To the Edge and Back

DAY 4: Jaflong

We had traditional Bangladeshi breakfast of parata (like a pancake and a croissant's edible baby!) and a marinated, diced potato dish. So, "pancroint" and home-style hash browns, with the Queen's beverage of course. After our breakfast, we went outside the hotel to take a car to Jaflong.

The car we hired was speeding down a two lane road to Hindi techno, weaving through buses, "lorries," other cars, rickshaws, motorized rickshaws, bicycles, pedestrians, livestock, and roadkill. As we passed a military college and base, the driver cut through the parking lot to avoid some speed bumps. Unfortunately, the other side of the dirt lot ended in an unforeseen two foot drop, and before you could say "foursyllableromel," we were stuck.

If only I had my camera for these pictures it would have been AWESOME. Foreign problem solving in action is always legendary. Unfortunately, we bought some Bangladeshi batteries yesterday and they got my camera up and running enough to take three pictures of the tandoori before the piddly things petered out, so words alone will have to suffice.

Plan 1: We spun out the suspended wheels of the Corolla for a few minutes.
Plan 2: We pushed on the front of the car while spinning out the suspended wheels of the Corolla for a few minutes.
Plan 3: (By now, locals are gathering.) Lance Corporal Tahel explains that this has happened to him before. We jack up the car (Sub Plan 1: From a point just in front of the back left tire. Sub Plan 2: From a point just in front of the front left tire.), then take stray rocks and bricks to build a mini wall under the tires. Once they have traction, drive backwards back into the parking lot.
Plan 4: After the car blows rocks all over the place, utilize the 20 some odd people around you and the just push the car back up and into the lot. Do not use for leverage the plastic bumper which is affixed by three distant screws.

We finally arrive in Jaintiapur, though with significantly less Hindi techno. Jaintiapur is just a few kilos outside of Jaflong. There are mountains in the distance that jut up suddenly out of the infinite rice fields. We wander through the town, observing the ruins of old structures such as the mayor's house and the building where the magistrate would preside over prisoner executions (After the car fiasco I made Imlan buy me batteries that didn't expire in seventies, so I'm back in action).

We pressed on to Tamabil Zero Point, the border crossing between Bangladesh and India. The illusion of the land jumping up unexpectedly like a cardiogram is only further proven the closer we come. The range is 7 rows of mountains deep, says Imlan, and it marks the border. We could see India and a border town from across the checkpoint. People were crossing and trading. We ate a handful of seasoned dates from a small newspaper clipping. They had been tossed in salt, diced peppers, and cilantro, yet under all that they tasted like raisins. They proved a bizarre but somehow appealing snack.

Just beyond the border crossing were a few kilometers of coal...I don't quite know what to call them. The coal is all within the mountains and therefore in Indian territory, but Bangladesh imports a good deal of it. So it piles up just inside the border and waits to be sent throughout the rest of the country. So, coal redistribution centers? That sounds way more formal than it was though. Coal redistribution mounds.

At last we pressed on to Jaflong itself. The "town" was little more than a dirt road fringed with rows concrete huts for selling shoes and soda. At the end of the road was a river. People were lined up waiting for unromantic gondolas to ferry them to the far bank, along with their families, motorbikes, and bags of sugar and concrete. On the other side of the river was a deep and wide field of tea plants, amongst which were staggered palms for shading them.

Beyond the tea plantation was a forest. We took a rickshaw down through the forest, stopping to inspect the papaya, banana, orange, and betel plants. Local people lived in small houses within the forest, gathering the fruits and nuts for some small income.

Further up the river was the town of Bholla Gart. It was a bustling market along the banks. People were pulling large stones from out of the river, selling stone crafts like cookware and jewelry, and crowding around shuttle boats so they could shop on the opposite bank. We snacked again, this time on sliced star fruit. It was prepared just like the dates, so again sweet, spicy, salty, and soapy all at once. First it tastes like Cajun popcorn, then like apples. Strange.

Our lunch was pancroint, curry chicken, and omelet, then we rode back to the outskirts of Sylhet. It was there that we saw our third tomb, that of Hazrat Shah Paran, the sister son of Shahjalal whom we'd seen yesterday. Again, there was a large crowd of devotees, come to climb up to the top of the hillock and pray over the saint's casket which lay draped under colorful fabric and roofed by tree branches. After their prayer, many people would sling water onto the casket from whatever water bottles they had with them, though to what end I can only guess. This time when we left the shrine and descended the stairs, we walked down backwards like the rest of the crowd, so as not to put our back disrespectfully to the saint.

We had a more substantial snack of chapati, a curry flavored garbanzo soup with 6 spices, fresh veggies raw and sliced, crackers of sorts, and chunked boiled egg. Street food, my fourth disobedience. Chapati comes along with something like homefries, which are made from a grain called dal.

We rested for a few hours while I wrote of today's events. We have just now taken out dinner of piles upon piles of nan, chicken with curry vegetables, and beef kurai, a beef'n'veggie stir fry. There's a lovely accompanying "salad" of sliced cucumbers with lime juice. A winning combination. To top it all off, we went around the corner to a confectionery for Imlan'a favorite, doi. It was like lemon meringue pie filling stirred together with cream cheese frosting. Rich!

• healthy
• Up to 16 whities (I saw 8 backpackers crossing the border into India)
• Oh yeah, I drank water from a pitcher while we ate street food. #5.

To be continued tomorrow...