It’s hard to know where to start. We’re here in Bangladesh
now! The past three days have been a blinding assault on our senses. I think I
finally realized we were in Bangladesh yesterday morning at 5:00 am when I
heard the call to prayers from the mosque next door. It’s not as melodic as you might think and
sounded very much like someone had accidentally hit their toe with a hammer.
Our flight from Washington D.C. to Doha was wonderful.
Flying Qatar Air was like flying Pan Am back in the 70’s when customer comfort
and customer service mattered. The seats were roomy and we had two excellent
meals. After dinner the lights were gently dimmed until the cabin was dark, and
in the morning, before breakfast, the lights came back up just as gently. We were
provided with all the movies, TV shows and games you could ever want for on our
individual screens and even Derek had plenty of leg room. As icing on the cake,
the custom colored Bose noise cancelling headphones Derek had given me for
Christmas completely obliterated all airplane noise.
Arriving in Doha was like stepping into the future. A
glistening terminal filled with giant TV screens welcomed us to Qatar with a
stream of shops such as Chanel, Hermes, Bvlgari, Burberry, ad infinitum. I went
into my first gift shop ever where you could find bejeweled camels and hookah
pipes. The distance we had traveled started to sink in as they announced
boarding for places like Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Tehran and other exotic locations
too far to reach directly from the states.
One of the first things I noticed in Doha was a gleaming,
glassed in room filled with sleek and inviting recliners. There were several
men relaxing comfortably and I thought how nice that looked until I noticed the
sign on the door proclaiming “Men’s Quiet Room”. I’m not really a feminist, but
there were definite fluttering as the sight of that sign. We were definitely in
the Middle East now.
As pleasant as our flight to Doha had been, was equal to how
miserable our flight to Dhaka was. You will see that I have posted a picture of
a train covered with scores of people riding on the roof of the train.
This is
a common practice in Bangladesh because if you ride inside the train you pay
and if you ride on top, you don’t. It is free to those who manage to hang on
tightly enough and don’t lose any limbs. Now picture a similar scene, if you
will, of an airplane with scores of passengers riding on top. I didn’t
personally check to see, but it wouldn’t have surprised me to see passengers
clinging tenaciously to the top of the plane.
The spacious seats of the previous flight had been replaced
by seats more suited to a slender four year old; not to me and most especially
not to my 6’4” hulk of a husband! Thankfully we still had good food and
continuous entertainment, but the seats were so narrow that I still have
imprints embedded into my hips from where the headphones plugged into the side
of the seat. The smell in the cabin was…strong. Though the plane was smaller
than our first flight I’m fairly certain there were 10 or 15 times more
passengers. All around me, men stood restlessly in the aisles for most of the
flight. Sleep was elusive. As I made my way to the restroom at the back of the
plane I noted two definitive things about myself. I was very female and I was
very…pale.
The thirteen hours we were on the first flight seemed
considerably shorter than the four and a half hours we endured on the second
flight. For starters, the flight didn’t start out well. We sat on the runway an
hour and a half waiting for several passengers whose connecting flight was
late. Is it unkind that I thought it a better idea for them to just catch the
next flight?
I have been flying internationally since I was 12, but the flight
into Dhaka yielded the most oddly disturbing experience I have ever had. As we
were preparing for landing, the flight attendant announced over the PA that due
to Bengali regulations, they were required to spray the plane with
pesticide….inside…while we were in it. She then stated that if anyone was
concerned about health issues related to inhaling said pesticides Qatar air
recommended not breathing for the next fifteen minutes or so. Okay, she may not
have used those exact words, but let’s be honest; isn’t that the implication?? It’
recirculated air for heavens sake! Derek and I glanced at each other scandalized
by this turn of events. Moments later a slightly sweet chemical odor flooded
the cabin. I opted to breathe into my blanket rather than quit breathing
entirely. If I become a mutant or drop dead unexpectedly, you’ll all know why.
I was desperate with anticipation as we prepared to land. We’ve
been working towards this moment for months. I nudged Derek, who had viciously
hogged the window seat, out of the way in my effort to scan the skyline for
signs of civilization but detected nothing in the dark early morning hour. As
our elevation continued to decrease I finally saw it. Millions of dim lights
everywhere crowding the horizon like sulking ghosts, surrounding us completely.
I say dim because the haze of humidity and pollution almost completely obscured
the city from our view even though it was only a couple of miles away, but
still, the shear density of it was daunting.
The plane descended, closing in on the ground only to begin
an unexpected ascent at the last minute. The pilot’s voice crackled over the
PA, apologizing for missing the approach and announced we would circle around
and try again. Can I just say that this did nothing to assuage my concerns
about this particular flight in general? I prayed for a quick and safe landing.
You know how generally speaking, when the plane lands
everyone sits around waiting to disembark and then when given the go ahead,
they wait until the passengers ahead of them disembark? Yeah…not on this
flight. As the wheels touched down, before we had even come to a stop the
thronging herd on board began standing and gathering their belongings. Stern
flight attendants ordered everyone back to their seats. Finally the plane came
to a shuddering stop and a single mass of humanity lurched forward, eager to
disembark. Derek and I chose a more prudent approach and huddled close to the
window until everyone had passed.
As we entered the departure lounge of Dhaka International
Airport, it was clear that we had left behind the gleaming futuristic terminal
of Doha and civilization. The temperature even at 5:00 am was a sultry 80
degrees or so. Mosquitoes buzzed around us looking for purchase, and yes, we
were still inside the terminal.
Rickety looking shops were lined up along one side as we
made our way to customs. EVERYONE stared at us. They haven’t stopped staring
even now, several days later and I’m told they never will. Dhaka isn’t exactly
a tourist hot spot, so the sight of pale faced Americans is a novelty.
As we came down an escalator we saw two men standing with a
sign bearing our name. One was our sponsor Scott, the other was our expediter.
Apparently it was his job to tell everyone to back off and explain that Derek
was with the embassy. Our Visa’s were processed in record time and after
flashing our diplomatic passports, we were ushered past customs. I’m not gonna
lie, I really liked that part!
I’m told that it was really impressive that it only took an
hour for our luggage to arrive at the baggage carousel. I would have been more
patient, but we had just been reunited with a hysterical Yorkshire terrier who
hadn’t peed in twenty four hours and wasn’t allowed out of his cage until we
left the terminal.
As we exited the airport with our newly acquired luggage and
traumatized dog, I was slapped in the face by the realization that we had just
moved to a third world country. The noise and traffic and humanity swarmed
around us as our expediter guided us to an armored van waiting at the curb. I
begged for mercy for Chumleigh and the expediter reluctantly let me take him
out of the kennel. We had speculated about whether Chumleigh would just go in
his kennel since it was such a long trip. Clearly he hadn’t. Everyone in the
vicinity watched in awe as he peed for what I’m certain was several minutes. He
seemed very much relieved when he was finally done. Once he was finished, we were
hustled into the heavily armored, windowless vehicle as a porter loaded our
luggage into the back.
I have tried to block the trip to our apartment out of my
mind forever. It was…stressful. For starters, it is a fallacy to say that they
drive on the left side of the road in Bangladesh. In reality they all drive smack
down the middle and play a wild game of chicken to see who swerves to the left,
the right, or the sidewalk first. The game is played by thousands of cars,
buses, rickshaw, people, motorcycles and bicycles. It is a wild dance
accompanied by a cacophony of blaring horns. It is, in my humble opinion, a
miracle that anyone leaves the road alive here. Ever. I will never again
question whether we need to hire a driver. We are searching for one even as I
type because I will NEVER drive on these roads.
Eventually we made it to our new house, but that is for
another blog.
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