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Monday, November 30, 2009

I remind you of J. Peterman, admit it.

DAY 2: Dhaka

Take a good look at how this crazy fan was hung.

I slept warm for fear of fan death (not the Korean kind, the Indian Jones propeller to the face kind). Breakfast was charming; toast with butter, mango jelly, and a plantain, eggs over medium, Ispahani Mirzapore tea (not sure which one of those words is the brand and which is the leaf) with ~~lime!!~~

My hostel offered me a driver, Shumon, to show me the city. We first looked at Bashundhara, the largest mall in South Asia, which was disappointingly mostly closed due to some national holiday. I snapped some photos of the National Parliament House, a river, Zia park, and the mausoleum of the second president. I haggled over the won->dollar exchange rate, bought a $3 copy of Adobe CS4, and registered my stay with the American Embassy. I even enjoyed a brief rickshaw ride! Since being out on the street, I have seen more goats than white people (or any other foreigner for that matter). Current count: 4 whities, 2 Chinese, 30+ goats. Granted, the 2 were in a Chinese restaurant and 3 were dead in a wheelbarrow (I'll let you guess of what!), but the count still stands.

Shumon

There is an armed presence almost everywhere I've been, be it Parliamentary paramilitary, mall cops, or even flea market cops. Shumon says they aren't all national or even city security, but I still can't tell who's privatized, who's government, or who's affiliated with whom.

Things I can say in Bangladeshi:
Hello/Hello's response
How are you?/I'm fine.
I am going to ______.
1, 2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10
o'clock
teacher

For several hours in the afternoon and early evening I enjoyed tea and conversation with the only other Westerner in the hostel building. Though ethnically Bengali, the man I know only as Mark or Brother Mark is a Canadian citizen who, after the loss of his family, has devoted his life to missionary work in Muslim countries (of which Bangladesh is one it would seem). We spoke extensively about English education (as that is the shape his work has taken here), the inter-ethnic group conflicts in the country (which strike me as remarkably similar to those in Israel), and religion.

Mark lives and works in the Chittagong Hill Tracts, and he enlightened me as to the government's intentions to discourage tourists from leaving the Muslim capital to spend money in the rural Hindu areas. He also told me of the wealth of beauty and culture which I could enjoy were I to venture outside of Dhaka. So, under his advisement, I commit to my second disobedience. I plan a trip outside the nation's capital.

I have also learned that the city is now at only about 20% capacitance on of account of this Muslim holiday. Almost everyone has returned to their parent's house for an annual bull slaughter and subsequent week of feasting. So, tomorrow I will leave Dhaka in search of her denizens.

Out in the open countryside awaits orange groves, coal mines, rain forests, plantations, and a plethora of "tribal" foods, or so I am assured. I have paid the hotel for its seat-of-the-pants tour package offer and I am now in possession of 70 Bangladeshi taka, 212 Honk Kong dollars, and 6,000 South Korean won (Do the math, it's only like 27 bucks). I will either see the wide open country or live like its people: starving and alone. At least now there is nothing that can be stolen from me!

(Still no loss of continence or onset of feverish hysteria. Steven 1, Jungle ailments 0!)

To be continued tomorrow.

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