On October 16th, directly after the end of our school day, Jimmy, Sara and I embarked on a 9 day trip through Bangaldesh. The first leg of this trip was through the Sundarbans, which border India to the West and the Bay of Bengal to the South. The world's largest mangrove forest, the Sundarbans are named for the Sundri trees that grow there, and are home to tigers, boars, deer, otters, monitor lizards, dozens of bird species, crocodiles and monkeys. The artery of the Ganges river splits into small but impressive capillaries that feed the jungle. We spend four days exploring these side rivers, finally escaping Dhaka for an extended period of time, and finding some peace.
The route to the Sundarbans was plane to Jessore, bus from Jessore to Kulna then get on the boat in Kulna and head down to the ocean. The flight was, like everything here, disconcertingly odd. As we walked from the terminal to the plane, I read the slogan of the United Airways (not to be confused with United Airlines): "Fly your own Airline"... I would have felt better with a pilot flying, but it was time for a vacation so I entrusted my life to the lucky man to flying his airline. As the nose of the plane began to angle slightly towards the sky and the front wheel left the ground, I heard the melodic ring of a cell phone next to me. I smiled about warnings to turn those off before flying, but could not contain a chuckle when I heard "hello?...." and a brief conversation as we ascended into the dark sky. After attempts at reading I drifted into a half sleep only to be jolted into alert wakefulness by apparent turbulence (I suspected thunderstorms). Looking out the window the night sky was black, and it was a few seconds until I realized that we had, without warning or announcement from the cockpit, landed. The tiny airport was not lighted well at all, and I had mistaken the unlit grassland for the night sky. By the time we have started rolling on the ground (at about 50 mph, not in the mood to taxi for too long!), the person sitting next to me has unbuckled, forced his way past my knees, and is opening the overhead bin.
We walked off the plane and into the tiniest airport I have ever seen. The bugs that surround the large lights that illuminate our walk to the "terminal" are violent and courageous, slamming into the lights with naive ferocity. "Better go to the bathroom now," it's a 1.5-2hr drive to Kulna. The terminal is worn at all the edges, the stone corners of every step and ledge are rounded and soft.
Upon reaching Kulna we are greeted by people who are not in uniform and do not announce their connection with Guide Tours (the tour guides!). Being out in the open water, once on the boat, was a fantastic feeling... so different from the low walled canyons of Dhaka. Wandering about the boat I notice a logo that seems to have an ominous double meaning (see second picture below). It can either be a boat on the river causing a ripple, or a boat being guided directly off a cliff with a big sun behind it...
After a day and night in the open water, separated from Dhaka, listening to the sound of the jungle, I consider when Bangladesh became the place it is today... There are certain Bangladeshi cultural values (but for how long?) that do not create means of survival in the world that has been thrust upon them. When was this a golden land? The animals that secretly inhabit the land are like fossils of civilization, dwindling yet iridescent. River otters, fresh water pink dolphins, crocodiles measuring 7 meters, and of course the mighty, man-eating Bengal tiger. What civilization once lived in communion with such fierce and clever beasts, apex predators and wily tricksters, teamwork and lone arrows. When was it that the cyclones, the monsoon, the drought did not conspire in unison against peace and was erosion replaced? How does a land become so overpopulated in the face of natural and historical forces positioned metal teeth, preventing the retreat of rubber tires?
With these thoughts and others far more pleasant I spent my days napping, exploring the boat and reading Michael Ondaatje's Running in the Family. Also began reading Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children.
Taking country boat cruises down silent streams, listening for birds, monkeys, hoping to catch a glance of orange and black stripes along the shore. Did get to see monkeys, they were not pleased.
Swam in the Indian Ocean, the water was the warmest I've ever felt. Full of the silt blood of the Ganges, and salt from the open water, it was brackish and buoyant. I kept visualizing a pin pointing to my exact location on a globe, mind boggling.
The Indian Ocean and the Ganges interact in a way I had never seen before. The river, full of silt, invades the Bay of Bengal and makes the water an opaque tan. When the tides from the Ocean flood into the slopeless terrain and raises the level of the rivers. This causes rapid changes in the pace of current as the water level rises 6 feet vertically and 30 feet up the shore.
The jungle is menacing and overwhelming, very few people are allowed to live in the Sundarbans, and there are rumors that over 50 people get killed by tigers each year.
Below there are many pictures and some little stories to go with them, that might help to better explain what I saw!
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Sundarbans pics
The Big Boat at sunset (or dawn? the country boat cruises left early early). The boat housed about 25 passengers and probably 8 crew members, including cooks. We ate all our meals aboard the boat, including one excellent b-b-q bass and chicken dinner. There were a few really good shade spots for reading, and I developed a system of eating really quickly to secure an awesome afternoon nap/reading locale.
The infamous logo, I don't know if the double meaning that I saw is clear in the picture, but essentially it is supposed to be a boat gliding on the green water, with the white bottom right corner representing a gentle wake. But, that white area also looks like a cliff, in my opinion, with a big green sun behind it as the tour guides of Guide Tours lead passengers down a waterfall... I was reminded that Bangladesh has almost zero slope, so waterfalls are impossible.
The infamous logo, I don't know if the double meaning that I saw is clear in the picture, but essentially it is supposed to be a boat gliding on the green water, with the white bottom right corner representing a gentle wake. But, that white area also looks like a cliff, in my opinion, with a big green sun behind it as the tour guides of Guide Tours lead passengers down a waterfall... I was reminded that Bangladesh has almost zero slope, so waterfalls are impossible.
A small village at the top of the Sundarbans, we paused her to receive entrance permission from the forestry service.
The trainee guide, Mushti, who had the second most English on the boat. A very engaging fellow, he is the same age as me, and it was fascinating to talk to him about his life. His parents are both done working so he supports his whole family while also attending a local university. His English is passable, but has some really odd quirks that are fairly common here. For instance, he called an umbrella a "parasol"... technically not incorrect, but probably not the right term in the twenty first century. He said he was a "child of Islam" but that he believed in "soul relations" and did not believe that blood runs thicker than water. A truly interesting man, he plans to go out and eat/see a movie with his friends on his upcoming November birthday. A non sequitor, he says he would steal chickens with his friends growing up for picnics, but he only did it "to create joy, not hurt anyone."
The trainee guide, Mushti, who had the second most English on the boat. A very engaging fellow, he is the same age as me, and it was fascinating to talk to him about his life. His parents are both done working so he supports his whole family while also attending a local university. His English is passable, but has some really odd quirks that are fairly common here. For instance, he called an umbrella a "parasol"... technically not incorrect, but probably not the right term in the twenty first century. He said he was a "child of Islam" but that he believed in "soul relations" and did not believe that blood runs thicker than water. A truly interesting man, he plans to go out and eat/see a movie with his friends on his upcoming November birthday. A non sequitor, he says he would steal chickens with his friends growing up for picnics, but he only did it "to create joy, not hurt anyone."
A lazy monitor lizard, we floated right under this guy in the tree. He is probably about 4-5 feet long.
Taking pictures of birds with my camera is really tough, but here is a decent look at the "most beautiful bird in the Sundarbans," the white bellied sea eagle. I have about 8 pictures I tried to take of king fishers, woodpeckers and brahminy kites that are pretty worthless.
View from the tip of the country boat, our armed forestry guide on the left. I always tried to sit right next to the guides, because they would whisper things they saw, and he dropped some great inside info. This is right before we heard the tiger roar, which comes after "she" (as he always referred to the tiger) makes a kill. He knew there was a tiger within a couple Km because the jungle was really talking to itself, warning of the beast on the other side of the river.
A menacing side stream.
This provides an idea of how much the salty water rises and falls every day
Aaah, the Indian Ocean. So warm, and not that salty because it's mixed with the fresh water from the Ganges. We spent an afternoon at the beach: swimming, walking around, a little soccer... only thing that could have made it better would be a little brew and b-b-q.
After swimming around in a mud pit. I jumped off the top of the boat and swam over, but the current took me a bit further than I had expected... I didn't get to the point of panicking, but I definitely got more of a work out than I had bargained for. There were a couple of little kids on the trip, and it was fun to jump and slide and play in the mud with them.
Sunset on a country boat, I love the reflection, the water was so still.
Tiger Hunt!
Welcome to the Jungle! Hard to tell from this, but the mud on the ground enveloped our boots up to our knees. Hard not to think that this would be a bad place to run into a Bengal tiger! We glopped through this area for about an hour and a half, with two guides armed with automatic rifles.
One of our guards, he may or may not have worked for Direct TV in the past (note the shirt). I was unsure he was carrying live ammunition, and asked if he had ever shot an animal. He said he used blanks to scare things off, and hand't killed anything. I was reassured to see him loading a clip of large caliber bullets into his pocket later in the trip, I was not convinced blanks would do the trick on a three hundred pound cat.
The guides claimed this was a tiger track... I'm unconvinced. Parts of this hike felt like a strange fantasy tour, as per the next picture.
Tiger droppings, or bullcrap? you be the judge... either way, I was willing to stand over it and take a picture. This was taken on a small elevated mound in the middle of the forest that doesn't get flooded too badly. It is called the tiger's table top.
Sunset over the Indian Ocean as we make it out the other side of the forest.
Our guide let me hold his gun while he took a picture of us. This was another hint to me that it was not loaded with live ammo, although I was less convinced upon seeing the live clip a day later.Sundarbans: More pics!
The shore from a country boat
A stretch of grassy, and may I say, tiger-hiding?, landscape, captured from a wooden look out tower
The Indian Ocean at the Mouth of the Ganges
Sunset on the Big Boat
Roots of a mangrove tree knocked over in a cyclone. Notice how the roots curl upwards, in the Sundarbans all the roots stick out of the too-thick mud to be bathed in water as the tides come up.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Glitter Party
This is something I have needed to write about for a bit, it happened a couple weeks ago. This party is held every year by the Australian Club, and is a giant gathering of costumed ex-patriots. My group, which was made up of teachers, went as "under the sea," which is not a very funny theme considering the options. However, we went all out on the costumes, and produced big papier machet hats of different sea creatures and all (or mostly) wore green and blue tailor made outfits.
My outfit was meant to look kind of like a 70s Vegas Elvis, but its first manifestation was completely bizarre. Instead of the jump suit with cape attached look, I had a enormous cape with dracula indents on the bottom, a massive stiff collar, and a jump suit that was baggy enough to fit two Beckleys. The cuffs of my sleeves blossomed in frilly green waves, and, in short, I looked like a demented combination of a vampire and a blue and green clown suit. It was not pretty. After a couple of returns to the tailor (on the final visit I just left my jeans there to give them an idea of the fit I wanted-- the tailor would not accept that I could want something more snug than he had provided), I finally had a decent outfit. It turned out well (sort of), and my head gear, which was two papier machet dolphins "swimming" with each other, came together at the last instant. The outfit was ridiculous but funny, and the event was a hit.
I ate steak! for the first time in Dhaka, and it was damn good. The night was split into dancing time and skit time, with about 6 performances by some of the other 12 person tables. They were entertaining enough, and there was a great Bangladeshi cover band that played the disco hits.
I can't find any pictures to post, but I can link to Sara's flickr account so you can get an idea of what I looked like... http://www.flickr.com/photos/homeplacedrive/page2/ -- just scroll down the page!
This event was really interesting because it was ONLY ex-pats, and a great opportunity for everyone to feel "at home" in a big party and blow off some steam. This is less true for me and many of the embassy workers around Dhaka, but it has become clear that those doing NGO and charity work really need a way to forget about what they see everyday, and this bonanza was the perfect outlet. Many of the great skits focused on the craziness of Dhaka-- topics such as corruption, what we see as bizarre cultural values, oppression of women, trash in the streets were all in play, and often hilariously handled.
This was also a great party becuase EVERYONE was in some amazing costume, as it is so easy to get tailor made apparel here.
My outfit was meant to look kind of like a 70s Vegas Elvis, but its first manifestation was completely bizarre. Instead of the jump suit with cape attached look, I had a enormous cape with dracula indents on the bottom, a massive stiff collar, and a jump suit that was baggy enough to fit two Beckleys. The cuffs of my sleeves blossomed in frilly green waves, and, in short, I looked like a demented combination of a vampire and a blue and green clown suit. It was not pretty. After a couple of returns to the tailor (on the final visit I just left my jeans there to give them an idea of the fit I wanted-- the tailor would not accept that I could want something more snug than he had provided), I finally had a decent outfit. It turned out well (sort of), and my head gear, which was two papier machet dolphins "swimming" with each other, came together at the last instant. The outfit was ridiculous but funny, and the event was a hit.
I ate steak! for the first time in Dhaka, and it was damn good. The night was split into dancing time and skit time, with about 6 performances by some of the other 12 person tables. They were entertaining enough, and there was a great Bangladeshi cover band that played the disco hits.
I can't find any pictures to post, but I can link to Sara's flickr account so you can get an idea of what I looked like... http://www.flickr.com/photos/homeplacedrive/page2/ -- just scroll down the page!
This event was really interesting because it was ONLY ex-pats, and a great opportunity for everyone to feel "at home" in a big party and blow off some steam. This is less true for me and many of the embassy workers around Dhaka, but it has become clear that those doing NGO and charity work really need a way to forget about what they see everyday, and this bonanza was the perfect outlet. Many of the great skits focused on the craziness of Dhaka-- topics such as corruption, what we see as bizarre cultural values, oppression of women, trash in the streets were all in play, and often hilariously handled.
This was also a great party becuase EVERYONE was in some amazing costume, as it is so easy to get tailor made apparel here.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
...A non-sequitor
I don't know that I have written about anything that would probably happen back in the states, but I guess here's something that's important to me nonetheless. I work only a few doors down from the teacher's bathroom. It's nice, spacious and private. This was especially crucial in the first week or two here, when "I have to go to the bathroom" really meant "I HAVE to go to the bathroom! GET OUT OF THE WAY!"
The door has one of those locks that you push in on the middle of knob. When it clicks down, you're safe... or so you think. This has to be the most stressful way of locking a door, because I can never quite tell for sure if the darn nub is pushed in all the way. It's only like a centimeter difference, which makes the situation unnervingly tough to judge, as this particular nub never really stays inside the doorknob.
Well I am now to the point where I lock it pretty much without thinking as I walk in, which has had the effect of only stressing me out more, because I think I am due to think I have locked it by habit only to be rudely informed that I had neglected to secure my sacred privacy. The door opens directly to a busy hallway lined with Freshmen and Sophomore lockers, so I am not really keen for any malfunction. I suspect this will be fear I carry with me my whole life, unless the world replaces these ambiguous locks with more definite, yet equally convenient locking mechanisms.
The door has one of those locks that you push in on the middle of knob. When it clicks down, you're safe... or so you think. This has to be the most stressful way of locking a door, because I can never quite tell for sure if the darn nub is pushed in all the way. It's only like a centimeter difference, which makes the situation unnervingly tough to judge, as this particular nub never really stays inside the doorknob.
Well I am now to the point where I lock it pretty much without thinking as I walk in, which has had the effect of only stressing me out more, because I think I am due to think I have locked it by habit only to be rudely informed that I had neglected to secure my sacred privacy. The door opens directly to a busy hallway lined with Freshmen and Sophomore lockers, so I am not really keen for any malfunction. I suspect this will be fear I carry with me my whole life, unless the world replaces these ambiguous locks with more definite, yet equally convenient locking mechanisms.
Encounter in a Super Market
Dhaka presents many opportunities to converse with people who are excited to see and speak with a white American. Often these conversations begin when I notice that a man is standing awfully close to me, then I usually acknowledge his presence (unless I am really not in the mood) which inevitably leads to the question "what is your country?" (Bangladesh's identity as a formal nation is one of nationalist triumph, and people here prefer the moniker Bangladeshi rather than Bangali, which refers to the region of Bengal that includes parts of India).
I answer "Ahm-ri-ka," and we will talk in basic English for a brief time. Many of the Bangladeshi people I meet are simply excited by the opportunity to try their English with a native speaker, and their knowledge of English does not extend much past scripted greeting and small talk scenarios. As a result, I will be greeted with "Good morning!" as the sun sets, or given "Fine, thank you" as a reply to any question that I give, or told "thank you" as a waiter sets down a plate of food.
Last week I ran into a man in a Korean grocer on Kamal Ataturk just past Gulshan 2 Circle (about 10 minutes from my house with traffic). He was dressed in worn and dirtied clothes, his hair was wiry and unruly, and expanded above his shoulders as it escaped from his trampled hat. The conversation began normally, but he quickly explained that he had lived in San Diego for some time years ago. He demonstrated a passable knowledge of the area so I believed him, and he quickly pressed on to describe his current Dhaka doings. Apparently, he has been writing a script for a while and plans to send it to the heads of every major American studio.
Hearing this, my attention was officially piqued, and I had to inquire as to the subject of his story. As I examined the hard but flavorful pears in the produce section, he told me about his ambitious historical fiction picture.
Many people know about the rise of the Nazis, the terrible execution of their abominable beliefs; but few know the REAL story. According to my new friend, who was careful to state that his movie was a reflection of a "theory" rather than his true beliefs, the Nazis were actually abducted by aliens when they were just babies. On the spaceships, the aliens infused their superior alien genes and knowledge into the children. As they grew, the genes became more and more expressed in their abilities and beliefs. The effect of this insidious infiltration was a group of young men who believed they were a "master race" and had excellent technological abilities... of course aliens would think they were superior to the worthless humans!
I told him I thought it was great, but I wanted to read the whole thing. He asked me if I had a phone number, which I avoided providing by telling him my phone "doesn't work" many times. We exchanged e-mail addresses so that I could "give him some notes," but I have yet to get my hands on his script. His business card, which I wish I could quote at the moment, stated he had a yahoo e-mail address, maybe I should contact him to see what's going on... I hope I haven't been cut out of the creative process.
After about 8 minutes of talking, he let me go to get some more yogurt. I saw him about 15 minutes later as we were about to check out, idling between the cereal aisles. I wonder if he actually has written a single word of his story, if he simply hangs out around the grocery all day, what is daily routine? Just another day in the life here, the never-ending carnival of the absurd.
I answer "Ahm-ri-ka," and we will talk in basic English for a brief time. Many of the Bangladeshi people I meet are simply excited by the opportunity to try their English with a native speaker, and their knowledge of English does not extend much past scripted greeting and small talk scenarios. As a result, I will be greeted with "Good morning!" as the sun sets, or given "Fine, thank you" as a reply to any question that I give, or told "thank you" as a waiter sets down a plate of food.
Last week I ran into a man in a Korean grocer on Kamal Ataturk just past Gulshan 2 Circle (about 10 minutes from my house with traffic). He was dressed in worn and dirtied clothes, his hair was wiry and unruly, and expanded above his shoulders as it escaped from his trampled hat. The conversation began normally, but he quickly explained that he had lived in San Diego for some time years ago. He demonstrated a passable knowledge of the area so I believed him, and he quickly pressed on to describe his current Dhaka doings. Apparently, he has been writing a script for a while and plans to send it to the heads of every major American studio.
Hearing this, my attention was officially piqued, and I had to inquire as to the subject of his story. As I examined the hard but flavorful pears in the produce section, he told me about his ambitious historical fiction picture.
Many people know about the rise of the Nazis, the terrible execution of their abominable beliefs; but few know the REAL story. According to my new friend, who was careful to state that his movie was a reflection of a "theory" rather than his true beliefs, the Nazis were actually abducted by aliens when they were just babies. On the spaceships, the aliens infused their superior alien genes and knowledge into the children. As they grew, the genes became more and more expressed in their abilities and beliefs. The effect of this insidious infiltration was a group of young men who believed they were a "master race" and had excellent technological abilities... of course aliens would think they were superior to the worthless humans!
I told him I thought it was great, but I wanted to read the whole thing. He asked me if I had a phone number, which I avoided providing by telling him my phone "doesn't work" many times. We exchanged e-mail addresses so that I could "give him some notes," but I have yet to get my hands on his script. His business card, which I wish I could quote at the moment, stated he had a yahoo e-mail address, maybe I should contact him to see what's going on... I hope I haven't been cut out of the creative process.
After about 8 minutes of talking, he let me go to get some more yogurt. I saw him about 15 minutes later as we were about to check out, idling between the cereal aisles. I wonder if he actually has written a single word of his story, if he simply hangs out around the grocery all day, what is daily routine? Just another day in the life here, the never-ending carnival of the absurd.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Getting a TV/Macguyver
Over the weekend we picked up a TV and DVD player from a teacher who never uses them. I had been against buying a TV here because they are super expensive (new ones anyways) compared to the US, we aren't going to get great cable here (we get the feed from India) with shows I want to watch and we can watch DVDs on our laptops. Jimmy, on the other hand, was pushing for a TV so he can watch the trashy Bangla and Indian soap operas and movies. I am not real in to these, and I had heard NFL games, the real reason I would want cable, are unavailable. Cricket on TV doesnt do it for me.
Well, the price was right for this TV so we swung by and picked it up, along with the DVD player and about 25 DVDs.... including Macguyver the Complete Season 1. As we do not have cable hooked up yet, we have been watching TV shows on DVD (Arrested Development, Entourage on computer) and so turned to Macguyver. Previously I had only known of Richard Dean Anderson through the show's pervasive pop-culture references. On urbandictionary.com, Macguyver is listed as a verb: to use the limited resources at hand to improvise a solution to a seemingly impossible problem. It is largely in this vernacular capacity that I had known of the show.
After four gripping episodes, I have to say, this show is fantastic. Every show is a new problem, new uses for paper clips to stop cars, chocolate bars that stop the flow of acid, concentrated electronic pulses that cause airlock timers to count down extra fast allowing an escape from nuclear waste... just another day in the life.
I can't imagine liking this show when it first came out, but now it is so campy and over the top, and I am so intrigued by not knowing his first name! We got a brief flashback to Macguyver in a black turtle neck and black leather jacket riding a motorcycle to meet his girl, who drove at 1950s style black chevy truck, on "their" beach. The two break up because he is abandoning the small town and no longer finishing his degrees in physics and chemistry, "Crocodile Rock" floats in the background. I have no idea what time period they were trying to hit with that, a strange mix of the 50s, 60s, 70s.
Anyways, I am kind of dreading getting cable, I don't want to spend time in front of the TV here! However, it is super cheap and will be showing NFL playoff games (at 4am).
Well, the price was right for this TV so we swung by and picked it up, along with the DVD player and about 25 DVDs.... including Macguyver the Complete Season 1. As we do not have cable hooked up yet, we have been watching TV shows on DVD (Arrested Development, Entourage on computer) and so turned to Macguyver. Previously I had only known of Richard Dean Anderson through the show's pervasive pop-culture references. On urbandictionary.com, Macguyver is listed as a verb: to use the limited resources at hand to improvise a solution to a seemingly impossible problem. It is largely in this vernacular capacity that I had known of the show.
After four gripping episodes, I have to say, this show is fantastic. Every show is a new problem, new uses for paper clips to stop cars, chocolate bars that stop the flow of acid, concentrated electronic pulses that cause airlock timers to count down extra fast allowing an escape from nuclear waste... just another day in the life.
I can't imagine liking this show when it first came out, but now it is so campy and over the top, and I am so intrigued by not knowing his first name! We got a brief flashback to Macguyver in a black turtle neck and black leather jacket riding a motorcycle to meet his girl, who drove at 1950s style black chevy truck, on "their" beach. The two break up because he is abandoning the small town and no longer finishing his degrees in physics and chemistry, "Crocodile Rock" floats in the background. I have no idea what time period they were trying to hit with that, a strange mix of the 50s, 60s, 70s.
Anyways, I am kind of dreading getting cable, I don't want to spend time in front of the TV here! However, it is super cheap and will be showing NFL playoff games (at 4am).
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Bashundara City Mall
Over Eid we visited the Bashundara City mall... ironically not in the Bashundara neighborhood. Reportedly the largest mall in South Asia, it is eight stories high packed with tiny stores. I would conservatively estimate that there are close to 700 distinct stores cramped within the mall. Most things were overpriced and could be gotten for cheaper elsewhere, but that's the price of an airconditioned experience!
The mall wraps around a central atrium. One each floor there are four wings of shops. The floors are generally organized by what products are sold there, so you can go to floor three and check out the shoes/DVD selection, or floor four for sunglasses and watches.
The mall wraps around a central atrium. One each floor there are four wings of shops. The floors are generally organized by what products are sold there, so you can go to floor three and check out the shoes/DVD selection, or floor four for sunglasses and watches.
The transporter 2, originally released in 2005 is playing in the movie theater there. I assume it is a special cut, considering Liv Tyler, featured in the bottom right of the poster, appears nowhere in the Western version... it's stuff like that, just inserting a star into a poster for film that is obviously pirated to be shown in probably the nicest theater in the country that can make your head spin.
You just can't get rid of boy bands... On a related note, you also can't get rid of T-Pain, who was playing all over floors two and three.
A view from the top
More Pictures From Downtown
A man painting his food stand on a day off over Eid.
This is a large government building in downtown, we aren't sure exactly which one, but it is huge! Parts on either wing would not fit in the frame.
...Outside the building pictured above, some kind of street shooting game. This is unnerving on so many levels, at least the gun is only supposed to pop balloons...
...Outside the building pictured above, some kind of street shooting game. This is unnerving on so many levels, at least the gun is only supposed to pop balloons...
Sara taking pictures of a group of people... I have taken a few of these pictures because the process of photographing strangers is so odd to me. I think that Sara has been a bit disappointed by the sense of isolation from true Bangladeshi life and culture that foreigners feel as a result of the holdovers from colonialism and the massive poverty. This is only my opinion, but I think that taking these pictures allows Sara to extract some beauty and sense of control over the feelings of depression and helplessness that can pervade one's experience.
I like this picture of a sculpture of a horse drawn carriage at a downtown roundabout and the ever-present rickshaw driver pulling his load, heading in opposite directions.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Downtown Dhaka
Dhaka is a city that has exploded in population over the last thirty years. As a result the city has become more decentralized, with two major hubs: the Gulshan area that we live near and the old downtown where the University, National Mosque, Parliament and many other important buildings and banks are located. Over Eid we went down to take a day exploring Old Dhaka and especially a neighborhood called Dhan Mondi.
Dhan Mondi was the old home of the expatriot and wealthy community, and still contains some big properties and some of Dhaka's old money. The streets are wider, the scene far greener and there is a sense of community and history that is severly lacking in our neck of the woods. Here are some pictures...
A man sleeps in his rickshaw on the sidewalk.
A stone piece at a roundabout in Dhan Mondi. The figure holds the green and red Bangladeshi flag.
A monument downtown called Central Shahid Minar. A symbol of Bangladeshi nationalism, commemorating those killed in the Language Movement Demonstrations of 1952.
Naked baby! A group of kids in the Shahid Minar park.
Dhan Mondi was the old home of the expatriot and wealthy community, and still contains some big properties and some of Dhaka's old money. The streets are wider, the scene far greener and there is a sense of community and history that is severly lacking in our neck of the woods. Here are some pictures...
A man sleeps in his rickshaw on the sidewalk.
A stone piece at a roundabout in Dhan Mondi. The figure holds the green and red Bangladeshi flag.
A monument downtown called Central Shahid Minar. A symbol of Bangladeshi nationalism, commemorating those killed in the Language Movement Demonstrations of 1952.
Naked baby! A group of kids in the Shahid Minar park.
Driving in Dhaka
I have mentioned this some before, but there are a few peculiarities about driving here that have become more apparent to me as I have begun learning to navigate the streets on my own. To start, driving on the opposite side of the road and car is bizarre. I occasionally move to the right side of the road instinctively when driving in the neighborhood (out on the actual roads this isn't a problem). Sitting in the right hand side of the car to drive gives me the feeling of having an amputated limb that was sown back on the wrong side of the body. Instead of having five feet of car to my right, it has been transplanted to my left side, leaving me feeling clumsy, awkward and confused. This is an especially precarious situation as Dhaka presents many opportunities to drive mere inches from oncoming traffic. I generally just play it safe and let the advancing car pass before I drive on, but this is far from the regular custom here, where everyone seems to be in a giant hurry to inconvenience anyone else on the road. I have not really had any "scares" yet, though the first couple times behind the wheel I probably drove a little closer to a pedestrian on my left than I had intended. Luckily, everyone drives like that here, and pedestrians almost expect you to give them a little brushh-back. Often they will walk right down the middle of the street as you drive towards them, only moving just enough to let you pass... this works with me but many local drivers will accelerate towards this street wanderers to intimidate them out of the way.
Mirrors are simply for show. The rickshaws do not have them, and so communicate exclusively with outstretched hands (often coming after the turn begins), and little bells. The baby taxis have mirrors, I've seen them, though they appear to have little or no function. They seem to operate under the assumption that if a space is open in front of them, there could never be a car racing into it from behind. As a result they poke their metal noses out in places they have no business being. A neat trick is flashing high-beams at oncoming traffic when there is only space for one car to pass at a time to let them know you are going to gun it. (Don't ask what happens if they flash at the same time).
Honking is the way that everyone on the road truly communicates. Honk at the pedestrian to say "don't cross streets on a lengthy diagonal." Honk to the rickshaw to let them know they need to get to the side and let you pass. Honk to the baby taxi to let them know you exist. Honk to the other cars to say hi. Honk as you approached an unmarked four way intersection to let other vehicles know you are coming because that ain't a four-way stop. Honk because you are stopped. Honk because you see a woman. Honk because you have a horn.
There are some customs, but there are basically no rules. Sometimes the streetlights mean something, but often they are just empty and ignored symbols, discarded as soon as the traffic officers depart. At a certain point at night giant intersections become a free-for-all, the later it gets the nuttier the driving. Sometimes baby taxis will just decide that the lanes no longer have a proscribed direction of travel so you have to beware of the oncoming traffic. I do not know the whole history of automotive travel in Bangladesh, but I picture it going something like this: many cars began coming into the country but there was no infrastructure to manage the new technology. People learned to drive, but were forced to develop a system of not running into each other from scratch, with a brand new technology. There is no mechanism that I can see for actively and effectively patrolling the roadways, so essentially there are no laws. It is as if you one day dropped hundreds of thousands of vehicles into a society that had no experience with automobiles and said "go for it!"
Here's an example that may best communicate the skill and what we would consider "common sense" of the general driving community in Bangladesh. We drive a white Toyota Corolla. It is a fine car, handles well, good brakes. When I put it in reverse, the car beeps. Now, you may assume that the car is beeping to let people and vehicles around me know that I am backing up and may have less vision than in forward motion. Yet I soon realized that the beeping is only audible from the inside of the car. That is, the beeping is for ME to know I am in reverse. What kind of a driver could this be intended for, who does not even recognize the direction in which he is traveling? Just your average Dhaka driver.
Mirrors are simply for show. The rickshaws do not have them, and so communicate exclusively with outstretched hands (often coming after the turn begins), and little bells. The baby taxis have mirrors, I've seen them, though they appear to have little or no function. They seem to operate under the assumption that if a space is open in front of them, there could never be a car racing into it from behind. As a result they poke their metal noses out in places they have no business being. A neat trick is flashing high-beams at oncoming traffic when there is only space for one car to pass at a time to let them know you are going to gun it. (Don't ask what happens if they flash at the same time).
Honking is the way that everyone on the road truly communicates. Honk at the pedestrian to say "don't cross streets on a lengthy diagonal." Honk to the rickshaw to let them know they need to get to the side and let you pass. Honk to the baby taxi to let them know you exist. Honk to the other cars to say hi. Honk as you approached an unmarked four way intersection to let other vehicles know you are coming because that ain't a four-way stop. Honk because you are stopped. Honk because you see a woman. Honk because you have a horn.
There are some customs, but there are basically no rules. Sometimes the streetlights mean something, but often they are just empty and ignored symbols, discarded as soon as the traffic officers depart. At a certain point at night giant intersections become a free-for-all, the later it gets the nuttier the driving. Sometimes baby taxis will just decide that the lanes no longer have a proscribed direction of travel so you have to beware of the oncoming traffic. I do not know the whole history of automotive travel in Bangladesh, but I picture it going something like this: many cars began coming into the country but there was no infrastructure to manage the new technology. People learned to drive, but were forced to develop a system of not running into each other from scratch, with a brand new technology. There is no mechanism that I can see for actively and effectively patrolling the roadways, so essentially there are no laws. It is as if you one day dropped hundreds of thousands of vehicles into a society that had no experience with automobiles and said "go for it!"
Here's an example that may best communicate the skill and what we would consider "common sense" of the general driving community in Bangladesh. We drive a white Toyota Corolla. It is a fine car, handles well, good brakes. When I put it in reverse, the car beeps. Now, you may assume that the car is beeping to let people and vehicles around me know that I am backing up and may have less vision than in forward motion. Yet I soon realized that the beeping is only audible from the inside of the car. That is, the beeping is for ME to know I am in reverse. What kind of a driver could this be intended for, who does not even recognize the direction in which he is traveling? Just your average Dhaka driver.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Eid Mubarak!: Ramadan comes to a close
This weekend is Eid ul-Fitr, the celebration at the end of Ramadan. Ramadan was an interesting time here, I have never lived in a place where religion was such a pervasive and public force in society. The fasting was something that I did not take part in because I get too cranky when I don't eat. The point of the fasting is the feel the hunger of the poor, and Ramadan is a time of increased giving to the poor as well. However, the iftar dinners that break the fast are generally so plentiful amongst the truly rich that many GAIN weight as often they will eat and then eat and then go to bed.
Ramadan also brings in many new beggars to Dhaka, and an increased sense of the desperation of poverty. Crime spikes during Ramadan, a phenomenon consistent with times of giving and celebration in other parts of the world.
As a part of the culture of giving alms, there is a custom of giving large bonuses to the people who work in one's service. Amongst foreigners, this is of course more money than would be given by the Bangladeshis. Our cook is Christian, so we decided to just give her the day off and give her a fat bonus at Christmas. However the guards of our building, and some of the minor employees (like the woman who takes the trash from our apartment to the bottom) also demanded "Baksis" (pronounced baksheesh) for Eid. This was a little strange, as in western culture most gifts are received not demanded. However here the practice is to basically keep bugging the presenter of the potential gift to make sure that the giver knows it is his/her obligation to give the bonus. We took some umbrage to the practice of bringing it up every time we saw one of them saying "you need to give Eid baksis." Of course it wasn't that much money, and we gave to bonuses, but it certainly left us with the impression that our gift (for truly lackluster service in the case of the guard) was less appreciated than expected. I wanted to say "I need to give you basksis huh? well maybe you need to be awake if I come home late so I don't have to hop over the locked gate!"
By far the best part of Eid here is that we got the last two days of our work week off! Finally some time to do some writing and catching up on everything! I am falling behind in grading some speeches....
We also will be using the STAYCATION as a chance to check out some parts of Dhaka that we can currently not explored, specifically the old down town area (far greener than our neighborhood, and with some great old structures and monuments).
Ramadan also brings in many new beggars to Dhaka, and an increased sense of the desperation of poverty. Crime spikes during Ramadan, a phenomenon consistent with times of giving and celebration in other parts of the world.
As a part of the culture of giving alms, there is a custom of giving large bonuses to the people who work in one's service. Amongst foreigners, this is of course more money than would be given by the Bangladeshis. Our cook is Christian, so we decided to just give her the day off and give her a fat bonus at Christmas. However the guards of our building, and some of the minor employees (like the woman who takes the trash from our apartment to the bottom) also demanded "Baksis" (pronounced baksheesh) for Eid. This was a little strange, as in western culture most gifts are received not demanded. However here the practice is to basically keep bugging the presenter of the potential gift to make sure that the giver knows it is his/her obligation to give the bonus. We took some umbrage to the practice of bringing it up every time we saw one of them saying "you need to give Eid baksis." Of course it wasn't that much money, and we gave to bonuses, but it certainly left us with the impression that our gift (for truly lackluster service in the case of the guard) was less appreciated than expected. I wanted to say "I need to give you basksis huh? well maybe you need to be awake if I come home late so I don't have to hop over the locked gate!"
By far the best part of Eid here is that we got the last two days of our work week off! Finally some time to do some writing and catching up on everything! I am falling behind in grading some speeches....
We also will be using the STAYCATION as a chance to check out some parts of Dhaka that we can currently not explored, specifically the old down town area (far greener than our neighborhood, and with some great old structures and monuments).
2 Months in Dhaka: Reflections
Today, October 1, is the two month anniversary of my arrival in Dhaka. As with all large changes in life, it feels far longer and shorter than that. The time has evaporated since I began teaching, the rhythm of my life has made the pace more predictable and the experience more comfortable. Yet I also am aware of the sea changes that have occurred in my mind. Things that once shocked me are no longer worth note, my eyes no longer focus on the same aspects of my surroundings, no longer fascinated by the existence of rickshaws, now simply annoyed by their lack of mirrors and habits of sudden lane (loosely used) changes. I can look or not look at the kid's who crowd to the windows of our car at the stoplight of a busy intersection, I no longer feel a need to comment on the foul odors of the city, instead remarking at the absence as we walk past a flower-stand.
It is insane how quickly our minds wrap themselves around a new situation, retaining the same substance but assuming a new shape. The waves of new experience crash onto the shores of our consciousness, casting new wood and shells up and retrieving some part of the land. And yet when we view the beach it appears eternal, we do not first acknowledge it is in constant change, rather perceiving a "timelessness" to the relationship of sand and water. So the way I view my everyday life appears normal to me now self-evident, though a time lapse camera filming the last two months would apprehend a startling evolution.
To abandon this metaphor, I do not wish to imply that I no longer recognize myself. Rather, the most essential parts of me have been made more apparent by the choices I have made in what I will and will not let change around me. Living the life of an ex-patriot has allowed me to retain as much or as little of the pretenses of American life as I choose, and I would say that, on the whole, I do not forsake the luxuries of home when I truly desire them. On to...
It is insane how quickly our minds wrap themselves around a new situation, retaining the same substance but assuming a new shape. The waves of new experience crash onto the shores of our consciousness, casting new wood and shells up and retrieving some part of the land. And yet when we view the beach it appears eternal, we do not first acknowledge it is in constant change, rather perceiving a "timelessness" to the relationship of sand and water. So the way I view my everyday life appears normal to me now self-evident, though a time lapse camera filming the last two months would apprehend a startling evolution.
To abandon this metaphor, I do not wish to imply that I no longer recognize myself. Rather, the most essential parts of me have been made more apparent by the choices I have made in what I will and will not let change around me. Living the life of an ex-patriot has allowed me to retain as much or as little of the pretenses of American life as I choose, and I would say that, on the whole, I do not forsake the luxuries of home when I truly desire them. On to...
2 Months: Top/Bottom 10 of Dhaka
Top 10 things I like about Dhaka:
1- Never having to iron my own shirt
2- Seeing things that I cannot find anywhere else in the world... that is, gaining the limited insights I can into the ways that a vastly different country and people understand and interact with their environment.
3- Coming home to cooked meals (and they're usually good!)
4- Teaching: books, short stories, and poems that I love, helping kid's grow as thinkers.
5- Everything is dirt cheap (1 hour massage, 15 dollars).
6- Meeting people from around the world, and finding out what brought them to Dhaka (a boring one, I know)
7- Movenpick! Nothing like fine Swiss ice cream when you haven't had a non-curry dish in a few days.
8-Being one of the 30 best basketball players in a country of 130 million (no one can shoot here!)
9- Reading about the US elections rather than being blasted by television media
10- Being able to travel easily within the region (Nepal, India, Thailand will all hopefully be reached!)
Bottom 5
1- Beggars, especially children: There is a large population of street children here who are learning nothing about the world other than that which begging teaches them. It seems that it is a kind of game in which they have all learned to be as pathetic as possible one moment, then turn to smiles the next. There are rumors that the Dhaka mafia controls many of them, and buses them in from neighboring villages. Of course it is difficult to turn away from a street child, but even harder with the knowledge that it may be all they ever know.
2- Power outages... Almost every night between 7-10 there will be a power outage usually lasting exactly an hour. This cuts off our internet and air conditioning... the two things that make us all sane. Often this will result in getting a blog post, skype call or video interrupted for the hour. Also, they seem to strike right when I am getting out of the shower, so it takes forever to cool down in the humid climate without the A/C (we have no fans). Also, all of the lights except those in a couple common rooms and our bathrooms go out.
3- Bugs, everywhere. Stomp on 'em when I can. We have a couple of geckos in the apartment, hopefully they are eating some.
4- The corruption of the government and the political process... see a post from my first couple weeks for more info. Basically, the people blindly believe that two parties, both set on raping the land and people for all they can, will help them if they elect the right one. The government is really the only body with the power to enact real change, but distracts the people with the party war from the actual issue: the ineptitude and disgraceful abuses of both parties.
5- Being white in this country is a blessing and a curse. We are never hassled by the police, we can get most things we want and we are immediately noticed and catered to. On the flip side, we cannot "just go" anywhere, as people will be so interested that you are not free to move about in the natural setting. Yesterday we walked around outside for 20 minutes on a sleepy day in the old downtown of Dhaka and had 10 kids following us by the time we got back in the car.
... I'll limit the negatives to 5 in an effort not to complain... too much
1- Never having to iron my own shirt
2- Seeing things that I cannot find anywhere else in the world... that is, gaining the limited insights I can into the ways that a vastly different country and people understand and interact with their environment.
3- Coming home to cooked meals (and they're usually good!)
4- Teaching: books, short stories, and poems that I love, helping kid's grow as thinkers.
5- Everything is dirt cheap (1 hour massage, 15 dollars).
6- Meeting people from around the world, and finding out what brought them to Dhaka (a boring one, I know)
7- Movenpick! Nothing like fine Swiss ice cream when you haven't had a non-curry dish in a few days.
8-Being one of the 30 best basketball players in a country of 130 million (no one can shoot here!)
9- Reading about the US elections rather than being blasted by television media
10- Being able to travel easily within the region (Nepal, India, Thailand will all hopefully be reached!)
Bottom 5
1- Beggars, especially children: There is a large population of street children here who are learning nothing about the world other than that which begging teaches them. It seems that it is a kind of game in which they have all learned to be as pathetic as possible one moment, then turn to smiles the next. There are rumors that the Dhaka mafia controls many of them, and buses them in from neighboring villages. Of course it is difficult to turn away from a street child, but even harder with the knowledge that it may be all they ever know.
2- Power outages... Almost every night between 7-10 there will be a power outage usually lasting exactly an hour. This cuts off our internet and air conditioning... the two things that make us all sane. Often this will result in getting a blog post, skype call or video interrupted for the hour. Also, they seem to strike right when I am getting out of the shower, so it takes forever to cool down in the humid climate without the A/C (we have no fans). Also, all of the lights except those in a couple common rooms and our bathrooms go out.
3- Bugs, everywhere. Stomp on 'em when I can. We have a couple of geckos in the apartment, hopefully they are eating some.
4- The corruption of the government and the political process... see a post from my first couple weeks for more info. Basically, the people blindly believe that two parties, both set on raping the land and people for all they can, will help them if they elect the right one. The government is really the only body with the power to enact real change, but distracts the people with the party war from the actual issue: the ineptitude and disgraceful abuses of both parties.
5- Being white in this country is a blessing and a curse. We are never hassled by the police, we can get most things we want and we are immediately noticed and catered to. On the flip side, we cannot "just go" anywhere, as people will be so interested that you are not free to move about in the natural setting. Yesterday we walked around outside for 20 minutes on a sleepy day in the old downtown of Dhaka and had 10 kids following us by the time we got back in the car.
... I'll limit the negatives to 5 in an effort not to complain... too much
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