Nothing too dramatic, just a smashed windshield and cracked rear passenger window (my window) after a wayward truck driver decided 80km/hr was the right speed for driving on the wrong side of the road through a crowded town centre. Luckily the truck sailed on past us. Unfortunately the metal pole sticking off the back of the truck didn’t. It wasn’t a big deal though, no one was injured, and the damage to the car was fairly minor as far as these things go.
I do admit, however, to becoming incredibly frustrated at having to hang around the scene (read side of the highway) for FOUR HOURS after the event while the two drivers involved debated the issue, with the help of over fifty onlookers. This meant I didn’t get home until almost 10pm after a day with no water, no toilets, and no food that involved traipsing around vegetable patches in 36 degree heat in 75% humidity. Not that I’m bitter. This incident did make me appreciate in a whole new way the much complained about car insurance industry at home at least. NRMA et al, I admit you’re a necessary evil. Ever considered Bangaldesh as a business expansion opportunity? Just an idea…
Now, I’m aware this blog has been a little less than rosy lately, so I thought it was time to share some of the truly cool and wonderful and fun and exciting things I’ve been up to in an effort to boost the mood in a totally legal, clean living kind of way.
And what better place to start than at Adventure Land and Paradise Valley! Yes, Chittagong has its very own Disneyland, complete with Alice in Wonderland spinning tea cups (without the acid).
And here I am emerging from the ‘Mysterious Cave’ in Khagrachari in the Chittagong Hill Tracts.
This particular adventure was part of a weekend spent exploring the most culturally diverse corner of Bangladesh that is suffering from political unrest, isolation, a rat plague, discrimination against the indigenous hill tribes, environmental degradation and a whole host of other nasties. To get there as a foreigner I needed to seek a permit from the local District Commissioner's Office, but it was worth it. Admittedly, my original post on the weekend in the hills began something like this:
The bus is sending us, horns blaring, into what can only be our impending doom. The cramps in my stomach meant this doom wasn’t altogether unwelcome; surely they would forgive my soiled underwear as they pulled me out from underneath the piles of bodies?
At least the driver was now too focused on his new role as Michael Schumacher (albeit with an impressive tan and rotting teeth) to continue his lengthy mobile phone conversations which immediately doubled our chances of survival right there just by increasing the number of hands on the steering wheel. With every sudden brake I spared a thought for the foolish souls riding on the roof top (and bless my grubby Birkenstocks that I was not up their, Priscilla style, with them).
Putting three white chicks at the front of the bus was a stroke of benevolence on behalf of whoever it is in charge of deciding who gets to knee-knock with who. Over four hours of rubber-knecking could have proved quite uncomfortable after a while. What did prove uncomfortable after only a short while, however, was the intimate relationship I found myself thrust into with an adolescent male who, thankfully, was equally as uncomfortable at the reality of his knees entwined with mine. The look on his face after about an hour assured me I’m about the closest he’s been to an eligible woman. Bless his cotton socks, err, rubber thongs though, the lovely lad did his best to feign ignorance at the bruises in the shape of his knee caps that were forming on my calves, and adopt the very casual response to the situation of ‘we two shall never make eye contact’. This in itself was quite a feat given our knees weren’t the only parts of us holding their own conversations. The general chit chat went as far as knocking shoulders and elbows and that awkward thigh moment as he surreptitiously snuck seeds out from his pocket to munch on.
But then I thought it wasn't quite fair to start out all predictably with the crap bits when there were so many varied highlights only a place like Bangladesh could offer that left me either laughing, smiling, shaking my head in disbelief, outright confused, or in awe, and maybe, just maybe, it'd be worth sharing some of these. Plus, with order restored to my digestive tract lately, it's much easier to look back on these things through rosier glasses. So, on with more highlights:
Buddha locked away inside a temple. Even in a predominantly Muslim country I can still hunt down a statue of Buddha. He's just so ... photogenic (while it may seem like I'm reducing religion to mere aesthetics, I know that's not a bad thing - I've been friends with Penny long enough to appreciate that aesthetically pleasing things are culturally significant indicators of change, and, um, stuff - like when Yves Saint Laurent made it ok for women other than Ellen Degeneres to wear suits, but before Ellen became famous).
One of my favourite past times - getting excited over signs. This one is tops! An undisclosed prize will be awarded to anyone who can guess what this one means.
It should be illegal to be as happy as this guy. On second thoughts, a bit of inebriation could be just what this society needs (if for no other reason than to liven up my depressingly sober Friday nights in the gong. Yep, it's All About Me)
Oh god, sorry, here I am in orange again. I swear I do own other colours. Anyway, this is one of the best statues I've ever seen. It's apparently of the former President of Bangladesh General Zia, who was assassinated in the early 80's (I could get specific but will assume you're not interested and if you are you can use your own internet time to google the literally bloody details yourself). Note the attention to detail, the creases in his pants, and is that a slight bell bottom effect I detect?
I must admit to becoming recently suspicious as to whether this brilliant statue is really of Zia though, since I went to the Zia Memorial Museum last weekend and in 99% of the photos he's wearing a pair of Ray Ban Aviators. Whether he was indoors, outdoors, addressing the nation, chatting with his wife, in a painting of the army (yes, he was even painted with the glasses on), on a plane, in a stadium, whatever, it seems Zia beat the leaders of cool (ha, Bono, you thought you were so original) with this ridiculous fashion trend by about 10 years. As for the museum itself - fascinating. They've even protected the bloodstains on the wall and bullet holes in the floor with perspex - truly exciting stuff for someone who has the aim of visiting all the embalmed leaders in the world (Lenin and Ho Chi Minh down, Mao to go). While Zia wasn't embalmed, looking at the bloodstains felt almost as creepy as contemplating why Lenin's fingernails are a bit green.
The market in town was full of just as many memorable sights including the local knife maker (would use appropriate term but don't know it and won't pretend I do by cheating via google) which was just so picturesque I forgot for a moment the very purpose of those knives even though the stall with agitated goats was nearby.
And while the fun stuff doesn't end here, I'm getting the feeling this blog post should. Hopefully this should work to balance out my more self indulgently negative rambles and will help to prove that despite (or even because of) all the frustrating stuff, I really am rather enjoying myself. In fact, I'm enjoying it so much I'm throwing a party in the gong this weekend to celebrate. Now, off to find some liqour...
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