Yesterday I decided it was time to attempt a solo adventure--namely, take a road trip outside of Dhaka. Markers of success would be: arriving at the right bus station, getting on a bus going to my determined destination, getting off at that destination (or in the general vicinity, can't be too picky on this on), and of course, making it back to Dhaka, before dusk or not too long after. High standards if you ask me.
And I should preface this account by saying that i truly love Bangladesh and am having a great time. People here as a general rule are incredibly hospitable and friendly, and I rely on those kindnesses many times every day. But they can be so enthusiastic in these characteristics that it borders on absurd (or obnoxious, depending on who it is). I only allow myself to make fun of this because it's said with great affection and appreciation.
So, step 1: go to the right bus station and get on the right bus. Surprisingly easy. My bus to Morgapara, my chosen destination, has seen better days. Several seats are unhinged, many of the cushions have split open. I slide into one that seems sturdy and not too torn up. There are several guys selling things on the bus--popcorn, soda, toothbrushes--and the one selling ice cream sounds like he's selling "ass cream," so I am definitely smirking silently over in my corner (and lose my appetite for it!). A young guy in muslim clothes sits down next to me. Once we've been stuck in traffic for about 30 minutes (Lonely planet in its infinite helpfulness told me the whole bus ride would take 40 minutes, which seemed suspiciously short to get anywhere), he asks if he can say something to me. I say ok, and we start talking. He asks if I've heard of the Holy Quran, which he knows fully, and whether I think Islam is good (tricky question for magnetic word game). He wants to know if I have any friends (I say yes, thankful for that), and if I want children (he informs me that he does before asking). He also tells me that my smile or smell is "very good." I will accept either compliment; having not had a hot shower since arriving, the latter is certainly a greater challenge. He gets off the bus before me, and invites me to come with him next time to meet the family.
I continue onward and eventually arrive at Mograpara (random stranger that replaces my friend informs me when to get off). Mograpara is a "village" (50,000 people) situated near Sonargaon, the region's capital several hundred years ago. There are some tombs and things, but I've decided to start by heading to the folk arts and crafts museum. In asking directions, I realize that having a two-year-old for a friend is actually really helpful. What she needs to communicate are things like "No!" and "I don't want it!" and her mother is constantly telling her "let go!" and "stop!".....all phrases that are actually pretty handy to have in my back pocket). I manage to score walking directions (go straight for a long time) instead of getting escorted into a rickshaw. Major victory.
The village is really quiet, minus the occasion tourist bus that comes roaring through every now and then. Otherwise rickshaws are the major form of transportation. It's a pretty day and I appreciate the chance to walk without feeling like I'm in mortal danger from the chaotic traffic. I eventually arrive at the museum and am stunned at how many people have come to the museum, dressed in beautiful sharees (that's bangla for sari) and with picnics in tow. The museum is surrounded by a sprawling park with paths and many lakes; it is a nice place to wander and pass the afternoon.
I've gotten used to people wanting to take my picture. Given the large number of mainly teenage guys who do this without asking me consent, when someone asks, I feel obliged to say yes. But I've decided to reciprocate these requests; I ask the husband (usually the wife and I take a picture) or the friend to take one with my camera too. So I now present to you some of the many friendly people that I met yesterday.
After checking out the exhibits, which included some lovely items but also some space fillers, like the "lamp stand" and "wood spoon" from the 20th century, I head out into the gardens. I found a space in the shade next to a lake and settle in with my kindle. I'm deep in the final chapters of the Count of Monte Christo when I hear, "hello!" from right next to me. I look up, and there are about 10 children to my left, all with bright green popsicles. I say hello, and another one of them says hello, and we go back and forth until we've all said hello. At the point I look to my right, and realize that there are 5 more people there, and that the older women that had been picnicking behind me are also now standing by me. One of them offers me a bright green popsicle and a spot on their blanket. We then take a little bit (I say in bangla, "what is your name?" to one of the women who doesn't speak English which causes great commotion and the temporary misperception that I actually speak bangla. I can now say, "a little," a phrase that I think will be helpful perhaps in managing portions on my plate!), and take a series of family photos.
I finish my popsicle and decide to move on. Two guys try to escort me on my walk and after realizing that the word "alone" is not one of my options in magnetic conversation, I settle upon the phrase "Ok. goodbye." which seems to do the trick. Another guy then comes up to me to inform me that he's "been observing me and has noticed that I have some education and probably also have a personality." Wow! I tell him that he is correct, I do have a personality. Not that it matters since he wants to talk at me. He's starting an NGO and wants to expert "opinions" of foreigners--I am a little skeptical and decide to deny my ownership of a local cell phone (I'm all for direct communication, but sometimes magnetic conversation makes it difficult). A crowd gathers and we have another round of photos. I get to hold someone's baby (the baby's name is also Maria!).
At this point I'm a little tired and it's getting late, so I excuse myself from the group, shrug off the persistent admirers that try to accompany me, and walk back to the main street of the village en route to the highway to catch a bus. I find a tea stall that has a few empty benches, so I settle in for a cup of tea and a bit of the cricket match (Bangladesh is up by 58 but that is very bad. I nod as if that makes sense somehow). The folks sitting here are locals and very relaxed. A local English teacher/tour guide and his cousin and friend begin to talk with me, and by the end of my second cup of tea, they've invited to visit their house, which is across the street. It's always easier to accept these invitations knowing that they tend to live with their parents and several siblings (although in this case my host in an only child). While we sit and watch cricket, drink semi-flat "normal" coke (i.e. room temperature), eat biscuits (i.e. sweet crackers) and talk, several neighbors come in to stare at me for a little while. We take a few pictures and my host shows me some shots of his girlfriend. And tells me that I really should get on facebook (I love that this has become a multi-country effort. I am creating global alliances!!). It's fun and I'm a little regretful that I have to hurry for the bus because dusk is falling quickly. Although now that I know how to get there, it's easy to go back, and my host assures me that his mother is a fantastic cook (am I that transparent?).
The guys put me on the bus and off I go, to sit in traffic for long intervals again, trying my best to finish the Count of Monte Christo in the last rays of sunlight (not quite). Because of the traffic, we take a "shortcut", which is filled with others who had the same idea. When we stop at what appears to be the last stop, I am not entirely convinced that this is where I began my journey--in the darkness, most of my landmarks have disappeared and the chaos of the night (there are limited streetlights and rickshaws don't have any sort of lighting to warn you that they are coming straight at you), I'm a little disoriented. I make my way to the intersection to catch an autorickshaw--I'm headed to my friend Hezzy's house for dinner (yummm. food. I have a one track mind). While fumbling with my phone to pull up his address, three guys approach me and ask if I need help. I tell them I'm trying to catch an autorickshaw and show them the address. We walk a few blocks, can't find an empty one, and they ask if I can take a rickshaw instead. No problem. They talk to a few guys and reject one who agrees to do it for taka 80 (USD 1.15) because that's outrageous. I find myself wondering how outrageous that was when I and two of these guys arrive at the destination, which was at least a 30 minute ride. My escorts wait for Hezzy to come out to meet me, and in Bangla inform him that they found me crying and terrified at the bus terminal and were very happy to make sure that I was safely delivered to him. I guess I've got my damsel in distress act down pat as well. Score.
It was surprisingly refreshing to be at the apartment of another American. I was allowed to stand in the kitchen instead of awkwardly sitting in a living room by myself, and could refer to March madness without having to wonder if the other person had any clue what I was talking about. We ate at the same time (though sitting on the floor and without any silverware!), not me first and then him. His girlfriend's due to move in with him in a few weeks, so we talk about how to set up the apartment most amenably (I gently suggest that buying silverware might be a good start). Evidently getting a shower curtain put in has been a 1-month process, in large part because they put the rods above the tiles, which means that they are abnormally high and required an extra portion to be sown at the bottom of the curtain (he's been here two years and is annoyed; I've been here 1 month so still find this hilarious). I helped clean up afterwards. There was no magnetic conversation or ambiguous moments. And we both have personalities.
In this case, "the field" began in Chittagong, Bangladesh's second largest city and extended down to Cox's Bazar, advertised as the "longest sea-beach without breaks", Cox's Bazar is beautiful. If you turn south instead of heading up to the main strip, you meander through thick forests of tall palms, interspersed with groups of pine trees. It looks uninhabited at first, but then you notice the crops, and then the long, almost barrack-like houses made out of dried brush that create a camouflage for the small, but steady population that lines the coast. We stopped at Inani beach and walked the sunset. It was "empty", but Bangladesh standards. We stayed at BRAC's Training and Resource Center, which is located right on the water. I drifted off to sleep listening to the waves crash.....
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