The Ship Song, continued

Not to be outdone by the eventful journey there, the trip back proved just as jam-packed full of memorable moments, though not quite of the Hallmark Card variety. I rose early ready to depart at ‘8am sharp!’ as instructed. We were returning to the mainland not on speedboats, but on a local fishing boat. This development made me quite happy as I figured there was no way a fishing boat would be able to match the speedboat in terms of alarming acceleration. I had also been assured there would be enough water at this time of morning for us to launch directly into the water, meaning we could avoid a rerun of the ‘heave ho’ action. This also made me happy. In fact, I was feeling quite chipper – leaving the island, not getting a speedboat, and arriving home to meet the weekend seemed like fantastic developments to me. My mood was not even dulled by a ridiculous CNG trip across rice paddy fields which had me riding in an awkward position with my foot twisted up and over our luggage to the point where all the circulation to that leg was cut off. Hey, what’s a dose of pins and needles if it meant I was getting off the island?

After unfolding myself, returning my foot to its rightful place from underneath my chin and stomping around until sensation returned, I looked out for this fishing boat so full of promise. Sure enough – there it was, in all its wooden glory. And I mean all its glory. The whole lot, there for the eye to see because THERE WAS NO WATER.



Which prompted my to enquire in mildly emotive tones how exactly we were going to get off the island:

Me: There’s not enough water to float the boat, how are we going to get off the island?
Colleague: We will wait, maybe half an hour, water will come
Me: [pointedly looking at the fifty or so people and their luggage] But I don't think there will ever be enough water to float this boat...
Colleague: Yes, they say the water will come soon, and the boat will float. Me: Do you believe them?
Colleague: Maybe

Hmmm. Not really a satisfactory conversation, was it? As for the half hour wait – I was deeply suspicious this was half an hour in Bangla time, which could mean anything from ten minutes to two hours, give or take. Thankfully I’d had the forethought to pack my book in my handbag, so while I read about how depressed Madame Bovary was with her surroundings, I was able to laugh along with genuine empathy. [Especially considering my surroundings included huge piles of foul smelling bamboo cages covered in dried chicken shit and feathers – how comforting in a country affected by the avian bird flu crisis]. Reading also helped to distract me from the rickshaw wallahs who were running around madly trying to find someone who hadn’t yet spotted the pale bookwork who can read standing up. Talk about talent.

An hour later Emma had already found a husband and fallen pregnant, but the only thing the boat had managed to do was sink a little bit further into the mud. Right, time to exert some pressure and start a ‘solution-oriented’ conversation, I thought.

Me: There’s still no water. How are we going to get to Chittagong?
Colleague: Mmm, yes, the water didn’t come
Me: No, it didn’t. So what can we do?
Colleague: It depends on the moon
Me: The water is tidal, I understand. But what can we do now?
Colleague: I will find out
Me: Oh, you haven’t asked already?
Colleague: No, the water should be here…[Wanders off to speak to someone]
Colleague: We have a solution. We can get a smaller boat downstream, is that ok?
Me: Yes! Let’s go.
Colleague: There’s only one problem. You have to walk through the mud to get on board. Is that ok?
Me: [momentary hesitation as I saw myself covered head to toe in mud] Ah, sure, no problem. Let’s go.

So off we all toddle and I take off my shoes and roll up my jeans while the boatload of people laugh and point at how white my legs are. With a bit of slip sliding and the assistance of people on board who hauled me up and onto the boat, I set about the mission of washing enough of the mud off so I could restore my modesty and roll my jeans back down. Soon I was joined by my female colleague, and we shared the rinsing water together while managing not to slip. While juggling bag and orna and sunglasses and gripping onto things I looked up just in time to see my male colleague… being carried onto the boat. Yep, carried. He didn’t even have to take off his shoes! The cheeky bugger had organised for some local men to carry him on while we were distracted cleaning ourselves up. Of course, he’s a man, he’s far too important to get his feet dirty [Will refrain from the essay itching to rush down through my fingertips and assume my utter contempt for this behaviour is obvious].

While trying to pick my chin up off the boat deck I found a place to perch in preparation for what was turning out to be quite the return journey. The process was made a lot easier by my (culturally insensitive) amusement at the very serious looking man carrying a “Mr Incredible” cartoon character bag as his briefcase. Yeah, you take what you can get in this town.



After sorting ourselves out, strategically placing luggage in the right spots to evenly spread out the weight (or rather throwing all the bags in a big pile in the safest part of the boat while making people perch precariously on the boat’s edge) we started floating gently down stream.

As we continued floating downstream I was starting to relax only to notice we were heading directly towards two other fishing boats in the kind of way that encouraged mental images of splintered wood. Sure enough, rather than slowing down and moving the boats around so that we all fit, we just ploughed right on into the side of one, as you do. What ensued was a five minute argument between the respective captains, each predictably declaring the other to be at fault. While listening to the oh so constructive yelling match I got to thinking about how wrong Australian’s are to link our national identity to an attitude of ‘she’ll be right mate.’ We ain’t got nothin’ on Bangladeshi’s, who even in the face of what appears (to me) to be obvious defeat, will carry on in the vein hope that the boat right in our path will somehow miraculously take on ghost like qualities and we’ll pass right on through the middle of it with nigh but a cool chill on our arms [btw, has anyone actually watched Ghost lately? The scene where Demi and Whoopi get all physical is really kinda weird…]

Now, if you’re starting to think this story will never end, you’re at about the same point I was as we headed finally out to open water. I cheered myself up though with the knowledge that the trip over the water took 20 minutes in the speedboat, so I figured in about an hour I would be back on the mainland, and just that bit closer to my first shower in three days. How optimistic of me.

As one hour turned into two hours, and the loud drone of the engine blocked out my ability to do anything but wince at the impressive headache parked firmly behind my eyes, I started to get agitated. I squirmed in my squished seat, I covered and uncovered my ears, I cleaned my sunglasses, I slipped my shoes on and off, and I took to checking my watch for ever more depressing time updates at thirty second intervals. In short, I was beginning to act like a frustrated five year old child who has been told to sit quietly while the adults enjoy all the interminably boring things adults do that exclude you.

After two hours and forty five minutes, and right at about the point where I was in danger of progressing from a frustrated five year old to an utterly pissed off and badly sun burnt twenty eight year old woman with a notoriously sharp tongue (who was desperately wishing for a speedboat), we finally made it back on dry land. Even better, we made it into a vehicle with air conditioning without any wait whatsoever. And even better than all of that, we stopped at the side of the road and bought bananas. But, perhaps best of all was the conversation my colleagues had about me in the car:

Colleague 1: Ah Lyrian, she is just excellent isn’t she?
Colleague 2: Yes, yes, a very fine woman, so relaxed
Coleague 1: Yes! Nothing is a problem, everything is ok, she’s so calm
Colleague 2: And so strong! Yes, Lyrian, the excellent woman of steel…
Me: Um, thanks. Really, it was nothing.