Dhaka’s early bird special

What are you scallion about?

 Saturday morning, I drag Ruthie out of her hotel at 7AM with the promise of an opportunity to wander through historical buildings in old Dhaka.  We are supposed to meet my friend (unnamed on purpose—he knows who he is!) at 7:15 and being a little neurotic about time, I decide we need to take a rickshaw instead of walking.  Knowing that Saad and Tawsif will interrogate me later about the prices I get, I’m motivated to bargain more aggressively than usually.  “Amra gulshan 2 jabo.  Koto?”  (We will go to Gulshan 2; how much?) “50.”  I’ve decided that 20 is my limit.  “Bish (20)?”  He says no, and I turn and start to walk away.  “30!” he yells after me.  I shake my head and keep walking.  He catches up and tells us to get in.  It’s probably more than the guys would pay, but my sense is that 100+ is the expected norm for white skin people, so I’m rather proud of myself. 

We arrive, I give the guy tk 20, and he wants 10 more.  “No way!”  I say, “we agreed to 20!”  “30!” he says, pointing at me.  Darnit, he beat me to the point; I lost the duel.  I fish out a tk 5 note and hand it to him, then turn and walk away as he yells after me.  Arrrrrgh, this negotiating stuff is harder than I thought.  Must be faster on the draw.  Clearly I need to spend more time studying Tawsif, the master pointer.

I call unnamed friend, he doesn’t answer.  I sit Ruthie down on a wooden bench at one of the tea stalls and we drink a cup of tea.  I’m enjoying how quiet the normally chaotic market is in the early morning.  People don’t really seem to have the energy yet to stare, so Ruthie and I attract relatively little attention as we sip.  Unnamed friend is still not answering.  I realize that he’s likely snoozing through his alarm and decide we should head down without him, or we’ll miss the tour ourselves.  I hadn’t written down the address, but I do have the phone number of the guide.  He answers and gives me the name of the landmark (sutrapur thana) where we’ll be meeting:    .

Like most things I do in Dhaka, hopping into an autorickshaw with a destination that’s not familiar to me is always a crapshoot.  I know that we’re heading in the right general direction, though once we start to hit the older part of the city, I’m just trusting that this guy heard me right (and that I said it right!).  Luck is with us—he leaves us at the police station and I spot to other foreigners across the street—clear sign of a tour of sorts.

The tour that we’re doing is run by an organization called the Urban Study Group.  As part of their effort to increase the recognition and protection of Dhaka’s historical buildings, they offer tours every weekend to see the buildings of Dhaka that merit these special considerations.  Taimur, our guide, has been involved with the movement for many years and is incredibly knowledgeable about the buildings, the neighborhoods, the history, and the general context.  Having already heard from several friends that the tour was great, I have high expectations for what we’ll find.

No cars!  Amazing!

 The first observation I have on the tour actually has nothing to do with the buildings themselves.  It’s the absence of the sound of traffic.  Horns are always blaring, there is always a rush, and whether you’re on foot or in one of the various moving vehicles, “peaceful” is not a word you’d use to describe the conditions.  But here, as we wander through these older neighborhoods, in narrow, unpaved roads, and alongside hidden parks, there are no cars.  An occasional rickshaw and even more occasional motorcycle passes us, but for the most part, it’s just quiet foot traffic passing through.  I can’t believe that I haven’t left the city.

Taimur keeps pointing out intricate details on these buildings that I would have walked right by and never noticed.  Like everywhere in Dhaka, space is very limited, and where it exists, someone uses it.  So within the courtyards of these old buildings, smaller structures are cropping up; people are moving into unclaimed land quickly.  We get a chance to walk into a few and I’m struck at how much the courtyards and home design reminds me of Spanish architecture—Ruthie, whose grasp on history far exceeds mine—points out that the Mughals, who occupied the area for many years, were descended from the Moors of Spain, so it was likely that the styles were related.  One of the women gives us all beli flowers (jasmine), which we carry with us for the rest of the tour.

Raise the roof!

I love the rooftop views—it’s probably my favorite angle for seeing a city.  Peering down into these courtyards, we see kids playing cricket and monkeys sleeping.  I stick my nose in a room that smells amazing and get a glimpse at two women squatting on the floor, making lunch.  I disappear before they notice me and try to invite me in; like Tawsif when I see an opportunity for food, I seem to lose track of everything else that I’m supposed to be doing.

Ruthie took a lot of amazing pictures, which are posted here.  I just pose, that's my only contribution.

The spice market is awesome.  On my sociological “to do” checklist for any city is go the grocery store, and this is so much better!  I had been trying to describe this fruit here that I really like called sofeda that from the outside looks like a potato, and I buy two in the market.  There are also these weird stick-like things that one of the other women on the tour and I keep scratching our heads at, so I ask one of the vendors, “what is that?” (ota ki?) “hilud,” he says, which means yellow.  We decide (and unnamed friend later confirms) that it’s turmeric.  Other fragrances, like garlic, cilantro, and chili are almost overpowering as we walk through.  I had skipped breakfast, and when one of the vendors starts motioning me towards the roti that he’s cooking with eggs, I just about ditch the tour.  Meanwhile a guy motions for me to give him my flower.  “Amar!” (Mine!) I say, and keep walking.  He persists, so I see if I can turn this into a business opportunity.  “Dosh (10) taka.”  He takes it out of his pocket, but doesn’t quite deposit it in my hand.  So I hold onto it for now.

The labyrinth-like spice market eventually spits us out on the Buriganga river where we get observe the variety of commerce that depends on the water system.  Taimur points out that this is prime waterfront property that’s woefully underdeveloped; I’ve got to admit, to have a promenade in Dhaka like they have in Budapest or Shanghai would be pretty awesome. 

Feels like we're in a ferry tale.

We head up top of the Rupal Azzam house.  We can’t go inside because the local mastaans (goons) occupy it, but we are allowed up on the roof.  It has a great view.  I ask Taimur who I should talk to about renting it out for a party, he shakes his head in discouragement at getting my hopes up on that one.  I file it away as a distant goal.

The next building we go through has not been maintained; it’s in a bit of a ruined state.  The foliage that surrounds it (and kind of grows out of it) lends it a jungle-like ambiance.  I even see a mongoose scurry on by while we stand among the palm trees, talking to two young guys that serve in the army who live right there.  One doesn’t have to be a genius to realize that this thing isn’t up to any safety regulations, but we walk through anyway.  With a little work, one could host a pretty crazy rave here, but again, it’s unclear who I’d work with to reserve the venue, organize some of the clean-up, etc.

Finally, it’s time for lunch!  We go to a guesthouse called Beauty Boarding, which back in its heyday of the 1960s was a hotspot for local intellectuals to hang out.  Now it’s pretty mellow, but they serve a great meal of fish, dal (with green mango!), eggplant, korla baghi (bitter green that I really like), and rice.  Ruthie pulls of the sofeda and we split that before finishing up with some excellent doi (sweet yoghurt). 

The tour switches the route regularly now, so I’m definitely going to make it a habit of attending (and eventually unnamed friend will actually join me).  The larger question of how these activities can be leveraged to mobilize the government to protect its architectural heritage still looms large though—is generating tourist demand for these sites an effective strategy?  It’s a fascinating project and sounds like a great group of people (who are looking for volunteers), so I’m hoping to find ways to get a little more involved from the inside as well.

Because I know that unnamed friend feels horribly about missing this (after all, Ruthie now thinks that I have been talking about imaginary friends since they don’t actually materialize), I want to point out (I’M POINTING RIGHT NOW YOU JUST CAN’T SEE IT) that from all his other kindnesses, I owe him an infinite number of cinnamon rolls at North End Coffee.  Now it’s infinity minus one!