Bangladesh, April 2014

As this was a very short vacation I’m going to be quite detailed for a change. Many parts are worth mentioning to me due to the incredible amount and diversity of impressions.

When I planned to visit my old friend from school, Carsten, in Bangladesh I had no idea what to expect of this part of the world. I had been to Sri Lanka just few months before – but what I experienced in Bangladesh was way different.

The first thing I noticed after landing in Dhaka was that the country is extremely poor. Hundreds of people were sleeping on the streets, only covered by cardboard boxes – in the middle of heavy traffic. Everything is dirt-cheap and yet people of every age begged for food, cigarettes or money. I remember having lunch with Carsten right after I arrived, we sat in some tiny, dirty place and had some local food – hardly enjoyable. We did take the leftovers with us though and gave them to a little girl, maybe four years of age. When she noticed that there was a small piece of cake with the leftovers her face brightened up.

This was the moment. The first time I really thought about cherishing the little things. Being happy with what I’ve got. If this girl can be so happy about some half-eaten piece of cake I’ve got every damn reason to be the happiest person alive.

We then started our journey. The six of us went down to Dhaka harbor – the filthiest and smelliest place I’ve ever been to in all my life. The impressions were overwhelming! I’ll try painting a picture with my words: The sun is about to set over the river. Hundreds of old boats in every shape and size are tied up or floating down the stream. Litter is literally everywhere. The shore and the river is covered in a mix of plastic and rotting fruit and the smell can only be described as a mix of feces and rotting food added by a scent of death. Thousands and thousands of people are around us, many are watching us, talking to us or even trying to touch us – white skin! We feel like we’re famous but soon are annoyed by the lack of respect and personal space. Even after entering a ferry that would take us south we are surrounded by people. I can’t blame them – this must be the most interesting thing they’ve seen in a long time: A bunch of white people amongst hundreds of Bangladeshis.

At some point I can’t take it anymore and flee – off to our cabin for two, which is about four square meters big. Two tiny bends, two fans and a dysfunctional TV. At that moment it felt like heaven – being alone for a few minutes.

The next morning we disembark and hop on a bus – our method of transportation for the next six or seven hours. The bus is old and squeaky but seems reliable. A guy is constantly standing at the open door, calling the name of our destination: Kuakata. Who ever wants to join hops on – the bus hardly even stops. At one point a young guy with a bloody head wound approaches and starts climbing to the roof of the bus. We ask other passengers about what’s going on and they explain to us, that he’s on his way to hospital but can’t afford to pay for a seat inside the bus. Riding on the roof is much cheaper. We agree on letting him take our seats and ride the roof instead of him.

Best. Decision. Ever. I can’t speak for the others of our little group but for me it was an unforgettable experience. A weird feeling overcomes me – a mix of adrenaline, fear and absolute freedom and happiness. We are tucked in between a bunch of luggage, big sacks of rice and spare tires. It is highly uncomfortable and there only thing we could hold on to is a 20cm high metal railing. There are two guys sitting at the very front of the roof watching the road and warning us about any danger, such as low-hanging branches. We spend the rest of the ride on the roof, climbing down every time the bus stops for a few minutes to enjoy a fresh coconut or buy some water.

In the afternoon we finally arrive in Kuakata and approach the only hotel. The price is 2,50 Euro per person per night and the rooms are big. Unfortunately the whole building is rotting. We are the only guests, there’s mold everywhere and the beds are absolutely filthy. There’s only one way to being able to sleep here: by getting wasted. And that is exactly how the evening was spent: Sitting on the balcony and getting wasted. By the time I got to bed I didn’t care about anything anymore. Not about the mold, not about the stained sheets.. not even about the hotels employee in my room, trying to fix the AC. I just went to bed and slept.

The next day was spent by riding a motorbike to a place called ‘red crab beach’, eating a lot and.. to be honest I can’t quite remember what else we did. My next memory is the ride back towards Dhaka the next day. We decided to get back to the roof of the bus and spent the whole trip to the ferry up there. Back onto the ferry and off to Dhaka.

Back in Dhaka we took a cmg (tuk-tuk) to a street festival. The only thing I really remember is that it was amazingly loud and crowded. Hundreds of thousands of people, a small fun fair and weird food (which I didn't dare trying as far as I remember).

Soon after that it was about time for me to head back to the airport and fly back to Kuwait.

This was an amazing experience which kinda was my first step to a more adventurous way of spending vacations. I’ve learned a lot and although I did not enjoy every minute of this trip (mainly because of the lack of private space and being surrounded by strangers during the whole time), I do cherish the experience and looking back I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

#Bangladesh