Archives for November 2011

And not the last.

After spending a little time on the beach in Cox’s Bazaar, we set out to explore a bit more. As we were walking behind some buildings we stumbled upon these random animal statues. We were invited in for a mini-tour by the security guard. His explanation didn’t quite make sense but it seems these animals belong to a hotel that has not quite finished construction.

We also stopped for a picture of me and my namesake!

We wanted to visit the Mermaid Cafe Eco Resort. Originally we had hoped to stay at the eco-resort, but their prices rose dramatically just prior to our arrival (like $37 up to $100+). We were hoping to at least be able to hang out there for a bit. We took a bicycle rickshaw in the direction of the resort which we thought was only a few kilometers outside of town. But no… after at least a half hour in the (very bumpy) rickshaw the driver dropped us at a sign that said, “Mermaid Cafe” but there was no resort. The resort was still quite a bit further down the road.

We decided to just stay put and try again the next day.

xo, jill

The beach Bangladeshi style.

Our first order of business the next morning was to check out the beach. Cox’s Bazaar is one of the premier tourist destinations in the country, although if you’ve been to beaches elsewhere, it’s not too impressive. We read before arriving that sunbathing or swimming would not be an option. Ladies and gentlemen in this part of the world don’t go splashing around in tiny little swimsuits. However, you can rent loungers and umbrellas if you’d like to enjoy the sun and surf fully clothed. We decided to just relax with our books.

One draw back of being stationary on the beach is that you are a target for pedlars. Fortunately, the man we rented our chairs from did a pretty good job of helping us shoo unwanted vendors away.

“Swimming” in the Bay of Bengal / photo by Molly

photo by Molly

xo, jill

A slow start.

At the airport in Chittagong, Molly and I were given star treatment. As females/tourists/Westerners, we were whisked to the front of the immigration line and processed immediately. This meant we were also the first people to exit the airport. We walked through the double doors into the bright sunlight and were confronted with a giant crowd staring… at us. Um, I don’t know how to describe it… Overwhelming? Awkward? It didn’t take long for a security guard to offer to help us find transport and only a tiny bit longer for our very own entourage to form. Our guidebook suggested 150 taka would be an appropriate price for a ride into town. Every driver was asking for 400 taka. We tried to negotiate a bit but finally it came down to this: “I feel like we’re in a zoo. Let’s just pay it.” as we climbed into the cage that is a baby-taxi.

Outside the airport are fields, gardens, and greenery. It’s not often that the area surrounding the airport is nicer than the city itself, but for Chittagong I’d say that’s true.

We checked into our hotel and inquired about visiting a village in the Chittagong Hill Tracts the next day. We knew we needed a permit (and an armed guard!) but we didn’t quite know how to get it. Unfortunately, we were informed that the permit office was closed for 3 or 4 days due to Eid. Boo. That was one whole day in our itinerary deleted. We decided to take a nap and worry about it when we woke up.

After several hours of sleeping we were ready to figure out what we were actually going to do in Bangladesh now that our most anticipated plans were foiled. We knew we wanted to go to to the beach, so we set out to get a bus ticket. Not so easy. Again because it was Eid, all the luxury buses were sold out and no one was too keen to sell us a local bus ticket. Finally, a friendly man helped us. We had our tickets and were ready to explore the city.

Um… there’s not too much to see in Chittagong. We ended up at the Zia Memorial Museum which had raised its price from 2 taka to 75 taka. That’s quite the price hike! (Still only a bit more than $1 though.) (Note: You are not allowed to bring in backpacks or cameras. We learned the hard way and Molly had to leave her dSLR with a guard.) The museum is a memorial to President Zia who was assassinated there in 1981. The display is mainly photographs and his personal belongings, like a shirt from Harrods.

The next morning we had some time before our bus to the beach so we decided to explore some more. The guidebook suggested visiting Foy’s Lake for a morning stroll. Boy were we confused when we were dropped off at an amusement park by the same name. It was never clear to us if there was access to an actual lake or not. After several inquiries on Molly’s part we just decided to drop it. Instead we headed to one of the other few sights in town, the World War II Cemetery. After stopping about a bajillion times for directions (which included being led inside a hospital and consulting with a doctor who had a patient), we finally made it there. It was a nice little spot but not really much to speak of. We were mostly excited to finally be able to take a few photos.

I have to include this headstone because the groundskeeper cleaned off the bird poop with his bare hand, just for me.

After the cemetery we hopped on the bus to go to the beach. The estimated 4 hour journey took 6 and a half. The animal markets were busy selling cows for the upcoming Eid holiday and the crowds were spilling over into the streets, making it difficult for vehicles to pass.

All of these photos were taken from the bus window before it grew dark.

On their way home with cows in tow.

Cows in the back of the truck.

Only a few days left for these little cows.

[Are you wondering what I’m talking about when I keep saying Eid? In short, Eid al Adha is a time for Muslims to get dressed up in their finest clothing and celebrate Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son to God. Families who can afford it slaughter an animal (cows, sheep, goats, etc) to share with family, friends, and the needy.]

xo, jill

really was a battle.

I wouldn’t normally share too much about flights, but this trip is the exception. As Molly and I were waiting to board the plane, we suddenly noticed something. Not only were we the only tourists on our flight, we were the only Westerners, and two of three females. Everyone else was clearly returning home or visiting family for the Eid holiday. At this point I started to wonder if maybe Bangladesh isn’t sought out for tourism?

Boarding the plane itself was quite the experience. We flew a budget airline that allows one free carry on and charges a fee for checked bags. Here’s where we encountered a bit of a problem. When you consider that everyone is hoping to avoid the checked bag fee, and that everyone on the plane (besides us) is laden down with gifts for their families, you might reach the conclusion that hell would break lose. It pretty much did.

Our plane was delayed for an hour and a half due to hand luggage. Passengers were attempting to shove very large bags in the already full overhead bins, as well as beneath their seats. Other bags were just left in the aisle. The poor flight attendant. She was trying her best to communicate that all the luggage needed to be stowed or put below in cargo… but the message just wasn’t getting across. This led to other passengers (the ones who knew English) shouting at her to “put some authority into her voice!” or simply firing profanities into the air.

Ignore our sleepy faces and check out the scores of men.

Passengers were even on their mobile phones as the plane was about to take off. The flight attendant finally snapped, “Sir, do you want to go home??? Then turn off your mobile!” It was pretty intense, folks.

I was shocked. I’ve never been on such a poorly managed flight before. I thought there might be a mutiny! Molly was asleep (it was past midnight).

I slept through much of the actual flight but as soon as we landed the chaos started up again. Molly and I sat next to man who had the window seat. As soon the plane stopped he literally jumped over us (like his butt in our face style) to get to the aisle. We just sat back knowing there was no way we were going anywhere.

Our return flight was much better and since no one was carrying gifts all the hand luggage seemed to fit. The only problem this time was that we were seated near the toilet on a flight full of tiny bladders. I think every man on that plane urinated at least 3 times (1 of which he hit the target). I could go into more detail, but I won’t. Let’s just say Molly was gagging.

I suppose the important part is that we made it there and back safely, but my goodness. What a journey.

xo, jill