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Tea Resort
The tea resort where we stayed--you can see some bungalows but we stayed like sardines in one little room. Only 30 bucks a night, though. I decided to take a holiday this past weekend with a couple of my friends. Even though it was great to get out to Matlab for a night, it was still work-related, and after a month in Dhaka, having a real holiday was well-appreciated. I went with Luke, who is one of my flatmates and also works at ICDDR,B floating around, helping out with cholera patients and patients with infectious diseases. The other friend, SoJin, is a Korean-America who goes to the University of Virginia. She works in the parasitology lab at ICDDR,B. A guy in my office who makes travel arrangements for our employees very kindly offered to make all the reservations for me, which was very helpful because you can’t just buy tickets online and it’s very difficult for me to do that stuff in Bengali over the phone. Someone even went and picked up my train tickets for me and brought them to my flat—service I’m going to seriously miss in the States. But, it didn’t matter anyway because we missed the train in the morning so the traveling there ended up being a fiasco. We got to a bus company who no, didn’t have a train
going to Srimongal but try down the street? The 4th place we tried had some tickets on an air-conditioned bus so we snatched them and then went to a diner to have some parathas and tea for breakfast (parathas are like a fried semi-leavened circular bread). Everyone was very friendly even though we sat there for hours playing cards and drinking tea. One of the servers was reading the Dhaka newspaper, in which there was a story about the elections in the U.S. “Which one do you like?” he asked Luke in Bengali. As I’ve said, if I’m with a man, I get completely ignored. “This one,” Luke said pointing to Obama. The guy shook his head and pointed to McCain, “I like this one,” he said. I don’t think we expected a low-income, dark-skinned, Muslim, Bangladeshi man to favor McCain over Obama. “That one is like George Bush,” he said about Obama. “No no,” we told him. “
That one is like George Bush.” We explained as best we could and he seemed genuinely interested but still seemed to have a twinkle in his eye for the bald white man on the page.
The bus ride certainly was the
Tourists
Bangladeshis be touristing most interesting one I’ve been on, possibly rivaling the time when the bus drivers in Ithaca got in a screaming fistfight over how to divide one group of passengers onto two buses. On this trip, after finally getting out of Dhaka, we then stopped for awhile at a mosque because it was a Friday—the holy day. A bunch of people got off and some said the “Thanks be to Allah” and did their bows and then bummed a cigarette and bought some samosas (samosas are deep-fried snacks filled with some kind of curry mixture). So, next we went on for a bit until we came to a toll booth where our driver cut off a CNG (mini-taxi) driver, but then waved for the CNG to go. Well, CNG drivers are stereotyped as obnoxious men and this guy just gave all the way into his road rage. After lots of yelling in Bengali, he grabbed a big stick and smashed one of our bus windows. The stupid idiot did this at a toll booth in front of a police station. So, he got arrested but our driver had to go to the station for formalities and repayment. I, meanwhile, went for
a brief walk in the heat, peeled a mango I brought along, and dreamed of clean western-style toilets with toilet paper. When we finally got going again, we then stopped at a packed food place because it was by then tea time. We got some more tea and entertained some people who enjoyed having some foreign visitors. The most useful part of the stop was trying to ask someone for a plastic cup (because glasses aren’t always so sanitary) which finally caused a light bulb to go off in this boy’s head and he said “one-time glash?” And ran away to return with plastic cups. So now we know that the word for “plastic cup” is “one-time glash.” It continues to work well and it’s actually pretty clever. There’s virtually no plastic here, though. I think there are rules about its usage. For instance no bags are plastic—you can only get paper bags or cloth bags. I think it actually keeps the streets much cleaner and is more environmentally friendly. Most plastic that is left over is picked out of the trash and recycled into things like flip-flops. Sometimes Bangladesh surprises you.
When we finally got to Srimongal, we
Post-swim
Wearing a white kameez before swimming in front of a bunch of staring Bangladeshis wasn't the smartest thing I've done in my life. The wraps worked out I think took a CNG to our guesthouse, which was very nice by Bangladeshi standards. If they had the financial backing and the wherewithal to do so, they could make it into a beautiful resort. There was a pool, but it was uncomfortably warm and women have to swim in full clothing, and a tennis court, but there were no rackets or balls. There was a ping pong table so Luke and I spent awhile each night perfecting our ping pong skills. It wasn’t a real ping pong table even, but it was great. The guesthouse, itself, was surrounded by tea estates—it’s what the area is known for. Unlike most of Bangladesh, this area is very hilly and not packed with human bodies. Every evening we walked through the estates and it was exquisitely peaceful. Because the monsoon is starting, we got completely soaked one evening back in an estate, but it was completely beautiful and earthly romantic. The heavy downpour of rain on the warm tea bushes created a beautiful mist and a refreshing smell. I walked along for awhile by myself and for the first time in Bangladesh, I looked around and saw no people and heard no sounds but
rain. On our last evening there, we hiked way back into a tea estate. We ended up crossing a creek and hiking up a clay cliff, at the top of which there was an extensive forest of rubber trees. There are lots of rubber trees in the area and they are tapped for their rubber much like we tap trees for maple syrup. Farther back in the forest we saw some cows and a couple of local men on the top of a hill playing a flute and loudly singing baul music. Baul is like minstrel music—it’s very old to Bangladesh. After being in Dhaka, everything was like a storybook.
On one day, we hired a car and driver and went to the famous Madhabkunda waterfall on the border of Bangladesh and the Indian state of Assam. It was the first “tourist spot” I’ve been to in Bangladesh. Since it was a Saturday, a bunch of Bangladeshis were there with their families. The women stood ankle-deep in the water or watched their kids on the shore. The men stripped themselves to shorts and jumped into the murky base of the waterfall. Some fat guy was riding around on a
pony for some reason. Since I’ve only been in Dhaka and Matlab, an intervention area, I’ve never had quite the attention I received up in Sylhet (the district we were in). I would turn around and see cell phones snapping photographs of me. I waded into the water for a little bit because it was so hot and humid in the rainforest. The waterfall itself was very pretty, but to be honest, it was nothing compared to waterfalls in Ithaca, except it was tropical and full of Bangladeshis. A couple of people asked to take pictures with me so I did. Most people I run into are extremely curious to see me, but either see me as entertaining or possibly someone whom they can sell or beg to. I ended up getting completely submerged in the water, which was stupid because it didn’t help so much with the staring when I got out of the water so SoJin kindly helped me wrap myself up in an
orna and
gamcha (big pieces of cloth). After the big waterfall, which is very accessible, a little kid took us on a hike back into the forest to an absolutely beautiful and isolated waterfall.
Pensive
Luke and I staring at the waterfall, it appears It wasn’t the highest or the most powerful, but it was so beautiful. It was well worth the slippery hike there. On the way home, our driver was hysterical. He was about our age and spoke good English so we talked in Banglish most of the way. He had a feature on his car that allowed him to switch his horn to different sounds (like a police siren, par example) which he was in love with and used to frequently freak out people, goats, cows…whatever ambles in a Bangladeshi street. He also took us to a place where you can buy multi-layered tea. Each layer is 10Tk (about 15 cents). The most you can get is five layers, which we got. When the tea-maker makes each cup, he shuts a door so no one can see him—it’s a big local secret apparently. And it’s actually cool and worth the 50Tk for a
pach tala cha. Most tea in Bangladesh is surprisingly unimaginative, low-quality tea that is served with plain milk and sugar. The 5-layer tea was delicious with flavors of cardamom and cinnamon. If you’re in Srimangal, try the tea. They also grow pineapples and citrus fruits in the area
that are pretty delicious right off the tree and a lot cheaper than in Dhaka—magnitudes cheaper than in the States.
We also went to the Lawacherra Rainforest, which is actually preserved by USAID. We happened to meet a Floridian high school teacher there who likes to “freelance” as a travel photographer in the summers. He seemed in need of some company so we split the fees of a local guide and hiked through the forest for awhile. Luke and I each commented that we felt like we were in Lost, which probably reflects that we’ve gotten too into that show. I got to see some wildlife—gibbons, lizards, big bugs, big butterflies. There were lots of birds but they were way up in the canopy. Our guide was Tripora, which is a tribe that extends across the Bangladeshi-Indian border. He was really nice and despite having good English, said some great things. One spider we came across was enormous—several inches long with a big shiny black and red body and long arms. “Is it dangerous?” we asked. “Dangerous?” he said, “No, no” and started shaking his head. We shrugged and started walking away. “No not dangerous,” he said, “very poisonous.”
pach tala cha
the famed 5-layer tea of srimongal. totally worth the 50Tk splurge I couldn’t help but smile. Shortly thereafter we came to the clearing of a tribal village deep in the forest and heard a really loud, strange sound in the forest. “Is that a bird?” we asked. “No no not a bird,” he said. “Big lizard.” “Really?” we asked. “Yes, like a mongoose,” he replied and I just broke down laughing. I’ve seen a mongoose in Dhaka and it ain’t nothing like a lizard. So then I had this image of a hairy iguana way up in the canopy singing its lungs out. I get to laugh at that and people get to laugh when I say the wrong thing in Bengali. “
She khub khushi,” a woman in my carpool said this morning. “She’s so cute,” after I said something in Bengali. I guess we all entertain each other. One of the best strange English moments came back at the guesthouse where there were numerous dogs, cats, lizards, deer, frogs, etc. The dogs were clean and friendly and I was with SoJin rubbing his belly and a Bangladeshi man came running up to me yelling, “Don’t touch! Don’t touch! Indigenous! Indigenous!” I once again started laughing. The guy spoke barely any
Katal seeds
Early in the morning, the baboons go nuts and throw jackfruits (katal) to the forest floor to break them open. Later on these friendly ladies (they really were) go through the forest collecting jackfruit seeds, which are then dried and used an a vegetable. Waste not, want not English but knew the word “indigenous.” The dog was also completely harmless and definitely not wild, if that’s what he meant by “indigenous.”
The indigenous tribal villages were very cool, though. The one back in the forest, the Khasia I think, was mostly Catholic. They were very friendly though obviously didn’t have many foreigners pass through. I bent down to make baby sounds to one toddler and he just looked at me and started sobbing. Maybe all the attention got to him. The people in these tribes look less Bangladeshi (and don’t speak Bengali) and have more Burmese features. One toddler looked a lot like SoJin, my Korean friend, so we joked she should take him home with her because he was so cute. His mother understood through translation and laughed and told the toddler who proceeded to start bawling and ran into his mother’s dress. Basically, we didn’t really hit it off with the village kids there.
The villages we saw were pretty nice. They were certainly magnitudes better than the urban slums I see in Dhaka. The people all seemed fairly healthy and well-nourished. In a Tripura village, which was not in a jungle and was
rainforest
majestic trees and canopy mostly animist and some Christians, we were welcomed into some women’s homes and they showed us how they weave wool—something they are famous for. They spoke Bengali and were happy to talk with us about their work. Their homes had multiple rooms and were dry with some furnishings—not too bad at all. The weaving was a hypnotic process to watch while it poured outside. It’s amazing how long it takes them to weave one shari. I ended up buying a shari from this one lady but I have no idea what to do with it because I don’t even know how to wear a shari. It was an impulse buy. It’ll probably end up on my wall or cut up into a couple of ornas (scarves) to wear.
Other than that, it was wonderfully nice to just lie outside by a pool and read a book. Simple things can be very rejuvenating. I also ate well and definitely have gained back all the weight I lost when I was sick. So I guess that is good. I thought that might be the only good side to getting so sick, though. Doesn’t matter—there are much less painful ways to get
Khasia village
Way up in the Lowacherra rainforest. A pretty nice looking village, in my opinion. They grow a lot of betel nut, which people here chew up in a leave as a mild narcotic skinny. I’m continuing to do my exercise DVDs in my bedroom. It’s really not as awful as I thought it’d be. I’ve also been cooking a lot more, too. I guess I would have called myself capable of cooking until I realized that since being in a relationship with Phil, I don’t think I’ve actually made an involved meal on my own. I think I got used to sitting and watching CNN opening cans and stirring sauces while he made an enormous vegetarian Thai dish that would sustain me until the following weekend when he’d feed me again. Then again, I do make really good comfort foods and that continues here. I realized I can make good mac and cheese (though the cheese here would cost me a Bangladeshi’s annual salary) and eggplant parm—food like that. And after people found out I can bake things, I’m now on request to make peanut butter cookies and a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting this weekend. Comfort foods and baked goods—definitely from my mom. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July. It should be an interesting celebration. I think I’m going out to a Mexican restaurant with some friends.
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