. It has 3 beds. Poor Kate ahs to share a room with us. Tomorrow we're touring the famed Bokor Hill Station. It's an old colonial French retreat that was bombed out by the Khmer Rouge. It remains a ghost town today. It sounds pretty cool. After that, not sure. Maybe some homestays and "Community Based Eco Tourism" a great catch phrase if ever there was one.
L
There's not much to report as Rabbit island is one of the places where everything moves real slow. We sunbathed, swam and splashed about (or, as Paul says "frolicked") for 2 days. I think we needed a touch of the slow paced. Kate had already been there 4 days, so was ready to leave with us.
We're now in Kampot. We just arrived at our awesome little guest house. It has 3 beds. Poor Kate ahs to share a room with us. Tomorrow we're touring the famed Bokor Hill Station. It's an old colonial French retreat that was bombed out by the Khmer Rouge. It remains a ghost town today. It sounds pretty cool. After that, not sure. Maybe some homestays and "Community Based Eco Tourism" a great catch phrase if ever there was one.
L
Friday, December 3, 2010
"Bit by a monkey" or "Fun monkey disease"
The 4000 Islands were, to be honest, a bit of a disappointment. They are beautiful, yes, but Laos as a whole is incredibly beautiful. We arrived late, haggled for a room and then wandered about. The following day we rented bikes and explored the two smaller of the inhabited islandes (Don Khon and Don Det). There was this great little Gibbon on a leash in the yard of a guest house. I carefully edged towards him and stuck out my hand (slowly) for him to sniff. He took my hand in his and shook it like a gently hand shake. He then hopped up in my lap. I was not expecting this but he was so gentle and human. He stroked my hand and picked at my shirt. In the blink of an eye he was on my head. I was a little less comfortable with this as I couldn't see him. "Paul, what's he doing, what's he doing." He appeared to be grooming me. He then took off my hat and tried it on. No joke. It fell off his tiny little gibbon head. I was in love. He lulled me into a false sense of security. He then grabbed my hair with his vicious little claws and bit down hard on the back of my head. I shrieked and shook him off. However, monkeys don't get shaked off. They're monkeys after all. He hung onto my tree limb forearm and bit down hard again. Yes, mom, he did break the skin. And no, I have not been to the hospital. There are non in Laos. Well, non that would be healthier than a monkey bite anyways.
So Paul and I are watching out for signs of rabies and aids. That's all.
The morning we checked out we discovered the guest house staff stole our laptop. I've lost 610 photos and no amount of crying and pleading with them would bring it back. It's gone. I'm now searching through the facebook profiles of the people I've met for any photos they may have that I lost. Unfortunately, we lost all of Tad Fan photos and no one was with us on the first day. Those photos are gone forever.
We are now in Cambodia. We had to bribe (a lot) at the border. But at least we were prepared for this, carrying a stash of american $1 bills.
We stopped in Kratie to see the elusive Irrawaddy Dolphins. Cambodia and Laos have the largest population left in the world and there are only about 200 in the Mekong. It's a staggeringly low number. We wanted to see them to support the efforts of the eco-tourism groups promoting their survival. Plus, Dolphins are cool.
Now in Phnom Penn. The bustling capital. It's a great city so far. Especially considering it was a bombed out and completely emptied (actually, all citizens were forced to leave except for those in torture prisons, check S-21 or Khmer Rouge online) only 30 short years ago. There are now 2million people here. And money is flying. Tourism, international funding, and everyone wanting a piece of the pie has led to loads and loads of construction. There is still abject poverty, but it is getting glossed up and over with glassed front stores and posh boutique hotels. It hasn't lost it's Cambodian flair though, it's not completely westernized. They've developed in their own Cambodian way. It's not all for the benefit of the rich either. There is a growing middle class here too. I don't mean to make it sound like paradise, it's not. But it is developing with the pros and cons that development has.
Yesterday was spent touring S-21 and the killing fields. It was something we felt was necessary and respectful to do. But hard. The killing fields has been privatized though. Which kind of makes you want to puke.
One more day in Phnom Penn and then we're off to the coast. Sweet!
So Paul and I are watching out for signs of rabies and aids. That's all.
The morning we checked out we discovered the guest house staff stole our laptop. I've lost 610 photos and no amount of crying and pleading with them would bring it back. It's gone. I'm now searching through the facebook profiles of the people I've met for any photos they may have that I lost. Unfortunately, we lost all of Tad Fan photos and no one was with us on the first day. Those photos are gone forever.
We are now in Cambodia. We had to bribe (a lot) at the border. But at least we were prepared for this, carrying a stash of american $1 bills.
We stopped in Kratie to see the elusive Irrawaddy Dolphins. Cambodia and Laos have the largest population left in the world and there are only about 200 in the Mekong. It's a staggeringly low number. We wanted to see them to support the efforts of the eco-tourism groups promoting their survival. Plus, Dolphins are cool.
Now in Phnom Penn. The bustling capital. It's a great city so far. Especially considering it was a bombed out and completely emptied (actually, all citizens were forced to leave except for those in torture prisons, check S-21 or Khmer Rouge online) only 30 short years ago. There are now 2million people here. And money is flying. Tourism, international funding, and everyone wanting a piece of the pie has led to loads and loads of construction. There is still abject poverty, but it is getting glossed up and over with glassed front stores and posh boutique hotels. It hasn't lost it's Cambodian flair though, it's not completely westernized. They've developed in their own Cambodian way. It's not all for the benefit of the rich either. There is a growing middle class here too. I don't mean to make it sound like paradise, it's not. But it is developing with the pros and cons that development has.
Yesterday was spent touring S-21 and the killing fields. It was something we felt was necessary and respectful to do. But hard. The killing fields has been privatized though. Which kind of makes you want to puke.
One more day in Phnom Penn and then we're off to the coast. Sweet!
Monday, November 29, 2010
And these so called vacations will soon be my death.
Pretty sure these lyrics were written about Vang Vieng. The return journey was made for two purposes only. To spend more time with the great people we met in Luang Prabang, and so Paul could go off a rope swing. Both goals were achieved.
The tubing was great. It involved absolutely no tubing. Actually, it doesn`t actually require entering the water. You can walk from one death trap of a bar to the next. Or, as Phillippe from Brazil put it, `It`s not tubing, it`s barring.``
We got out alive after dropping from trapeze swings 20m above water of questionable depth, dropping off a rickety diving board (I use that term loosely) in pairs and attempting to navigate oddly angled step ladders after one to many beer laos. It`s amazing what can develop when there is absolutely no risk of liability.
We, exhausted and ready for something more Laos like, headed out after two days for the Bolaven Plateau. This incredible area is home to the famous rich Laos coffee. It`s so dark and thick it looks like it was mixed with tar. It`s also home to some of the most beautiful waterfalls in the world. We were lucky enough to get one of the last rooms in one of the only hotels in the entire plateau. The Tad Fane Resort overlooks the twin falls of the same name that plunge some 120m into a cylincrical cavern. We hiked for hours and were rewarded with views from the top of these two falls. We both felt a bit terrified though. Standing in water that is about to careen off the edge of the biggest cliff you`ve ever looked over = vertigo.
The next day we borrowed a bike from the generous swiss couple staying at the resort and the four of us headed out to the Champee Falls for a swim. The water, in all our waterfall swims is frigidly cold, but the exhilaration of swimming at the base of a breathtaking waterfall is worth it. I even found a rotted wooden log to jump off. We were also able to swim to the side of the thundering falls and get up on slippery rocks to walk behind the falls. Very cool.
We are now sitting in the Kingfisher Ecolodge (a real ecolodge. they`ve undergone numerous per guest per night impact assessments.) It was easy enough to get here. We had to catch a ride outside the Tad Fane resort by walking to the main road and hoping someone would stop (someone did, almost immediately). Then get to the bus terminal and hope the tuk tuk leaving for the 4000 islands was late (it was, we are in Laos after all). The get dropped off at the turn off to KietGong village (at 12km walk from the drop off) and walk along a red dirt counrty road trying to convince the locals to start up their trucks and take us to the lodge. A family stopped and for 40.000kip let us ride in the back of their truck with 8 barrrels full of water (or something). Yeah, easy.
That`s it for now. We have wifi here, so maybe a bit more blogging consistency.
Linds and Paul
The tubing was great. It involved absolutely no tubing. Actually, it doesn`t actually require entering the water. You can walk from one death trap of a bar to the next. Or, as Phillippe from Brazil put it, `It`s not tubing, it`s barring.``
We got out alive after dropping from trapeze swings 20m above water of questionable depth, dropping off a rickety diving board (I use that term loosely) in pairs and attempting to navigate oddly angled step ladders after one to many beer laos. It`s amazing what can develop when there is absolutely no risk of liability.
We, exhausted and ready for something more Laos like, headed out after two days for the Bolaven Plateau. This incredible area is home to the famous rich Laos coffee. It`s so dark and thick it looks like it was mixed with tar. It`s also home to some of the most beautiful waterfalls in the world. We were lucky enough to get one of the last rooms in one of the only hotels in the entire plateau. The Tad Fane Resort overlooks the twin falls of the same name that plunge some 120m into a cylincrical cavern. We hiked for hours and were rewarded with views from the top of these two falls. We both felt a bit terrified though. Standing in water that is about to careen off the edge of the biggest cliff you`ve ever looked over = vertigo.
The next day we borrowed a bike from the generous swiss couple staying at the resort and the four of us headed out to the Champee Falls for a swim. The water, in all our waterfall swims is frigidly cold, but the exhilaration of swimming at the base of a breathtaking waterfall is worth it. I even found a rotted wooden log to jump off. We were also able to swim to the side of the thundering falls and get up on slippery rocks to walk behind the falls. Very cool.
We are now sitting in the Kingfisher Ecolodge (a real ecolodge. they`ve undergone numerous per guest per night impact assessments.) It was easy enough to get here. We had to catch a ride outside the Tad Fane resort by walking to the main road and hoping someone would stop (someone did, almost immediately). Then get to the bus terminal and hope the tuk tuk leaving for the 4000 islands was late (it was, we are in Laos after all). The get dropped off at the turn off to KietGong village (at 12km walk from the drop off) and walk along a red dirt counrty road trying to convince the locals to start up their trucks and take us to the lodge. A family stopped and for 40.000kip let us ride in the back of their truck with 8 barrrels full of water (or something). Yeah, easy.
That`s it for now. We have wifi here, so maybe a bit more blogging consistency.
Linds and Paul
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Just a typical day in Laos
My first full day in Laung Prabang (my favourite place so far) was spent with a the group of people met the night before. Kate and Dan from England and I were on the mini bus together. Through them I met James (Perth), and Florian and Oliver from Germany. The group of us decided to rent scooters and take them to the most famous waterfall outside of town the following morning. A plan was hatched and meeting times were made. Perfect.
We picked up our scooters at 8:30am and James immediately drove towards a metal barrier. We all decided it was better if I went on the back of a scooter of a more experienced driver. (These are fast manual drives, and my insurance does not cover me if I`m driving one, so a passenger was a must). Flo and I paired up and at the very next T-intersection James drove into us, knocking over our bike. All were fine.
In the middle of our 1hr ride James got a flat. A really fast flat. He then meandered with the bike back to the previous town in the hope we could leave the bike there. However, flats are so common that the little town had a little shack to change our little tire. We hung out in the village for the slowest tire change in history, 1 hour. But the village was great, and the children very excited. They definitley have had some well meaning but uninformed tourists giving them money as this great little village was full of small children obsessed with begging. Side note: don`t give money, it doesn`t help, it creates a culture of dependency ans erodes the local culture. If you want to help, donate to the local school.
Once back on the road we smoothly and uneventfully finished our trip to the most beautiful waterfall. It is the picture of paradise. We went swimming in the pool at the bottom and hiked all the way to the top for spectacular views. If you`re ever in Laos, check it out.
On the way back a stranger pulled over directly in front of James causing his second crash of the day. Again, no injuries.
James, being quite a bit more conservative in his driving lagged behind us and missed the turn to the next waterfall. I waved him down where he promptly got pulled over by the local cops. They took his keys, helmet and bike. He was `fined` 500000kip, but the `fines` in this country have a middle point. He managed to barter them down to 300000kip.
Back on the road again. We never did find the second waterfall. But no one was hurt and no one went to jail. almost but not quite. I`d say that`s succesful.
L
We picked up our scooters at 8:30am and James immediately drove towards a metal barrier. We all decided it was better if I went on the back of a scooter of a more experienced driver. (These are fast manual drives, and my insurance does not cover me if I`m driving one, so a passenger was a must). Flo and I paired up and at the very next T-intersection James drove into us, knocking over our bike. All were fine.
In the middle of our 1hr ride James got a flat. A really fast flat. He then meandered with the bike back to the previous town in the hope we could leave the bike there. However, flats are so common that the little town had a little shack to change our little tire. We hung out in the village for the slowest tire change in history, 1 hour. But the village was great, and the children very excited. They definitley have had some well meaning but uninformed tourists giving them money as this great little village was full of small children obsessed with begging. Side note: don`t give money, it doesn`t help, it creates a culture of dependency ans erodes the local culture. If you want to help, donate to the local school.
Once back on the road we smoothly and uneventfully finished our trip to the most beautiful waterfall. It is the picture of paradise. We went swimming in the pool at the bottom and hiked all the way to the top for spectacular views. If you`re ever in Laos, check it out.
On the way back a stranger pulled over directly in front of James causing his second crash of the day. Again, no injuries.
James, being quite a bit more conservative in his driving lagged behind us and missed the turn to the next waterfall. I waved him down where he promptly got pulled over by the local cops. They took his keys, helmet and bike. He was `fined` 500000kip, but the `fines` in this country have a middle point. He managed to barter them down to 300000kip.
Back on the road again. We never did find the second waterfall. But no one was hurt and no one went to jail. almost but not quite. I`d say that`s succesful.
L
Friday, November 19, 2010
Vientiane and Vang Vieng
I spent two days sight seeing in Vientiane. It's the capital city of Laos, but still feels very small town. It's relaxed, modern and beautiful. I saw several temples my favourite being the first one which contains hundreds of buddhas. I also really liked the gold spire with the lotus leaves surrounding it. It's stunning. Google Laos and it will come up.
Travelling alone is super easy. I've met travel companions for every stage of my journey. I've run into some of the same people in different cities too. Laos is heavily travelled by backpackers many of which are travelling alone. So, meeting people is shockingly easy.
Vang Vieng is a different story. This is a backpackers hang out. It's a city with less locals than foreigners and has perhaps lost its soul in favour of the party atmosphere. The surrounding area is stunning though and striking. Plus, there is nothing wrong with the social atmosphere, it's just not a dosage of Laos culture is all.
There is one identical restaurant after another all with tv's playing Friends or Family Guy. However, there are a few really good eateries, and these are easy to find, just look for the places without tv's. I've eaten incredibly well actually. Tonight I had a full fish, Ping Paa, grilled and spiced to perfection. I've never eaten a fish with the head, fins and tail still attached. Another mini adventure.
There is one wretchedly skinny dog that I buy a beef shiskabobfor every day. There are several travellers that do this. Not sure how this dog is so skinny. All the other dogs here look great. But she has painfully swollen teats and looks like she could die at any second. She's very sweet and lets me hold the scewers while she munches on the meat. She should be fat in no time.
Tomorrow I'm going kyaking and caving on a tour. I'm super excited to do somthing physical and get into the stunning surrounging areas. I'm afraid it won't be very private as there are multiple tour companies that do the same trip. But it'll be social and fun and I'll probably meet someone to do the next stage of my trip with. Good Times.
Lindsay
Travelling alone is super easy. I've met travel companions for every stage of my journey. I've run into some of the same people in different cities too. Laos is heavily travelled by backpackers many of which are travelling alone. So, meeting people is shockingly easy.
Vang Vieng is a different story. This is a backpackers hang out. It's a city with less locals than foreigners and has perhaps lost its soul in favour of the party atmosphere. The surrounding area is stunning though and striking. Plus, there is nothing wrong with the social atmosphere, it's just not a dosage of Laos culture is all.
There is one identical restaurant after another all with tv's playing Friends or Family Guy. However, there are a few really good eateries, and these are easy to find, just look for the places without tv's. I've eaten incredibly well actually. Tonight I had a full fish, Ping Paa, grilled and spiced to perfection. I've never eaten a fish with the head, fins and tail still attached. Another mini adventure.
There is one wretchedly skinny dog that I buy a beef shiskabobfor every day. There are several travellers that do this. Not sure how this dog is so skinny. All the other dogs here look great. But she has painfully swollen teats and looks like she could die at any second. She's very sweet and lets me hold the scewers while she munches on the meat. She should be fat in no time.
Tomorrow I'm going kyaking and caving on a tour. I'm super excited to do somthing physical and get into the stunning surrounging areas. I'm afraid it won't be very private as there are multiple tour companies that do the same trip. But it'll be social and fun and I'll probably meet someone to do the next stage of my trip with. Good Times.
Lindsay
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Goodbye to Bangladesh
Leaving Dhaka behind is like walking back into the real world. The world I've always considered real anyways. In my first week in Dhaka I thought, "just get through it, 6 more weeks. I can do it." I thought the traffic noise, the pollution, the garbage everywhere would drive me nuts.
Instead, I got used to it. Mostly. Now that my time here is up I think, how could it have gone so fast? There is so much about Bangladesh I will miss. There were so many prolonged goodbyes, difficult prolonged goodbyes. Here is a brief list of things I will miss, things I've learned, and things I hope to never forget:
1. I will miss my patients, particularly the boy I took outside everyday for the past 4 weeks. It was terribly hard to say goodbye to him. He calls me his crazy long trolley driver (sometimes I race his long trolley). He said he was not happy about me leaving. I felt guilty for leaving him.
2. The fantastic people. I will miss being a guest of an entire country. As Sumanta says, "you are my guest. It is my duty to show you my country." I was honoured to be thought of as a guest.
3. I won't miss being stared at by a steadily growing crowd (over 100 people can provide a lot of awkward stares).
4. Fried food is safe, but makes you fat.
5. There is no possible way that food shipped from half way around the world will ever taste as good as the fruit purchased directly off the street, fresh and ready to eat that day.
5. Don't eat that little hard fruit with the mushy brown insides. It almost killed me.
6. Food handed to you is still good.
7. I already miss the naan bread from Shuchuri the fried chicken place. It is amazing.
8. Living with 5 other girls in a 600sq ft apartment is possible. And you can even still like them at the end.
9. Don't judge a country at first glance. Bangladesh is poor, more so than I could have imagined. Dhaka is dirty, more so than I could have imagined. The beggars are aggressive and resilient. The levels of corruption are crippling. And the people are kind, generous and gracious hosts. And I loved it.
10. It's way easier to learn some language when you live in the country. And I can now barter. sort of.
11. Volunteering abroad is an amazing way to travel. DO IT!
Maybe one day I will return. Ami Jonni na ( I don't know)
Abar Darka Hobey Na (but maybe)
Lindsay
Instead, I got used to it. Mostly. Now that my time here is up I think, how could it have gone so fast? There is so much about Bangladesh I will miss. There were so many prolonged goodbyes, difficult prolonged goodbyes. Here is a brief list of things I will miss, things I've learned, and things I hope to never forget:
1. I will miss my patients, particularly the boy I took outside everyday for the past 4 weeks. It was terribly hard to say goodbye to him. He calls me his crazy long trolley driver (sometimes I race his long trolley). He said he was not happy about me leaving. I felt guilty for leaving him.
2. The fantastic people. I will miss being a guest of an entire country. As Sumanta says, "you are my guest. It is my duty to show you my country." I was honoured to be thought of as a guest.
3. I won't miss being stared at by a steadily growing crowd (over 100 people can provide a lot of awkward stares).
4. Fried food is safe, but makes you fat.
5. There is no possible way that food shipped from half way around the world will ever taste as good as the fruit purchased directly off the street, fresh and ready to eat that day.
5. Don't eat that little hard fruit with the mushy brown insides. It almost killed me.
6. Food handed to you is still good.
7. I already miss the naan bread from Shuchuri the fried chicken place. It is amazing.
8. Living with 5 other girls in a 600sq ft apartment is possible. And you can even still like them at the end.
9. Don't judge a country at first glance. Bangladesh is poor, more so than I could have imagined. Dhaka is dirty, more so than I could have imagined. The beggars are aggressive and resilient. The levels of corruption are crippling. And the people are kind, generous and gracious hosts. And I loved it.
10. It's way easier to learn some language when you live in the country. And I can now barter. sort of.
11. Volunteering abroad is an amazing way to travel. DO IT!
Maybe one day I will return. Ami Jonni na ( I don't know)
Abar Darka Hobey Na (but maybe)
Lindsay
Saturday, November 13, 2010
And now the guide book speaks truth
Yesterday was amazing, as Fridays always are, though due to very different experiences this time. I will touch on that in a bit. First, the experience of tonight.
We had read about it in both guide books, but were not concerned. We don't stay out late, and it usually occurs in the expat areas. Plus, I feel really comfortable in Savar Bazaar. We go there so regularly that the guy at the misty shop gives us the friendship price and the people at the fried chicken place clear a table for us every time we show up, even if that means rushing out a barely finished diner or two. This is our Bazaar now.
Eid arrives on Monday. Eid is one of the biggest Muslim festivals of the year. Everyone has it as a holiday (expect rickshaw wallahs of course, this holiday means more work, of which they are thankful). As a result it is even more insanely busy. Going to the bazaar is like entering a mosh pit. For the first time I had my bum grabbed by some unseen passerby. I turned around and yelled, but in that crowd I have no idea who it could be. I thought, you conservative Muslim hypocrit. How dare you grab me.
As Joy and I were hailing a rickshaw we were contemplating this grabbing incident. The ride home was finally taking us away from the worst of the crowd. Out of nowhere a car pulls up along side us with a man half out the back window. He grabbed Joy's purse. Because her purse was slung around her shoulder she was yanked forward. I thought for sure she was going to fall out of the rickshaw and be dragged by the car. I grabbed her, though I don't believe I impacted the situation at all. Her purse strap broke, and I think the force of this was what threw her body back in the seat. She had her hands on the purse and was able to rip it free of its captor. Her purse strap is ripped, but her wallet remained, and she was not badly maimed by a car dragging. We faired well. With adrenalin whizzing about us, we made it back to CRP safely.
Yesterday went much better. I went to Old Dhaka by myself. I saw Lalbagh (Red Fort) an ancient Muslim mosque finished by Shaista Khan, then rickshawed to Hindu Street. Hindu Street is a narrow winding street with loads of little shops selling instruments and bracelets, stickers and sweets. Here I met up with Sumanta (pronounced Shimanto). He is an OT from Dhaka. He toured me around before taking me to the infamous Saderghat harbour. This is not a picturesque harbour, it's a working harbour. It's filthy, although this does not stop the various crewman from washing in the water (sick, they must have unbelievable immune systems). And it's really really busy. It's also full to the brim with people, pick poskets and aggressive beggars. Sounds lovely eh? But it's Dhaka, and not to be missed. Because I was with a local, I was left alone far more than if I'd been by myself. I am so thankful for Sumanta's company!
We rented a little boat and toured around the harbour with our boat man for 30min. Here we avoided steamers loaded to the gills with sand for brick making and clay, coconut fibres for mattress innards, pop bottles and garbage. It was pretty interesting to see. Well worth the trip.
After Saderghat we toured around the Pink Palace, which was the residence of the last Nawab of Bangladesh. This was not the serene exerience it oculd have been due to the sheer number of people also viewing the pink palace for the afternoon. Still, interesting none the less.
After we were all toured out we headed to Sumanta's uncles for some lunch and then off the Banani in baby taxi to Fazul and Baby's house (the two fabulous characters from the Sundarbans ship). They, in true Bangali style treated us like kings. We ate far too much (this is the theme of my whole trip). There were 4 kinds of meat dishes, two kinds of misty, multiple rice dishes and several vegetable options. Unreal. Following dinner Baby proceeded to show me some of her artwork. She is a gifted designer who creates hand painted works on furniture, bottles, lampshades and most beautifully: Sari's. She handed me a scotch bottle that she had created an intricate henna design using gold paint. Beautiful. She told me, it's for you. When I tride to protest she laughed and insisted. She then dissappeared and returned with a beautiful Salvar Kameez and forced me to take it as well. It has the most delicate beadwork. The gifts were a little too much for me, and I found myself gushing and wondering how I would ever repay their kindness. I was handed a tissue. Poor Sumanta had to sit through all of this.
As I was leaving she gave me the full jar of juice crystals for the juice I particularly liked during dinner! It was starting to worry that I would be handed everything I complimented!
The generosity and kindness I have experienced here is second to none. I did not mention that my full day tour with Sumanto was not pre arranged. It just happened we were both in Old Dhaka at the same time. I then took up his entire day. I am a guest of all of Bangladesh. This is how we Bideshis (foreigner) are treated. Yes, we had an attemped robbery. This person was clearly a shit head, part of a group of shit heads. But the Bangladeshi people outside of the shit heads have shown me a level of kindness and generosity I have not once deserved.
Lindsay
We had read about it in both guide books, but were not concerned. We don't stay out late, and it usually occurs in the expat areas. Plus, I feel really comfortable in Savar Bazaar. We go there so regularly that the guy at the misty shop gives us the friendship price and the people at the fried chicken place clear a table for us every time we show up, even if that means rushing out a barely finished diner or two. This is our Bazaar now.
Eid arrives on Monday. Eid is one of the biggest Muslim festivals of the year. Everyone has it as a holiday (expect rickshaw wallahs of course, this holiday means more work, of which they are thankful). As a result it is even more insanely busy. Going to the bazaar is like entering a mosh pit. For the first time I had my bum grabbed by some unseen passerby. I turned around and yelled, but in that crowd I have no idea who it could be. I thought, you conservative Muslim hypocrit. How dare you grab me.
As Joy and I were hailing a rickshaw we were contemplating this grabbing incident. The ride home was finally taking us away from the worst of the crowd. Out of nowhere a car pulls up along side us with a man half out the back window. He grabbed Joy's purse. Because her purse was slung around her shoulder she was yanked forward. I thought for sure she was going to fall out of the rickshaw and be dragged by the car. I grabbed her, though I don't believe I impacted the situation at all. Her purse strap broke, and I think the force of this was what threw her body back in the seat. She had her hands on the purse and was able to rip it free of its captor. Her purse strap is ripped, but her wallet remained, and she was not badly maimed by a car dragging. We faired well. With adrenalin whizzing about us, we made it back to CRP safely.
Yesterday went much better. I went to Old Dhaka by myself. I saw Lalbagh (Red Fort) an ancient Muslim mosque finished by Shaista Khan, then rickshawed to Hindu Street. Hindu Street is a narrow winding street with loads of little shops selling instruments and bracelets, stickers and sweets. Here I met up with Sumanta (pronounced Shimanto). He is an OT from Dhaka. He toured me around before taking me to the infamous Saderghat harbour. This is not a picturesque harbour, it's a working harbour. It's filthy, although this does not stop the various crewman from washing in the water (sick, they must have unbelievable immune systems). And it's really really busy. It's also full to the brim with people, pick poskets and aggressive beggars. Sounds lovely eh? But it's Dhaka, and not to be missed. Because I was with a local, I was left alone far more than if I'd been by myself. I am so thankful for Sumanta's company!
We rented a little boat and toured around the harbour with our boat man for 30min. Here we avoided steamers loaded to the gills with sand for brick making and clay, coconut fibres for mattress innards, pop bottles and garbage. It was pretty interesting to see. Well worth the trip.
After Saderghat we toured around the Pink Palace, which was the residence of the last Nawab of Bangladesh. This was not the serene exerience it oculd have been due to the sheer number of people also viewing the pink palace for the afternoon. Still, interesting none the less.
After we were all toured out we headed to Sumanta's uncles for some lunch and then off the Banani in baby taxi to Fazul and Baby's house (the two fabulous characters from the Sundarbans ship). They, in true Bangali style treated us like kings. We ate far too much (this is the theme of my whole trip). There were 4 kinds of meat dishes, two kinds of misty, multiple rice dishes and several vegetable options. Unreal. Following dinner Baby proceeded to show me some of her artwork. She is a gifted designer who creates hand painted works on furniture, bottles, lampshades and most beautifully: Sari's. She handed me a scotch bottle that she had created an intricate henna design using gold paint. Beautiful. She told me, it's for you. When I tride to protest she laughed and insisted. She then dissappeared and returned with a beautiful Salvar Kameez and forced me to take it as well. It has the most delicate beadwork. The gifts were a little too much for me, and I found myself gushing and wondering how I would ever repay their kindness. I was handed a tissue. Poor Sumanta had to sit through all of this.
As I was leaving she gave me the full jar of juice crystals for the juice I particularly liked during dinner! It was starting to worry that I would be handed everything I complimented!
The generosity and kindness I have experienced here is second to none. I did not mention that my full day tour with Sumanto was not pre arranged. It just happened we were both in Old Dhaka at the same time. I then took up his entire day. I am a guest of all of Bangladesh. This is how we Bideshis (foreigner) are treated. Yes, we had an attemped robbery. This person was clearly a shit head, part of a group of shit heads. But the Bangladeshi people outside of the shit heads have shown me a level of kindness and generosity I have not once deserved.
Lindsay
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Sundarbans! (part 2)
I could go on and on about the Sundarbans, but I'll try to limit it to two posts. After we anchored (and immediately saw several spotted deer and monkeys on the beach) in the bay of bengal we had an evening to kill time. Our dear Muslim friend Fazel again treated us to scotch and vodka (he's not super Muslim) under the stars. I lied down on the benches at the back of the boat and in 30min saw 9 shooting stars. There must have been a meteor shower or something as the same phenomena occurred the following night.
We had an early morning trek after the most spectacular sunrise. This hike was through a particularly mongrove-ish part of the mongroves. The entire way was on a raised walkway. In typical Bangladeshi style the walk way was completely rotted away and so we carefully stepped along the central concrete beam about as wide as a gymnast's balance beam! Somehow the older people and the children managed it however, and we made it back safe and sound. One of the guests, Fazel's sister, spoke the entire time (despite the guide's warning that we will see more if we're quiet). And, also in typical Bengali style she spoke as if she was trying to be heard over a traffic jam. When I asked her to please be quiet so we might see something she replied, "no Royal Bengal Tiger here." and proceeded to shout whisper (whispering like they do in Shakespeare plays where the entire audience can hear the actor despite no microphone). This place is always entertaining.
Our afternoon hike was through a sort of grassland on sand. It was beautiful country, although the group moved a little slow for my taste. In 35deg celsius we trudged along to the sea of Bengal. There we had our own private beach on perfect sand. Swimming was such a treat in that heat, especially after so many weeks of being covered up in a Salwar Kameez in plus 30 weather. The guides brought fruit for snacks (they did not let us go very long without eating) and we lounged around before making the 5km hike back. This may have been my favourite part of the trip, but the Bengalis complained and complained about the length of the hike in the heat. I thought it was pretty funny that they were the ones whining about the heat. It was a pretty long hike for the older guests with arthritis and the young ones (a three year old made the hike, but his poor father had to carry him on the way back because he was fast asleep).
The heat was such that you could feel your sweat balling up at your temples before rolling down your face. But, despite my normal dislike of extreme heat, it was totally worth it and I think I'm getting aclimatized as well. It was also no where near the heat I experienced the first few days (38deg with high humity. It felt as if the air was choking you).
That night we took the country boat through the narrow canals once again. We again saw nothing more than birds. The density of the forest is such that you can only see maybe a foot into the trees. But on the way back we saw deep tiger tracks that were not there before. The tiger swam across the river twice (apparently that is normal) just behind us. The feeling of being watched was thrilling. Two of the men that stayed back at the main boat were able to see the Tiger make his journey. They are two of the only people on earth (who do not live in the Sundarbans and are not biologists) who have ever seen a wild Bengal Tiger. It is awesome (In the Eddie Izzard kind of Awe-some, not in the "sweet, a corn dog, that's awesome," kind of way)
On the boat trip back to Khulna we saw two pods and one lone dolphin. These are the Ganges River Dolphins. Again, thrilling. There is something about dolphins I think that you can't help but feel a kinship (see the movie The Cove if you haven't already). It was so exciting to see them breach the water and jump. I've never seen a wild dolphin before, and the Ganges River Dolphin is a rare fresh water dolphin that is very distinct in appearance from the bottle nose dolphins that are in the aquariums.
The only part I disliked was the all night bus ride back from Khulna to Dhaka. You know how when you're in a moving vehicle you'll wake up when it stops moving? Well, picture this, we moved so little and so rarely that I woke up every time the vehicle started moving! 10hours. Most of which was spent waiting for a ferry. We were an uncomfortable bunch. No food, no bathroom breaks. But the traffic was so bad we were able to get out, find a local toilet and get back in. The bus had moved about 20feet in that time.
For those of you who like going to less likely places, definitely include the Sundarbans in your itineraries. It was one of the best trips of my life. The Sundarbans are inhospital to human habitation due to the tidal waves, the lack of solid ground and the high levels of salinity. So, as a result, there are no permanent residents in the park. Very nice.
Linds
We had an early morning trek after the most spectacular sunrise. This hike was through a particularly mongrove-ish part of the mongroves. The entire way was on a raised walkway. In typical Bangladeshi style the walk way was completely rotted away and so we carefully stepped along the central concrete beam about as wide as a gymnast's balance beam! Somehow the older people and the children managed it however, and we made it back safe and sound. One of the guests, Fazel's sister, spoke the entire time (despite the guide's warning that we will see more if we're quiet). And, also in typical Bengali style she spoke as if she was trying to be heard over a traffic jam. When I asked her to please be quiet so we might see something she replied, "no Royal Bengal Tiger here." and proceeded to shout whisper (whispering like they do in Shakespeare plays where the entire audience can hear the actor despite no microphone). This place is always entertaining.
Our afternoon hike was through a sort of grassland on sand. It was beautiful country, although the group moved a little slow for my taste. In 35deg celsius we trudged along to the sea of Bengal. There we had our own private beach on perfect sand. Swimming was such a treat in that heat, especially after so many weeks of being covered up in a Salwar Kameez in plus 30 weather. The guides brought fruit for snacks (they did not let us go very long without eating) and we lounged around before making the 5km hike back. This may have been my favourite part of the trip, but the Bengalis complained and complained about the length of the hike in the heat. I thought it was pretty funny that they were the ones whining about the heat. It was a pretty long hike for the older guests with arthritis and the young ones (a three year old made the hike, but his poor father had to carry him on the way back because he was fast asleep).
The heat was such that you could feel your sweat balling up at your temples before rolling down your face. But, despite my normal dislike of extreme heat, it was totally worth it and I think I'm getting aclimatized as well. It was also no where near the heat I experienced the first few days (38deg with high humity. It felt as if the air was choking you).
That night we took the country boat through the narrow canals once again. We again saw nothing more than birds. The density of the forest is such that you can only see maybe a foot into the trees. But on the way back we saw deep tiger tracks that were not there before. The tiger swam across the river twice (apparently that is normal) just behind us. The feeling of being watched was thrilling. Two of the men that stayed back at the main boat were able to see the Tiger make his journey. They are two of the only people on earth (who do not live in the Sundarbans and are not biologists) who have ever seen a wild Bengal Tiger. It is awesome (In the Eddie Izzard kind of Awe-some, not in the "sweet, a corn dog, that's awesome," kind of way)
On the boat trip back to Khulna we saw two pods and one lone dolphin. These are the Ganges River Dolphins. Again, thrilling. There is something about dolphins I think that you can't help but feel a kinship (see the movie The Cove if you haven't already). It was so exciting to see them breach the water and jump. I've never seen a wild dolphin before, and the Ganges River Dolphin is a rare fresh water dolphin that is very distinct in appearance from the bottle nose dolphins that are in the aquariums.
The only part I disliked was the all night bus ride back from Khulna to Dhaka. You know how when you're in a moving vehicle you'll wake up when it stops moving? Well, picture this, we moved so little and so rarely that I woke up every time the vehicle started moving! 10hours. Most of which was spent waiting for a ferry. We were an uncomfortable bunch. No food, no bathroom breaks. But the traffic was so bad we were able to get out, find a local toilet and get back in. The bus had moved about 20feet in that time.
For those of you who like going to less likely places, definitely include the Sundarbans in your itineraries. It was one of the best trips of my life. The Sundarbans are inhospital to human habitation due to the tidal waves, the lack of solid ground and the high levels of salinity. So, as a result, there are no permanent residents in the park. Very nice.
Linds
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
SUNDARBANS! (part 1)
Sorry for the lack of posting lately. I have been on my one and only holiday in Bangladesh. Google the "Bangladesh Sundarbans" to see where I've been.
I signed up for a boat tour with The Guide Tours. This was a necessity, as this protected area is only accessible by boat, and only recognized tour companies with a permit are able to anchor over night in the Sundarbans. Otherwise, your tour begins and ends at the forest station. The Guide Tours boat is reminiscent to a Mississippi river boat. It's beautiful. Our tiny cabins had two cot sized bunk beds with a window to the outside and one to the central alley. On the top floor is seating for viewing, the dining room and the captain.
We slowly made our way from Dhaka down the incomprehensible maze of river pathways out to the forest station. This took two days in itself. The journey was fantastic though. I did not find myself asking, "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" The first full day we trolled along looking at little fishing boats, riverside villages, a swimming cow and her calf. The locals waved at us as we went by, wishing us Asalaam Walekum. We waved back and took uncountable numbers of photos. That evening Fazul and his family, his brother's family and his sister's family (13 in all) hauled up mattresses to the prow and we all layed down under the stars. It's amazing how quickly you get to know people when in close quaters.
The following morning we got up early to watch the spectacular sunrise followed by a second day of travel to the Sundarbans. In the late afternoon we arrived at the Coast of Bengal and anchored. We were greeted immediately by monkeys and spotted deer on shore. I had read it was unlikely to see wildlife if entering the Sundarbans on a large boat (and we had 7 screaming children under the age of 7) so it was quite a surprise to see so much so soon.
We took an evening boat ride through the narrow channels followed by more excellent cuisine. Ana, one of the guests, bought fish from some local boats earlier in the day, and made us two delicious meals with her purchases. The prawns were bigger than I thought possible. They look like small lobsters. You only eat a half a prawn at a time as they are cut lengthwise! In a country of tiny things (a quote from my supervisor) the prawns are monstrous.
Due to the looming deadline of my presentation, I have to go. I will complete this post next day. But stay tuned, the best is yet to come (da da dum).
Lindsay
I signed up for a boat tour with The Guide Tours. This was a necessity, as this protected area is only accessible by boat, and only recognized tour companies with a permit are able to anchor over night in the Sundarbans. Otherwise, your tour begins and ends at the forest station. The Guide Tours boat is reminiscent to a Mississippi river boat. It's beautiful. Our tiny cabins had two cot sized bunk beds with a window to the outside and one to the central alley. On the top floor is seating for viewing, the dining room and the captain.
We slowly made our way from Dhaka down the incomprehensible maze of river pathways out to the forest station. This took two days in itself. The journey was fantastic though. I did not find myself asking, "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" The first full day we trolled along looking at little fishing boats, riverside villages, a swimming cow and her calf. The locals waved at us as we went by, wishing us Asalaam Walekum. We waved back and took uncountable numbers of photos. That evening Fazul and his family, his brother's family and his sister's family (13 in all) hauled up mattresses to the prow and we all layed down under the stars. It's amazing how quickly you get to know people when in close quaters.
The following morning we got up early to watch the spectacular sunrise followed by a second day of travel to the Sundarbans. In the late afternoon we arrived at the Coast of Bengal and anchored. We were greeted immediately by monkeys and spotted deer on shore. I had read it was unlikely to see wildlife if entering the Sundarbans on a large boat (and we had 7 screaming children under the age of 7) so it was quite a surprise to see so much so soon.
We took an evening boat ride through the narrow channels followed by more excellent cuisine. Ana, one of the guests, bought fish from some local boats earlier in the day, and made us two delicious meals with her purchases. The prawns were bigger than I thought possible. They look like small lobsters. You only eat a half a prawn at a time as they are cut lengthwise! In a country of tiny things (a quote from my supervisor) the prawns are monstrous.
Due to the looming deadline of my presentation, I have to go. I will complete this post next day. But stay tuned, the best is yet to come (da da dum).
Lindsay
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Lice, a Labrador and some Bora
All of us volunteers are from different corners of the world and working in different corners of CRP. One of the girls, Joy, from Holland, is working in the special needs school (by the way Dianne, she also says that Appekop is not a term you call your wife.) This was a gutsy move on her part because not only is the special needs school not nearly as developed as the SCI unit, but the treatment of children here leaves a lot to be desired. She has witnessed what we would refer to as malpractice or even abuse in Canada, but she continues on, advocating for her patients.
One day she was shocked to discover that the caregivers had cut a few corners (pun definitely intended) when grooming the children. All the children (girls and boys) arrived with their heads shaved. We were all pretty shocked at this apparent attack on moral. Joy continued to run group therapy and individual treaments throughout the day. She finally decided she should ask why on earth the decision to shave everyone's heads was made. The reply, "Oh, they all have lice." It was said offhanded, like "Oh, the sky is cloudy today." or "Oh, there's rice for lunch again."
Since then we have all been itchy.We're a little miffed as to why the therapist in the special needs school was not informed of the lice status, but there you have it. This is Bangladesh after all.
As for the labrador, I have managed to get my dog fix while here (not my dog fixed, but my dog fix). The founder of CRP, Valerie Taylor, has a pet Labrador retriever named Jerry. As she has gone to England for 2 months, Jerry has been abandoned in his little home. I volunteered to walk him every day or two in her absence (while I'm still here, which is only 2 more weeks, one of which I'm in the Sundarbans). Jerry is a typical lab in an atypical situation. He is tremendously lonely and is locked on their large porch. He cannot go into their fairly secure yard because of the anti-dog rhetoric that occurs in Muslim beliefs. He is considered unclean (I believe this is in a religious sense. Valerie informed me that devout Muslims must thoroughly clean a room that a dog has been in before they are able to pray. Please correct me if this is wrong). Although there are some people here who claim "Ami kokur pochando korri" (I like dogs) the vast majority are fearful and find them loathsome. Basically, this resulted in her last two dogs being poisoned while she was away. They were poisened in her own yard.
Man, it takes a whole other level of patience and kindness to put up with the very people who poison your dogs. I have therefore been charged with his walking and his on-leash protection.
For everyone's information, every one of these dogs were given to her by people who were leaving Bangladesh and unable to take their dogs. Valerie has not repeatedly bought dogs only to have them killed. She is a rescuer of sorts.
Finally, I have had a great cooking experience. Asha, the fabulous daughter of our house mother, took time out of her evening to teach us how to cook kola bora. Bora means small ball, or food in a small ball, kola is banana. This dish consists of banana, flour, egg, milk, sugar, more sugar and coconut . It is then balled up and dropped into bubbly oil. (Everything here can be fried. We even had a deep fried hard boiled egg. no joke.) It is amazing. I think Paul will be especially fond of this one as it tastes like deep fried banana loaf. sooooo good.
That's it for now.
Linds
One day she was shocked to discover that the caregivers had cut a few corners (pun definitely intended) when grooming the children. All the children (girls and boys) arrived with their heads shaved. We were all pretty shocked at this apparent attack on moral. Joy continued to run group therapy and individual treaments throughout the day. She finally decided she should ask why on earth the decision to shave everyone's heads was made. The reply, "Oh, they all have lice." It was said offhanded, like "Oh, the sky is cloudy today." or "Oh, there's rice for lunch again."
Since then we have all been itchy.We're a little miffed as to why the therapist in the special needs school was not informed of the lice status, but there you have it. This is Bangladesh after all.
As for the labrador, I have managed to get my dog fix while here (not my dog fixed, but my dog fix). The founder of CRP, Valerie Taylor, has a pet Labrador retriever named Jerry. As she has gone to England for 2 months, Jerry has been abandoned in his little home. I volunteered to walk him every day or two in her absence (while I'm still here, which is only 2 more weeks, one of which I'm in the Sundarbans). Jerry is a typical lab in an atypical situation. He is tremendously lonely and is locked on their large porch. He cannot go into their fairly secure yard because of the anti-dog rhetoric that occurs in Muslim beliefs. He is considered unclean (I believe this is in a religious sense. Valerie informed me that devout Muslims must thoroughly clean a room that a dog has been in before they are able to pray. Please correct me if this is wrong). Although there are some people here who claim "Ami kokur pochando korri" (I like dogs) the vast majority are fearful and find them loathsome. Basically, this resulted in her last two dogs being poisoned while she was away. They were poisened in her own yard.
Man, it takes a whole other level of patience and kindness to put up with the very people who poison your dogs. I have therefore been charged with his walking and his on-leash protection.
For everyone's information, every one of these dogs were given to her by people who were leaving Bangladesh and unable to take their dogs. Valerie has not repeatedly bought dogs only to have them killed. She is a rescuer of sorts.
Finally, I have had a great cooking experience. Asha, the fabulous daughter of our house mother, took time out of her evening to teach us how to cook kola bora. Bora means small ball, or food in a small ball, kola is banana. This dish consists of banana, flour, egg, milk, sugar, more sugar and coconut . It is then balled up and dropped into bubbly oil. (Everything here can be fried. We even had a deep fried hard boiled egg. no joke.) It is amazing. I think Paul will be especially fond of this one as it tastes like deep fried banana loaf. sooooo good.
That's it for now.
Linds
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Just another day in Paradise
Yesterday was our day off. Every Friday we wake up, eat a delicious breakfast of fresh fruit (purchased off the street the night before) moori (a kind of puffed rice) and TugDoi (basically, sour cream, their version of yogourt).
We then head out to catch the bus. Catching the bus in Bangladesh is not like it is anywhere else in the world. We first take a rickshaw to the unmarked bus stop. The only reason we know where to go is because previous volunteers have shown us. Previous volunteers showed them where to go and so on and so forth. At the unmarked bus stop there are tiny wooden desks, just big enough for one person to sit behind. These have no distinguishing markings on them. One has an umbrella. In the dense crowds they are very easy to miss. At these desks sit a couple of men who sell the bus tickets. So we buy our tickets at the unmarked bus stop.
The bus has no exact schedule. We just buy our tickets and wait, hoping it comes soon. The buses themselves have no numbers on them. Many different buses are almost identical, but the small variations in paint are how the passengers appear to distinguish them. Our bus has musical notes painted on the side. Each bus is privately owned, so each route is set by the company that owns the bus. There is no transit system.
For 32Taka we take an hour long bus ride into Gulshan. That's about 50cents. Gulshan is the posh area, but you wouldn't call it that anywhere else in the world. The electrical wires are hanging in bundles of thousands. They cut through corners, leaning into the houses and rubbing off the plaster wall paint. The high rises are rough plaster over rougher bricks. There is glass and metal in Gulshan however, which is not common in the other areas. The rich people live here, and all the expat clubs are here as well. The rich people have small estates. Many of these are beautiful by any standard.
Other than the two main roundabouts in Gulshan, it is a much quieter place then the rest of Dhaka. I cannot impress on you enough the noise here. So Gulshan is a welcome respite from the constant battering of horns. The other main reason we go to this area is there are several western style places. There is the Dutch club (I had the dutch pancake for lunch) Lavender (the western grocery store) and Bitter Sweet (the best milkshake I have ever had in my life came from this lovely little cafe). We spoil ourselves rotten after 6 days of living on $3.00CAD a day.
The bus ride home makes the bus ride in feel quaint and domestic. The ride home is wild. Everyone is returning in the evening and the bus is packed. Yesterday we arrived as the bus was leaving. We were informed the next bus would arrive in 10minutes. 50minutes later a bus pulled up so packed with people there were literally arms hanging out the doors. We managed to jam in a few more people, including the three of us. I was on the steps leading out the door. Terrifying. Joy was on the bottom step leading out the door, and hanging on for dear life!
There is no question the most dangerous thing we do here is ride that bus. But we survived another harrowing bus trip, and met a few nice people on the way. Everyone here is very curious about us, so it is impossible not to talk to strangers. Though I have already been asked three times for a visa to Canada. (One man offered to be my housekeeper!)
I find Dhaka so overwhelming in so many ways, but we are not living in Dhaka like the people here. We can get away from the noise, the poverty and hunger and the garbage, even if only for brief periods of time. We are the ones walking away from the beggars. Being able to walk away is freedom. I paid a very small sum for my amazing milkshake (less than $2.00) but that is a day's wage for some people here. According to my lonely planet, half the country lives on less than $2.00/day and that will support a whole family. (Support may be a lofty term here).
I find myself conflicted. I think we all (well, those that think about it anyways) justify our lifestyles to ourselves. We do so by saying things like, "Well, I work hard. I deserve this." But I don't think anyone works harder than a single mother in an impovershed country trying to support her family. We look at our country of Canada and think, well aren't I lucky to be here. And we are, more so than we are willing or even able to understand. Being in Bangladesh has magnified that. I'm not sure where this is going. Maybe just that we all need to live more simply, protect our environment from global warming (which is creating so much more poverty by destroying the little bit of fertile land many of these people have) and be a bit more generous. I for one am going to cut out hot showers (There is no hot water here, so I'm used to it now) and give to the CRP and other well run, recognized charities. Also, I plan to keep volunteering abroad. What a great way to travel conscientiously.
We then head out to catch the bus. Catching the bus in Bangladesh is not like it is anywhere else in the world. We first take a rickshaw to the unmarked bus stop. The only reason we know where to go is because previous volunteers have shown us. Previous volunteers showed them where to go and so on and so forth. At the unmarked bus stop there are tiny wooden desks, just big enough for one person to sit behind. These have no distinguishing markings on them. One has an umbrella. In the dense crowds they are very easy to miss. At these desks sit a couple of men who sell the bus tickets. So we buy our tickets at the unmarked bus stop.
The bus has no exact schedule. We just buy our tickets and wait, hoping it comes soon. The buses themselves have no numbers on them. Many different buses are almost identical, but the small variations in paint are how the passengers appear to distinguish them. Our bus has musical notes painted on the side. Each bus is privately owned, so each route is set by the company that owns the bus. There is no transit system.
For 32Taka we take an hour long bus ride into Gulshan. That's about 50cents. Gulshan is the posh area, but you wouldn't call it that anywhere else in the world. The electrical wires are hanging in bundles of thousands. They cut through corners, leaning into the houses and rubbing off the plaster wall paint. The high rises are rough plaster over rougher bricks. There is glass and metal in Gulshan however, which is not common in the other areas. The rich people live here, and all the expat clubs are here as well. The rich people have small estates. Many of these are beautiful by any standard.
Other than the two main roundabouts in Gulshan, it is a much quieter place then the rest of Dhaka. I cannot impress on you enough the noise here. So Gulshan is a welcome respite from the constant battering of horns. The other main reason we go to this area is there are several western style places. There is the Dutch club (I had the dutch pancake for lunch) Lavender (the western grocery store) and Bitter Sweet (the best milkshake I have ever had in my life came from this lovely little cafe). We spoil ourselves rotten after 6 days of living on $3.00CAD a day.
The bus ride home makes the bus ride in feel quaint and domestic. The ride home is wild. Everyone is returning in the evening and the bus is packed. Yesterday we arrived as the bus was leaving. We were informed the next bus would arrive in 10minutes. 50minutes later a bus pulled up so packed with people there were literally arms hanging out the doors. We managed to jam in a few more people, including the three of us. I was on the steps leading out the door. Terrifying. Joy was on the bottom step leading out the door, and hanging on for dear life!
There is no question the most dangerous thing we do here is ride that bus. But we survived another harrowing bus trip, and met a few nice people on the way. Everyone here is very curious about us, so it is impossible not to talk to strangers. Though I have already been asked three times for a visa to Canada. (One man offered to be my housekeeper!)
I find Dhaka so overwhelming in so many ways, but we are not living in Dhaka like the people here. We can get away from the noise, the poverty and hunger and the garbage, even if only for brief periods of time. We are the ones walking away from the beggars. Being able to walk away is freedom. I paid a very small sum for my amazing milkshake (less than $2.00) but that is a day's wage for some people here. According to my lonely planet, half the country lives on less than $2.00/day and that will support a whole family. (Support may be a lofty term here).
I find myself conflicted. I think we all (well, those that think about it anyways) justify our lifestyles to ourselves. We do so by saying things like, "Well, I work hard. I deserve this." But I don't think anyone works harder than a single mother in an impovershed country trying to support her family. We look at our country of Canada and think, well aren't I lucky to be here. And we are, more so than we are willing or even able to understand. Being in Bangladesh has magnified that. I'm not sure where this is going. Maybe just that we all need to live more simply, protect our environment from global warming (which is creating so much more poverty by destroying the little bit of fertile land many of these people have) and be a bit more generous. I for one am going to cut out hot showers (There is no hot water here, so I'm used to it now) and give to the CRP and other well run, recognized charities. Also, I plan to keep volunteering abroad. What a great way to travel conscientiously.
Monday, October 25, 2010
A little about the people
I've talked about the country but I haven't really introduced the people. Making generalizations about people from a specific country is always shaky ground. There are distinct cultures and of course distinct people within this massively populated country (This is the most densely populated country in the world.150million people are not all going to be alike) but I will try to make a few generalizations based on my experiences non the less. Hopefully, I will not insult anyone or put my foot in my mouth.
The people we have me are very excited about Bedieshi's (foreigners). Because this is not a tourist country (the tourist industry is almost non existent) foreigners are still quite the novelty. This means we get a load of attention. People surround us taking photos of us. At the Hindu festival of Purja (soooo much fun) we were ushered to the front of every temple. Every big business man creates his own temple, so we saw many temples. The actual Hindus and jointly celebrating Muslims had to wait in line, or at the very crowded temples, stay at the back while we were brought forward. This despite our best attempts at declining the privilege.
At the Embassy, we do not have to wait in line like the Bangali's. Again we are ushered to the front. We receive top notch service where ever we go.
We do pay more than the locals for most things, but being that the people here aren't used to ripping off Bedeshis like other countries (Thailand was one rip off after another) the price increases are reasonable. (and still outrageously affordable).
We were discussing how this is quite embarrassing, this constant preferential treatment and Mizan, a Bangali man explained that we are the guest, and that is how you should treat the guest. I said, but were not all these other people's guests. He replied, you are the guest of all Bangladesh, that is how we treat you. What an amazing concept!
So, other than a few isolated occasions, the people treat us here as if we are an honoured guest of all of Bangladesh. The few occassions of rudeness come from men who are terrified we might sit beside them on the bus, or the CNG (three wheel baby taxi) drivers who seem to be in a foul mood most of the time and do not, will not and have never turned on the meter.
Initially, my view of Bangladesh was one of shock. Dhaka is shocking, I stand by that, but I enjoy so many parts of it now. The people are a massive reason for my enjoyment.
I'm on my tea break (I drink a lot of tea now) and so don't have time to proof read this post. I apologize for what, I'm sure is hurrendous grammar and loads and loads of spelling mistakes.
L
The people we have me are very excited about Bedieshi's (foreigners). Because this is not a tourist country (the tourist industry is almost non existent) foreigners are still quite the novelty. This means we get a load of attention. People surround us taking photos of us. At the Hindu festival of Purja (soooo much fun) we were ushered to the front of every temple. Every big business man creates his own temple, so we saw many temples. The actual Hindus and jointly celebrating Muslims had to wait in line, or at the very crowded temples, stay at the back while we were brought forward. This despite our best attempts at declining the privilege.
At the Embassy, we do not have to wait in line like the Bangali's. Again we are ushered to the front. We receive top notch service where ever we go.
We do pay more than the locals for most things, but being that the people here aren't used to ripping off Bedeshis like other countries (Thailand was one rip off after another) the price increases are reasonable. (and still outrageously affordable).
We were discussing how this is quite embarrassing, this constant preferential treatment and Mizan, a Bangali man explained that we are the guest, and that is how you should treat the guest. I said, but were not all these other people's guests. He replied, you are the guest of all Bangladesh, that is how we treat you. What an amazing concept!
So, other than a few isolated occasions, the people treat us here as if we are an honoured guest of all of Bangladesh. The few occassions of rudeness come from men who are terrified we might sit beside them on the bus, or the CNG (three wheel baby taxi) drivers who seem to be in a foul mood most of the time and do not, will not and have never turned on the meter.
Initially, my view of Bangladesh was one of shock. Dhaka is shocking, I stand by that, but I enjoy so many parts of it now. The people are a massive reason for my enjoyment.
I'm on my tea break (I drink a lot of tea now) and so don't have time to proof read this post. I apologize for what, I'm sure is hurrendous grammar and loads and loads of spelling mistakes.
L
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Our Glorious Day Off
We get one day a week off here. When you only get the one, you look forward to it even more than with a whole weekend. To us (the volunteers) its a day of utter indulgence. We splesh out (a british term meaning splurge) on western style food. Two weeks ago I had pizza, an eclair, french fries and two milkshakes! This week I had only one milkshake (cookies and cream) but also a thai dinner (did not taste anything like Thai food) a cappucino, an apple pie, and an orange banana smoothie. We have narrowed down all the western style shops in Dhaka. That and some of the volunteers have memberships to their expat clubs, so that's where a lot of the spleshing out occurs. We go to the western grocery store after and buy things like oreo cookies and pasta. It's more of a treat than you can imagine. I think I've had 10 oreo cookies already today.
Yesterday was a more somber occasion than usual though. We chose to attend the Liberation War Museum in Dhaka. Pakistan (of which Dhaka was once a member) chose not to recognize Bangla as one of the national languages. This infuriated the 70million Bangla speaking people. There were unarmed student protests in response to this discrimination. So Pakistani police opened fire killing many students, professors and other educated peoples. The crack down came much worse in 1971. Pakistan lead an genocide against the people of East Pakistan. The raped, torutured and murdered thousands. They specifically targetted women, children and those who were educated. They rounded up women to be sex slaves in their soldier's camps. They murdered thousands of children. Students at Universities did not fair well.
India came to the aid of Bangladesh as well as many other foreign countries (though not the USA. In a recently unclassified document, Nixon wrote 'do not squeeze Yhan at this time.'). As a result of brave internal fighting and foreign support Bangladesh was able to liberate their country. On the last day before Pakistan conceded defeat the PAK army rounded up thousands upon thousands of doctors, professors, engineers and other leaders of community. They murdered them and threw their bodies in mass graves. And this, remember was on the final day. They already new the war was over, but attempted to create an intellectual vacuum for the new country.
The museum was a beautiful tribute to these martyrs. It was also graphic and disturbing with photos of mutilated bodies and starved children. They have items of clothing of many of the people who were tortured and died. The most disturbing is possibly the small vest of a child that was murdered because the soldiers were looking for his father. The child had been stepped on.
I was prepared for this as I had read a great deal about the liberation war before arriving. Even with that it still makes you stick. The perpetrators have never been brought to trial, as is so often the case.
It's times like this I wish I'd been born something innocent like a dog or a cat.
L
Yesterday was a more somber occasion than usual though. We chose to attend the Liberation War Museum in Dhaka. Pakistan (of which Dhaka was once a member) chose not to recognize Bangla as one of the national languages. This infuriated the 70million Bangla speaking people. There were unarmed student protests in response to this discrimination. So Pakistani police opened fire killing many students, professors and other educated peoples. The crack down came much worse in 1971. Pakistan lead an genocide against the people of East Pakistan. The raped, torutured and murdered thousands. They specifically targetted women, children and those who were educated. They rounded up women to be sex slaves in their soldier's camps. They murdered thousands of children. Students at Universities did not fair well.
India came to the aid of Bangladesh as well as many other foreign countries (though not the USA. In a recently unclassified document, Nixon wrote 'do not squeeze Yhan at this time.'). As a result of brave internal fighting and foreign support Bangladesh was able to liberate their country. On the last day before Pakistan conceded defeat the PAK army rounded up thousands upon thousands of doctors, professors, engineers and other leaders of community. They murdered them and threw their bodies in mass graves. And this, remember was on the final day. They already new the war was over, but attempted to create an intellectual vacuum for the new country.
The museum was a beautiful tribute to these martyrs. It was also graphic and disturbing with photos of mutilated bodies and starved children. They have items of clothing of many of the people who were tortured and died. The most disturbing is possibly the small vest of a child that was murdered because the soldiers were looking for his father. The child had been stepped on.
I was prepared for this as I had read a great deal about the liberation war before arriving. Even with that it still makes you stick. The perpetrators have never been brought to trial, as is so often the case.
It's times like this I wish I'd been born something innocent like a dog or a cat.
L
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Fried Chicken
Yesterday four of us went to Savar Bazaar. It is a rollercoaster, a rodeo and circus ground all rolled into one. Imagine the busiest place you can imagine. Then understand that this is busier.
We took two rickshaws into Savar. The only way there is by rickshaw, which presents its own problems. Peter, a volunteer from England who is a wheelchair user, has to either rickshaw surf (hold onto the back and get pulled behind the rickshaw) which is suicide in this traffic, or transfer up into the rickshaw. Because I'm quite sure he is superman, he is able to do the transfer. Peter is causcasion with bright red hair (you thought blonds got attention here). Red hair is a sign of superiority in a religious sense. It means you've been to Mecca. You can't imagine the crowd that forms when he is performing his transfer. And I mean perform. He candidly stated, "I guess we're the entertainment for the night" as the crown around him grew and grew.
There are not really streets as they are crumbled at the edges. There are not sidewalks, just red, muddy dirt and there is definitely no wheel chair ramps. After a rain (of which there was a mid day shower yesterday) there are ankle deep "puddles" everywhere. I use this term loosely. They are sludge puddles of the murkiest smelliest fluid.
But Peter conquered Savar Bazaar as only Peter could. I keep joking that he is the king of awareness raising.
The purpose of the ardous journey: The fried chicken stall. The naan bread is 1.5cm thick and layered. There is no butter on it, but it is buttery goodness through and through. The fried chicken is coated in spices. It is fantastic. And totally worth the journey. It was really expensive though. About 120Taka for a half chicken. That's not quite $2.00 CAD. Ha. Some parts of Bangladesh are great.
Sorry Aunty Lorraine, only buying food that other people don't touch or that can be washed would condmen me to starvation. Luckily, I'm a bit of a scrub anyways, and I'm getting used to servers handing me my meal! Plus, I've already had food poisening once, so I think my body is learning to fight off Bangladesh.
On the way home we took the rickshaw against rush hour traffic. Literally, we were heading directly into the paths of buses and trucks. As a truck slammed on the breaks and we swerved out of the way (remember, it's now night, and rickshaws don't exactly have headlights)Peter exclaimed, "This guy is fecking Mad." (fecking may be more of an Irish translation, but his liverpool accent was close to fecking as well).
I know of a guy who believes that any day where he hasn't risked his life is a day wasted. He should come to Bangladesh.
We took two rickshaws into Savar. The only way there is by rickshaw, which presents its own problems. Peter, a volunteer from England who is a wheelchair user, has to either rickshaw surf (hold onto the back and get pulled behind the rickshaw) which is suicide in this traffic, or transfer up into the rickshaw. Because I'm quite sure he is superman, he is able to do the transfer. Peter is causcasion with bright red hair (you thought blonds got attention here). Red hair is a sign of superiority in a religious sense. It means you've been to Mecca. You can't imagine the crowd that forms when he is performing his transfer. And I mean perform. He candidly stated, "I guess we're the entertainment for the night" as the crown around him grew and grew.
There are not really streets as they are crumbled at the edges. There are not sidewalks, just red, muddy dirt and there is definitely no wheel chair ramps. After a rain (of which there was a mid day shower yesterday) there are ankle deep "puddles" everywhere. I use this term loosely. They are sludge puddles of the murkiest smelliest fluid.
But Peter conquered Savar Bazaar as only Peter could. I keep joking that he is the king of awareness raising.
The purpose of the ardous journey: The fried chicken stall. The naan bread is 1.5cm thick and layered. There is no butter on it, but it is buttery goodness through and through. The fried chicken is coated in spices. It is fantastic. And totally worth the journey. It was really expensive though. About 120Taka for a half chicken. That's not quite $2.00 CAD. Ha. Some parts of Bangladesh are great.
Sorry Aunty Lorraine, only buying food that other people don't touch or that can be washed would condmen me to starvation. Luckily, I'm a bit of a scrub anyways, and I'm getting used to servers handing me my meal! Plus, I've already had food poisening once, so I think my body is learning to fight off Bangladesh.
On the way home we took the rickshaw against rush hour traffic. Literally, we were heading directly into the paths of buses and trucks. As a truck slammed on the breaks and we swerved out of the way (remember, it's now night, and rickshaws don't exactly have headlights)Peter exclaimed, "This guy is fecking Mad." (fecking may be more of an Irish translation, but his liverpool accent was close to fecking as well).
I know of a guy who believes that any day where he hasn't risked his life is a day wasted. He should come to Bangladesh.
Today, I contributed
Although I have really enjoyed the work here I have not felt I am making a difference or contributing to CRP. My patients like me, but on a bigger scale than that I am not impacting CRP. I am working with patients who would have other physios if I was not here, and when I leave I will leave a gap that needs to be filled. Not very sustainable.
But today I felt I made a difference. There is a boy here who was badly mistreated in a government hospital. I've been told "you just can't imagine" what the government hospitals are like. They are bleak and corrupt. Although they are supposed to be funded by the government treatment is rarely free. The doctors and nurses take bribes, providing better treatment to those who sneak them money. As a result this boy was left on a tile floor in a corner of a hallway. His parents rescued him from this situation because they were appalled at his care (or lack there of). He was later referred to CRP. He came here with 35 pressure sores. Many so deep they required surgery. One of which was so drastic the surgeons were forced to remove his greater trochanter (the hip bone that sticks out of the side of your upper leg) as it was coming through the sore.
Although he is now recovering, no one here has thought to take him outside in a rolling bed. His condition is fragile, which is certainly one reason, but with only two pressure sores remaining I thought a short trip away from his air bed was warranted. He is 16 years old. He has been in the same bed in the same corner of the same room for 22 months. He was 14 years old when he arrived.
Despite much resistance I got my way. I took him outside today. (you know I'm good at getting my way). He was amazed by the colour of the sky, by the number of trees, by the basketball court. We went and visited another ward so he could see patients he's met along the way. We saw the two resident geese, we wandered through the reception area. We stopped and watched the workers hauling bricks.
Today I made a contribution.
There is a sign outside CRP headquaters that states "Service to Sufferers is Service to God." I may not be a religious person, but it felt good to serve.
L
But today I felt I made a difference. There is a boy here who was badly mistreated in a government hospital. I've been told "you just can't imagine" what the government hospitals are like. They are bleak and corrupt. Although they are supposed to be funded by the government treatment is rarely free. The doctors and nurses take bribes, providing better treatment to those who sneak them money. As a result this boy was left on a tile floor in a corner of a hallway. His parents rescued him from this situation because they were appalled at his care (or lack there of). He was later referred to CRP. He came here with 35 pressure sores. Many so deep they required surgery. One of which was so drastic the surgeons were forced to remove his greater trochanter (the hip bone that sticks out of the side of your upper leg) as it was coming through the sore.
Although he is now recovering, no one here has thought to take him outside in a rolling bed. His condition is fragile, which is certainly one reason, but with only two pressure sores remaining I thought a short trip away from his air bed was warranted. He is 16 years old. He has been in the same bed in the same corner of the same room for 22 months. He was 14 years old when he arrived.
Despite much resistance I got my way. I took him outside today. (you know I'm good at getting my way). He was amazed by the colour of the sky, by the number of trees, by the basketball court. We went and visited another ward so he could see patients he's met along the way. We saw the two resident geese, we wandered through the reception area. We stopped and watched the workers hauling bricks.
Today I made a contribution.
There is a sign outside CRP headquaters that states "Service to Sufferers is Service to God." I may not be a religious person, but it felt good to serve.
L
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Week 3 in Bangladesh
Ok, so I've been here three weeks and I'm only now creating a blog. Those who know me understand already. Those who don't probably aren't reading this anyways.
I'm going to quote my email to my parents to describe Bangladesh. This place is so impossible to describe and I think I kind of got it right before so I'm sticking with it.
Dhaka is the capital and where I am staying (I'm actually in Savar, but it's all one continuous dirty city). Dhaka is impossibly dirty and noisy. Everyone uses their horns here. Sometime the honking is a dire warning, "Hey, I'm here and you might kill me if you keep going in that odd direction." Other times the horn appears to a chance to show the world that you are going slightly faster. Regardless, the honking is incessant.
There are more people here than is possible. The congestion manifests itself in the most unusual of traffic jams. I've been in vehicle jams, rickshaw jams and even people jams. Yes, I did say rickshaw jams. We got out, paid the rickshaw wallah and walked on.
The people are desperately poor. The "middle class" live in decrepit buildings that most certainly would not be allowed to stand in Canada. they appear to be made with a soft brick that crumbles easily and is often scavenged from other work sites. And, like I said, these are the middle class. The poor are shirtless and shoeless, and about five years old hanging onto my salvar kameez begging for money.
The rickshaw wallahs are a study in anatomy. Every sinewy line of muscle straining across rough roads. They are so skinny and so strong. Bangladesh should recruit these men and form a cycling team. The power to weight ratio would be phenomenal.
Tourists are few and far between here, so we're a really big hit. Crowds form around us every time we leave CRP. Also, I've been asked to bless children.
Everyone here wants to know where I am from and what my husband's occupation is. They are shocked (and some are appalled ) when I say I am here by myself without my husband. They're not sure what to make of this. One man was outwardly offended. But most people hide their shock and carry on trying to ask me questions.
CRP is the most amazing hospital. It's a NGO that started as a couple of tinshade buildings. It's now an organization with a college, special needs school, paedatrics ward, neurology ward, community development schemes and over 1000 employees. Please, please look it up online. Just google CRP Bangladesh. And consider donating or volunteering here.
That's already a lot, and I want to save something to write in the next posts.
The best way to get a hold of me while I'm here is through email.
L
I'm going to quote my email to my parents to describe Bangladesh. This place is so impossible to describe and I think I kind of got it right before so I'm sticking with it.
Dhaka is the capital and where I am staying (I'm actually in Savar, but it's all one continuous dirty city). Dhaka is impossibly dirty and noisy. Everyone uses their horns here. Sometime the honking is a dire warning, "Hey, I'm here and you might kill me if you keep going in that odd direction." Other times the horn appears to a chance to show the world that you are going slightly faster. Regardless, the honking is incessant.
There are more people here than is possible. The congestion manifests itself in the most unusual of traffic jams. I've been in vehicle jams, rickshaw jams and even people jams. Yes, I did say rickshaw jams. We got out, paid the rickshaw wallah and walked on.
The people are desperately poor. The "middle class" live in decrepit buildings that most certainly would not be allowed to stand in Canada. they appear to be made with a soft brick that crumbles easily and is often scavenged from other work sites. And, like I said, these are the middle class. The poor are shirtless and shoeless, and about five years old hanging onto my salvar kameez begging for money.
The rickshaw wallahs are a study in anatomy. Every sinewy line of muscle straining across rough roads. They are so skinny and so strong. Bangladesh should recruit these men and form a cycling team. The power to weight ratio would be phenomenal.
Tourists are few and far between here, so we're a really big hit. Crowds form around us every time we leave CRP. Also, I've been asked to bless children.
Everyone here wants to know where I am from and what my husband's occupation is. They are shocked (and some are appalled ) when I say I am here by myself without my husband. They're not sure what to make of this. One man was outwardly offended. But most people hide their shock and carry on trying to ask me questions.
CRP is the most amazing hospital. It's a NGO that started as a couple of tinshade buildings. It's now an organization with a college, special needs school, paedatrics ward, neurology ward, community development schemes and over 1000 employees. Please, please look it up online. Just google CRP Bangladesh. And consider donating or volunteering here.
That's already a lot, and I want to save something to write in the next posts.
The best way to get a hold of me while I'm here is through email.
L
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