Old Dhaka

Today two colleagues and I decided to be renegades and break from the office/hotel routine. Since my last time here, I'd been hoping to check out some more of Old Dhaka, since all I'd seen was Sadarghat.

First we headed to Ahsan Manzil, the Pink Palace. We got there just as the gates had closed but were shuffled in and allowed to walk around for a bit. I'm embarrassed to say that we were allowed in despite the fact that several Bangladeshis were lined up outside. I didn't feel very good about it, but figured that it very well may have been my only opportunity to see the palace. Walking around the grounds and seeing the view of the Bariganga River from the top of the steps was worth a little American guilt.



Per my Lonely Planet guidebook....in 1872, it was built on the site of an old French factory by Nawab (Prince) Abdul Ghani, Dhaka's wealthiest zamindar (landowner). Depicted here wearing a jazzy feather hat...


Lord Curzon, the Viceroy of India, stayed in the palace whenever he was in Dhaka. Here he is looking very British...


Next we headed to Bangsal Road, also known as "Bicylcle Street," where the wallahs buy the art that adorns their rickshaws. We wound our way through the narrow streets and walked through a major rickshaw traffic jam - a total cluster-you know what. There seems to be no "you go, then I go, and so we all have a better chance of making it across the street in one piece." No no. Everyone inches up on each other so rickshaws end up in a tangle and no one gets anywhere. Anyway, we made it through there after asking someone every several yards "Bangsal Rd. kotai?" (where is Bangsal Rd.?) and finally made it. I picked up some fantastic pieces that I have nowhere to hang, but damn it they're cool.

Back to Dhaka and a Bengali Wedding

So I just figured out that in my rush to pack, I forgot the little jammy that lets me transfer photos to my computer. Awesome. Bear with me as I try to paint you the picture without any of my photos until I get back -- might try to grab a disposable camera and get some photos on CD.. we'll see.

I arrived here at 2 AM Monday morning, and just missed some excitement at Zia International where there was a two hour power outage - http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=20992. Very happy to have missed that! A colleague had to feel for her luggage in the dark.

My first night here, a friend in our Dhaka office invited me to attend a wedding ceremony with her and her son. I was so excited to go and do something social! Working out here often involves being shuttled between the hotel and office, and I can start to feel a bit like a caged bird. Anyway, the wedding was held at a huge hall on the grounds of some sort of police force - I think the border police. The whole outside of the hall was decorated in beautiful strings of white lights. The guests were just amazingly dressed - the women wore bright, elaborately beaded saris and amazing jewelry. I was excited to have the chance to wear the red silk salwar kameez I had made in Kathmandu, but I had nothing on these girls.

The ceremony was the last in a long series of events that started several months ago, I think, with the arranged engagement. The bride was wearing an amazing pink sari that my friend told me can weigh as much as 10 pounds. The bride and groom received their guests from a couch on the stage - the poor things had to sit there for hours while they had their picture taken with every guest (including me!), and then shared a meal together with close family and friends. There were so many other guests that there were several seatings for dinner and the guests rotated to and from the tables.

My favorite bit of the ceremony was the end. After finishing dinner, the bride and groom sat back on the couch together and were surrounded again by friends and family. They each took turns looking in a mirror, that was tilted at an angle so that they saw the others' face. Then they shared a glass of juice and some rice, to symbolize all that they'll share during married life. It was very sweet and I felt very lucky to be there.

"Ugh, Heathrow Terminal 4."

Seriously, Heathrow. Seriously.

We need to have a talk.

You are not nearly as charming as I remember you. Then again, I was 15 the last time I saw you. Young and foolish, perhaps my bright-eyed enthusiasm about my first trip to Europe clouded the fact that you are an absolute crap place to hang out.

You don't have a nice comfy place for weary travelers to rest while they wait for their gate to be posted. This is especially annoying when your gate has not been posted. ::ahem::

You force your security personnel to wear the most horrible green and black polyster shirt creation I have ever seen. Is that why they're so slow? Is it a work slow-down in protest of bad clothes? They're so slow that you felt the need to hang a sign asking people to not attack them. No "threats, verbal assaults, or violence." There's a story there, I'm sure. Or maybe several. Have you looked at the airport in the mirror lately and asked "What can I do to prevent people from flying at my employees in a blind rage?" I doubt it.

Also, you charged me .20 GBP extra to "eat in" instead of "take away" my almond croissant.

And to add insult to injury, your bathrooms are way below par.

Ugh, Heathrow Terminal 4. Ugh.