Una lingua numquam satis est - One language is never enough

Tuesday December 2^nd 2014 – Dhaka

I asked for an adventure, a small one and today I succeeded at that.

After breakfast I caught, well let's be honest the doorman caught a tuk-tuk for me and negotiated a price for a ride to the river front. The birthplace of the city. The negotiated price was 300 Tk ($2.50). 300 ?!?!? What? Who do you think I am? The Bank of Bangladesh ? You know, it's surprising just how far 300 Tk will take you in a Dhaka tuk-tuk.

The driver unlatched the welded lattice door and I got in. The then threw a bold into the U shaped bracket in the door and I was locked in. There was no way for me to access the latch to get out. Steel mesh surrounded me and I was in solitary confinement.

He twisted the throttle and one of the more interesting (read frightening) rides of my life began. At small amusement parks in the US there is generally a ride called The Mad Mouse, or perhaps The Wild Mouse or some variation there of. The ride is a small roller coaster the has no loops just flat track the suddenly veers ninety degrees and giving you the thrill that you almost plunged off the edge. This ride was similar to that only without the safety bar.

Mr Toad of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride would squeeze in between huge buses layered in scrapes and Bondo. If you looked and counted you could easily see all the colors that the bus had been painted over the years. And by years I mean decades. I half joked yesterday that the buses were scrapped by the British in 1947 and resurrected here. We were so tight that even if I could reach the latch I couldn't open the doors. I could see the Behemoths start to move and slowly converge as Mr. Toad would crank the gas and we would squeeze between them and then like on rails turn right in front of them and stop. I waited for the bus' nose to squish is between it and the cargo truck in front of us. Then he'd gas it push the handle bars to the left and zip between a Toyota sedan and two rickshaws. All the time with the horn blaring. I really wonder if it worked in any way or just the thing to do when driving.

It took around forty five minutes to get to Saderghat, give or take. The area was jammed with tuk-tuks, trucks, cars and rickshaws. I shakily pushed through the mesh the 300 Tk and a few more as an offering to the God's and gratefully heard that magic sound of the bolt withdrawing. I paid my bail and I was again a free citizen of the world.

The sidewalks and the street was packed with people, tuk-tuks and rickshaws, with the majority being rickshaws and people. Every conveyance whether it feet or wheels was either moving at a fast pace or totally stopped. A few women in saris and even fewer in head coverings and scarves. Men in workman’s clothing, men in loose fitting pants and tops and men by the thousands with 20 or more pound boxes and baskets balanced on their heads worming their way through this morass. With all this chaos the only collisions I witnessed was my occasional mis-step into someone. It was a marvel of choreography.

After a short walk the huge Saderghat ferry terminal ended and the normal citizens began their lives. People on the sidewalks selling everything from tea to new to used clothing. I doddle along at about 1/3^rd speed of the rest of the passers by. Occasionally I hear a, not angry, but certainly authoritarian voice behind me and turn to see a man trying to get past me fat ass as he has a load five or six boxes of oranges swaying on top of his head. I quickly recover from the dream state I was in and step the heck out of his way as I say “Sorry, sorry” which seems to translate well. Either I get a smile or he just hurries on. He might have been saying bad things about my mother in his head, but never, never any outward showing of anger at me.

The entire morning I would hear called “Hello, how are you?” and turn and acknowledge them with a “Fine, how are you?”. I would generally get a smile and a “Good” back and occasionally I think they were just trying out their English and didn't have a grasp on that the correct response was. Once in a while there was more conversation than just that one line exchange. Where are you from ? What is your name ? That sort of thing. A handshake was not uncommonly offered. Sometimes with a light grip, sometimes with a good strong business grip and sometimes with that grip I see in many Muslim countries where the hands are grasped and held for the entire time. A little uncomfortable for my western upbringing, but I am adapting. When whatever type of handshake was released the right hand always, and I mean always went and covered their heart. A sign I was told was the same as “Greetings from the heart to you”

People begging were almost non existent. The occasional cripple in a doorway of the mouth of a walkway. I only had interactions with three that I recall. One very young boy who was shooed off by a passing lawyer who then explained to me the political situation and why this boy was not in school because of the corruption. Frankly I'd have rather dealt with the kid. Then there was the young man with a empty blue orange crate in his hand who insisted that I give him some of my flavored water. Sorry only one set of lips go an my bottle, mine. If he had a cup, I might have. The one that I did give a small bill to was a woman and infant. Towards the end of my sauntering I had circled back to the area where I knew some tuk-tuks hung out. I was looking at the river and went and bought a single cigarette and then wandered towards the tuk-tuks. She was always there on the edges of my sight. Never obtrusive, just hanging back. As I was getting in the tuk-tuk she beckoned for something. I gave her a small, a very small bill and she was more grateful than she should have been for it. – then some guy in the crowd said “Give me 100”. I looked at him and said :”You're crazy” and touched the side of me head. The crowd around all laughed at that. I'm not sure it was the word crazy, but thing the tap to the temple is a universal sigh of wacko-ness.

Walking down the trash strewn loading area was where I first saw the little canoes that carry people and goods across the river. Like the roads, it appears to be chaos, but there is an internal organization to it. The boats are paddled abreast and then like parts on a conveyor belt one fills with the requisite number of people or people and goods and it pulls away and the next boat starts filling up. This seemed to be endless. There certainly was no break for the 10 of fifteen minutes I watched.

Though offered many times to board I declined. I'll accept you calling me a wimp and wear the title proudly. Maybe the next time I'm in Dhaka I'll give it a try. Inshallah.

I caught a tri-shaw (pedal rickshaw) for a ride over to an area called Shankhaira Bazaar. This is the heart of old Dhaka. Reminiscent of the souks in Morocco, only the streets are straighter. I wandered and looked. Once in a while buy a single cigarette or a bottle of water. The space alien passing glances I would defer with a smile, a nod or every now and then a 'Salam”. 90% of the time I got the same back. Just curiosity. – This is the truth, no exaggeration. I was in the area for between two and a half or three hours and never, ever say a western face. Not one!

I was offered chai from the vendors when I stopped to watch the process. One vendor was making a concoction that he was pouring between two cups. At first I thought it was raw egg whites, but didn't see any eggs. It was thick and I am not going to say what that dense liquid looked like. I started a new batch by peeling a leaf similar to an Aloe leaf into a cup and adding a few other secret herbs and spices into it and then like a good bartender mixed it by pouring it between the two metal cups.

Then there was the snake oil salesman with the cure for all the world's illness if you bought his special tonic and a couple leeches from him. He had a pretty good sized crowd, but no buyers from what I could see.

Some way know only to the God's of stupid tourists I ended up away from the cacophony of Hindu street into a quiet residential refuge. I was sitting on a step just trying to get myself re-centered and a huge argument started in the area I had just passed. I looked to the rooftops and the monkeys were going at at. I guess somebody be a messin' where they shouldn't be a messin'. Then the dominant one came across the rooftops and stopped and stared at me. I stared back and then pulled my head down to mark aggression. The monkey jerked it's head down ready to fight. I crouched down a little lower and brought my arms out a bit to show it I was bigger. That really got it's ire up. Then I heard laughing, From being totally alone with me and this monkey, who obviously didn't see many white chicks. Half a dozen people had been watching me. Fuck a duck. I was so embarrassed.

Time to close this missive I've gone on much too long.

Dulcius Ex Asperis - Sweeter After Difficulties

Monday December 1 2014

What to say for my first full day in Dhaka? How about this? If it was a man and I was on my first date with him, there wouldn't be a second date. A friend who I used to work with has a mutual acquaintance who works here for the UN or some other international government entity. The report he gave him was this town was the pits and the bottom of the pits at that. I have to agree with him. I assume once I head out of town that things will get better.

Last night after dinner I went for a stroll around the local area. A block or two in one direction towards the side streets away from the noise of the big street next to the hotel. You would have thought I had parked me flying saucer at the end of the street for the reception I got. Hard, hard stares that even a smile and a Salam failed to get to any of them. I might even have gotten a warmer welcome if I had been green and dressed in a metallic uniform. It was weird in an uncomfortable way. I didn't feel in any danger, just totally unwelcome.

I used to go t New York to visit a friend. I could only stay for three days, because I couldn't sleep for the noise. It would quiet down between 3 am and 5 am. If New York is the city that never sleeps, Dhaka takes uppers and has sold it's bed.

That guy who starts yelling before sun up in Muslim countries has followed me here as well. Five in the morning and he's yelling and singing away. Ay least this particular guy can carry a tune. He has a pretty good voice.

I was up a little before him and went outside to sip some coffee and watch the city wake up. There was a lot more hustle and bustle going on even than it was last night. Piles of coconuts and more enticed me to look. I felt a presence behind me and turned to find one of the hotel guards shadowing me. He than tells me it is not safe to be in that area during darkness. I asked him why. He said I might get robbed. Like, what? They are going to steal my coffee mug and pack of Marlboro's? I acquiesced and went with him back to the hotel to finish my coffee. Just as I was finishing it he looked at the sky and said “You can go now.” The mood was broken at that point.

I did return to that area after breakfast and still got the stares, which I understand. Along with them were the other people who smiled back and tried to point out things I might want to see. Communication was very difficult though. Them with not English and me of course being an American not needing any thing else, because “Them there people should be speakin' 'Marican” I got pretty deep into the market and saw a few things that were new to me. The area the really stands out to me was the spice area. They had Turmeric bulbs that they were grinding into power like we are used to. The next stall had me sneezing and my eyes watering. They were grinding chili peppers. It was like getting a face full of OC spray. Don't Taze me bro' !

My plan for the day was totally different than the hotel's concerege plan for my day. His wasn’t bad, it was just very tourist centric. He suggested I team up with another guest and split the cost of the car. That seemed like a reasonable alternative. Not quite my solo style but why not. The man was on business in town and the plane only went to his home in India twice a week, so he had a day to kill. I learned about leather cutting dies that I ever dreamed existed. He was a nice guy with flawless English so the drive time passed easily.

The places on out itinerary turned out to be every tourist sight in the area. By that I mean, big buildings that meant absolutely nothing to me, or to my surprise to me co-tourist either. We drove 30 km out of town to see some place that I honestly can't remember what it was. Then we went to a poor recreation of the Taj Mahal that was one quarter size. It was in the middle of nowhere. Twenty minutes either way down a cow path and the was nothing around it except a fifteen foot wall to make sure you had to pay your dollar entrance fee before you found there was nothing to see. The only thing that stands out of our fifteen minute stop was that a couple Bangladeshi young wanted my picture with them. I'm really feeling like E.T. about that time.

Next was a Buddhist monastery with the tallest ascending Buddha statue in Bangladesh. We were greeted my a monk who walked us down a gallery of bronze cast Buddhas that were donated my patrons. He then ushered us into a room and put a table cloth on a table and invited us to sit before leaving. He never came back. Finally I asked another man why he thought we were waiting, he said he had no idea so we got up and left for more wandering around. The tall Buddha was cool, but I liked the Bode tree better with the reclining Buddha.

Then came the Hindu temple that was closed between 2 and 4. We were there at 2:30. As was our next stop the Parliament building because the Prime Minister was coming. The Catholic church was brand new and huge and along with the attached Mother Teresa orphanage was interesting for five minutes.

There was another stop or two along the way but it was just more of the same type of thing. The only people we interacted with besides our driver were the ticket sellers/takers. It was totally safe and sanitary. I am sure most visitors expect this type of tour. I was hoping to go down to the jammed waterfront where little canoes are overloaded with people and goods and then rowed across the river while dodging ships and sand barges. I wanted to get minimally lost in the mess of old Dhaka. I wanted to ride in a human pedaled rickshaw. I wanted a bit of an adventure – within limits of course. I hope to accomplish this tomorrow.

Driving around today and yesterday afternoon a few things stand out besides the bad traffic. Most of the three wheel bicycles are build to carry passengers, but there are also the ones that are like little flat bed trucks. On one of there flat beds, one man was sitting on one the flat bead on one side of the bike and his associate was sitting on the other side. One man pressing his pedal with his left foot and the other with his right. It looked efficient but I do hope they trade off so one leg doesn't look like Popeye before Spinach and the other like after.

Ambulances with their warbling sirens are just another noise on the road to nowhere in Dhaka. No one even gives them any sort of right of way. They are just another vehicle in the way to get someplace.

Red lights are mere suggestions to stop, and not many people take the suggestion.

This is a good place to stop. Picture of the next topic are kind of necessary, so I'll put that off until I have the pictures of the tuk-tuks and the buses

Malum consilium quod mutari non potest - “It’s a bad plan that can’t be changed.”

Sorry No photos yet

Sunday November 30 2014

I am tired seven thirty and it feels like it is midnight to me.

I got my full seven last night and by the sounds of the traffic outside I doubt I'll get that much for the next night or two. The only problem was that the seven ended at four thirty am.

The morning was as mornings go. Checking email and drinking coffee. Eating breakfast and .. well you know the routine, probably the same as mornings everywhere.

I had purchased the airline ticket yesterday. I found a flight from Bangkok to Dhaka for less than half of the prices the travel agent asked. It was the price I had expected, an internet price.

When I reached the check in counter at BKK the wheels on the bus didn't fall off the bus, but they did start wobbling. The lines t0o the counters were long and choked. The signs said “Hand carry only” but no one was heading the restriction, so neither did I. It still took 20 minutes to get to the counter and there were only four -people before me in line.

I handed the woman my passport and e-Ticket. She did the computer thing while the (I assume) supervisor looked through my passport. “You don't have a visa for Bangladesh” No I'll get a VOA (Visa of arrival) there. “But you only have a one way ticket” Yes I don't know how long I will stay. “But with no return ticket they will not issue a VOA” Don't worry I have plenty of cash and nearly enough credit cards to play poker with.”Show me the credit card you paid with” To wit she wrote down the numbers on a piece of paper before handing me my boarding pass and passport back.

The e-ticket's vernacular has changed over the years. Before it was an airline ticket, it was a coupon in the booklet you got when you went to Disneyland. The E ticket got you on the absolutely best rides in the park and there were only two or three of them in the book. You always went home with a book still holding a few A's a couple B's and maybe a C, but never ever have I seen a E ticket outside of the park.

As you waited in line for the particular E ticket ride of your choice there were sign saying “You have an hour wait from this point” and the signs times decreased the closer you got to the ride. I wish they had that implements for the e-Ticket at BKK's outbound Immigration section. I think an honest hour was spent my me and my neighbors in that line today. They were so backed up that the escalators had to be stopped so they didn't end up piling like cord wood at the bottom of the stairs. THEN four Germans (they had to be Germans) jumped the line. If he could have gotten through the crowd one particular Dutchman would have pounded them into Weinerschnitzle.

I guess the bright side was that once I got to the boarding gate I didn't have to wait very long before the flight was called. The seat was a great revenue builder for the airline. Thin and very close to the seat in front. Don't even think of crossing your legs unless you want to stand up on your seat to do it, before re-seating yourself.

I knew that Bangladesh had a Muslim majority but was surprised to here the announcement “In the name of Allah the merciful we wish to welcome you to flight …..” Whoops ! Did I get on Saudi Airlines by mistake? Then came “ … Inshallah we will arrive at ...”. Inshallah used to be one of my favorite and most used Arabic words. It means “If God wills”. It was great for blowing off pushy salesmen in Morocco and Egypt. “I'll be back tomorrow, Inshallah” God very infrequently 'shallah'ed It is not what you want to hear from your flight attendant. “We will be landing in 10 minutes ----- IF God wills” now there is a sentence guaranteed to not instill confidence in your flight crew.

It seems that God did will we arrive and then the pushing and shoving began. You would have thought that there was a fire at the rear of the plane for all the climbing over of seats and shoving involved. Really if this is the way it is under normal circumstances, don't let me be on a plane under emergency situation in Bangladesh. I'll kill the first guy who did what he did to me today until I cross checked him and said “Are you in a hurry?”. He backed off. Where was he pushing to go ? A bus on the tarmac where he would have to wait for the other half of the plane to arrive ?

The VOA was a snap. The Immigration officer did some scratching in a book. Asked me how long I would be (3 weeks) and said I'll give you a month. Now go pay that guy over there. Click, crunch, thunk ! And I was now legally in the country. I really hope my credit card number back in BKK doesn’t get stolen, Inshallah.

The hotel's car picked me up and got me to the hotel rather quickly. Dhaka's traffic is supposed to be among the worst in the world but it didn't seem any worst that most other big cities where the lines on the road are just suggestions of how many vehicles can fit that same area at the same time. The hotel was in a very quiet residential area. The room was on the small side, but adequate. I had just pulled out my camera to take photos for TripAdvisor when the phone rang. “Uh, Ma'am you are at the wrong hotel. You are at the other Best Western. Our driver made a mistake” Seriously ?

That was when we experienced the real traffic in Dhaka. When it was moving it was crowded and noisy. When it wasn't moving it wasn't moving. We sat for 45 minutes and didn't move. Long enough that I got out of the car and stood on the road side as I smoked. It took from a 3 pm arrival to seven thirty to get to the right hotel., eight miles from the airport.

The hotel did a lot of ass kissing. Giving me a suite and waiving the fee from the airport. But for now, I'm tired and will forgo the description of the room. Suffice it to say it isn't Best Western standards or over a hundred a night standards.

Caveat Emptor - Buyer Beware

After I closed yesterday afternoon I mostly just hung out. Took a power nap. Walked to the restaurant that Bruno the taxi driver recommended and had Pad Thai. Made it back to the hotel about the time it was to be going out, if you are young and hip or old and horny in Bangkok. Instead I read a bit and at nine turned out the lights and hoped for the best.

The best wasn't too bad. Except for a 3 am. break I slept until 5. Not too bad. I consider a reasonably solid seven hours while adjusting to a time zone half the way around the world. I did wake up with a horrid headache. Whether it was from dehydration or caffeine withdrawal two cups of Starbucks instant coffee made it Jake again.

I met Bruno (the taxi driver) at the crack of eight thirty and we sped off to go to the floating market for a morning of visiting with the locals. One of the things I didn't do was my research on what all was entailed. The darned market is 40 miles from the edge of town and town is big. An hour and a half is a long time in a taxi. Enough time to solve most of the world's, well maybe not all the First World's problems, but certainly the majority of the ones in the third world.

The world is run by the rich with no regard for the poor. Like “Duh!”. The king is old, and we aren't talking Elvis here. He has four sons who are trying to usurp the others place as heir apparent to the throne. But the army now is running the country, not like the police in the old days and exports are down to zero and the water rights are all being funneled to the big cities leaving the rural areas dry and arid. The best customers are the Indians. It used to be the Chinese but now it's the Indians. They bring the entire family and shop til they drop and then get pushed around in wheelchairs to shop some more. I might be exaggerating a little there.

We drove past mango farms, coconut farms, salt farms and every sort of manufacturing plant known to man. We passed a large store named “D Plus” which is still in business here in Thailand, so I assume it is not a bra store. We also passed “Big C”, which I hope is more a play on Kmart's “Big K”.

Eventually we made it to the floating market area and pulled off the main road into a car park that was surrounded by covered seating areas. I'm starting to get a feeling here, now. Smiles and nods and dusted off seats welcomed me along with a numbered plastic tag. This is not looking like a market and boats. This is looking more like a vacation condo sales pitch. I tell myself to relax and see where it goes.

Soon I am escorted to where the sales pitch comes. There is the monkey show to see. There is also the crocodiles show, not to mention the snake show. I'm kind of wondering where the bearded lady and the Siamese twins are. This is sounding very sideshow'ish to me. There are also the elephant ride.

Just give me the floating market, please. OK, that will be 3000 Baht. Lets see with 30 Baht to the dollar (roughly) that's ten dollars, fine lets do it. I handed him a US Benjamin and he gave me back 200 Baht. Gong ! Danger Will Robinson, Danger Will Robinson! Whoops ! I forgot a decimal point. He wants to take all of Benjamin home with him. A hundred dollars for two hours in a skinny boat on fetid water is not what I signed up for. Then I got the “Well lady” look if that is too much for your moth filled purse how about an hour for $70 ? I found Bruno and said let's go back to Bangkok.

 Wait, wait, how much you willing to pay? The only reason he couldn't see the steam coming out of my ears is because of the ambient heat and humidity. I just looked at him and said “no thank you” with a nod and a smile. I didn't get either in return.

Back in the taxi, Bruno made a phone call and we pulled into yet another car park cum long tailed boat company. This time the price was down to $50 and even though I didn't want to really do it now, I caved in and plopped my but in a boat.

Yesterday I asked Bruno is it was a real place where real Thais shopped and he assured me that was so. On the drive out today I asked again and got the same answer. I didn't realize that Thailand was filled with overweight people with cameras around their necks and iPads in their hand filming their day's shopping. I know it is a Saturday, but I expected the Thais to be shopping for food and not t-shirts, hats that made into fans, carved elephants and brightly colored scarves.

It was a mess. Boats gunwale to gunwale down a narrow canal, four abreast. The boats on the outside continuously solicited trinkets to buy. The sales people weren't as aggressive as in Luxor, Egypt or Tijuana but they were persistent in a nice way. Of course with the boats filling all available space in the canal I was in for a traffic jam that makes Bangkok's traffic nightmare a bullet train in comparison.

It was Disneyland without Mickey. The only concession to it being an actual working market were the occasional and I mean occasional vendor selling fresh fruit or other dishes from their boat. Otherwise it was just a cheek to jowl tourist trap, and an expensive one at that.

I know that most of the taxi / Tuk-tuk drivers are snakes in big cities and especially here in Bangkok. I thought I had found, maybe not a Garter snake, but at least a small boa. Instead I had found a Rattlesnake with the rattles temporarily silenced. Not quite Cobra material, but still dangerous. I guess you can call me Eve for the rest of the day.

The ride back to the hotel was very, very quiet.

Carpe Crapum - Bangkok November 28 2014

Well that didn't work out so well. What didn't work out so well you ask ? I had planned on returning to Myanmar and visiting an area that I missed last visit. Mrauk U is a smaller version of the same style of temples that are located at Bagan. It is on the eastern edge of the country near Bangladesh. It is kind of out of the way as far as the regular tourist track, but not an area that other Trip Advisor users have not experienced. For some reason the witch at the embassy says it is unsafe because of political unrest in the area. I am aware of the unrest in the general area, but not Mrauk U itself. So I am now begging AirAsia for a refund on the flight and at a bit of a loose end as how/where to proceed from here. For right now I'm going to hunker down in Bangkok for an extra day and see if there is anything to see that I haven't already seen.

The flights from Sea to Tokyo and then Bangkok were as expected long and uncomfortable. No particular reason other than a total of 17 hours in an area smaller than my bird's cage is too much for any sane normal sized human being.

Before departing I ran a Google search on “How to make your flight attendant like you”. Besides the normal, smile, pay attention to the safety briefing and put you luggage's wheels in first. They said that flight attendants always need extra pens to pass out to the passengers for Customs declarations and such. Also they LOVE Starbucks cards.

I picked up a $25 Starbucks card and $2 worth of cheap pens and put them in an envelope with a note that read something like “I assume you will be spending Thanksgiving in Tokyo away from friends and family. Thank you. The enclose Starbucks card should be able to buy 5 Pumpkin Spice Latte' for the cabin crew once you are back in the USA.”

Wow ! That paid off well for me. Not quite an upgrade to First Class but a thank you from each member of the cabin crew as they passed. A few hours into the trip one of them brought my a bag with Delta slippers in it, a small kit that held enough bathroom supplies for a couple days, big bags of almonds, some popcorn and chocolate. Later another dropped off a second RON (Remain overnight) kit that mt seat mate inherited along with a bag or two of the almonds and popcorn.

The chocolate bar at check in, did absolutely nothing in case you were wondering.

Airport to hotel via taxi and check in at the hotel was smooth sailing. The plane landed around 11 pm and an hour and a half later I was turning down my covers on the bed. At five am it was time to get up, at least my internal clock thought so. I fought with it for about an hour before surrendering.

Dis all those bathroom things like shower and was down for breakfast and out the door to catch the skytrain to the Myanmar embassy by eight thirty. As I was leaving the hotel one of the staff members said “You are police, aren't you?” I asked him why and he said “You have that confidence in your walk.” Interesting observation.

I was moping outside the hotel when I got back from my wasted morning and started talking to a taxi driver. As things go, he seduced me as many a local transit privateer has in the past. Small talk about weather and travel plans. A touch of politics and a healthy dose of who and what to avoid to not be taken advantage of. All the while feeling me out for “The pitch”. This one was not one I was expecting. “I'll take you to a local travel agent and see about getting you a good price on a plane ticket to Bangladesh for $3 round trip”. The travel agent was a bust. He wanted travel agent prices and I wanted internet prices, but no hard feelings on either side of that non transaction.

Then on the ride back to the hotel came the real pitch. 9 am tomorrow, $25 half day to the floating market. I took him up on it, it certainly sounds better than sitting around the hotel or riding the Sky Train down to see the couch potato Buddha that I saw last time.

It is now mid afternoon and the lag of the jet is starting to show it's teeth so now is a good time to stop.

Alea iacta est

Alea iacta est – The Die is cast.

Dates set and ticket purchased. Well for the Seattle to Bangkok part of the trip anyway. I haven't made any firm plans for the part of the trip from arriving from Seattle to returning, but I am strongly leaning to a flight from Thailand to Bangladesh. I thought Myanmar was off the tourist track until I started reading Lonely Planet's Bangladesh guide. Two hundred and eight pages in total. If you have ever looked at any of the Lonely Planet books you know that a hundred pages are generally dedicated to background and other fluff. In a book as big as their India book a hundred pages of non-essential pap isn't much of an impact. When the book is a breath over two hundred pages, this is quite a bite. I wonder if there is enough to satisfy my ADD for three weeks. If not there are other countries that are just a visa and plane ticket away.

Bangladesh is a very small country at the mouth of the Ganges river where it empties into the Bay of Bengal. In my lifetime it started out as part of India under British rule. When the British pulled out of India they chopped off a chunk to the east and a chunk to the west. These pieces of land were mostly populated by Muslims, leaving India with a Hindu majority. The new parts were one country called East and West Pakistan, with West Pakistan having the capital and of course the power.

In 1971 East Pakistan claimed independence and the fight was on. Reports of up to three million people were killed in the fighting before it was over and Bangladesh was a recognized country.

With a population of 2,800 people per square mile (USA 34 (Washington state 40)) it's gonna be crowded. Heck even India comes in under a 1000 per square mile and I had claustrophobia most of the time there. I may have to start sharpening my elbows now to get ready to get through the crowds.

Every place has the World's Something-ist. Bangladesh has the World's Longest continious sand beach at Cox's Bazzar. Since most of the country is the actual alluvial plain of the great rivers of India, it is pretty flat. Most of the country's elevation is less than 30 feet above sea level. A little flooding or a big cyclone really makes a mess of life and property.

The southwest of the country is one huge mangrove swamp called the Sundarbans. This area seems to be the biggest tourist draw. 19^th century paddle wheelers wend their way from the capital south, where tourists board smaller (30 to 50 passenger) boats for three and four nights in the Sundarbans. Each and every pair of tourist eyes peeled for a glimpse of one of the rarely seen Bengal tigers that live there.

So here are my tentative plans. Arrive in Dhaka (the capital) get shoved and pushed around for a couple days. Take the Rocket (the paddle wheel) south. Float around for a couple days looking for tigers. Maybe see a fisherman using Otters to catch fish. Perhaps loll around on a beach for a day or so. There are ruins in the northwest and hills in the southeast. Sounds like enough of a plan for now.

Hmm.. that's odd. Spell check says there are no errors in this document

Where, when and why - Next

As most of you know I generally take three weeks in late March or early April and travel someplace outside the land of the observed and the home of the fearful. This year I am strongly leaning to leaving for three weeks in late November and Christmas.

I hate the thought of missing out on my favorite U.S. holiday (Thanksgiving), but I just might have to.

Delta airlines is changing their frequent flier program drastically in 2015. Instead of crediting you with an air mile for each mile flown, they are going to credit an air mile for each dollar spent. If they had used this same formula when I went to Myanmar in March I would have earned 1000 miles instead of the 15,000 miles actually flown. Yes there are some ways to improve the mileage (like booking on their website and/or using their American Express card)  but it still wouldn't add up to a third of the miles that pass under your butt when flying.

One of my goals has been to fly from Seattle to the absolutely farthest place I can get there, First Class, for free. (think Seattle to Cape Town). I have just about enough miles to do just that and a trip to a time zone 12 hours away will give me the necessary miles.

Where to go ? The Mideast is out, because of nasty people who love YouTube for all the wrong reasons. Syria is a place I'd like to see again, but not at the expense of wearing an orange jumpsuit on top of a sand dune. The scare over infection by the Ebola virus rules out Dallas, Texas and western Africa. I'm too cheap to convert my U.S. dollars into Euros or Pounds. So it is looking like south east Asia again.

I am really thinking strongly about Bangladesh. Someplace I have never been. Someplace that no one I know has ever been. It might not be there for long with climate change and rising sea levels (a meter difference in sea levels would flood 10% of the country). In the world's largest Mangrove swamps in the south they have Bengal Tigers in the wild. That is about all I know about the country at this point except, George Harrison made an 8 track tape about it in the early 1970's and ferry boats flip over there with semi regularity.

Besides if I don't like it, India, Myanmar, Thailand and Cambodia are close by and I know I like a couple of those places.

 

 As always if I do go (my financial advisor says to go. My best male friend says to go.) you are most welcome to tag along via the blog. As always I promise bad grammar, poor spelling, copious amounts of complaining and irreverence.