Dhaka had some rain and thunder early on the morning of the 19th. I took a cycle rickshaw to Sadarghat on the river, arriving about 10:30. I just missed a launch leaving for Chandpur, down the river. I left on the next one, at noon, under a cloudy sky, and stood on the bow as it headed downriver. We passed hundreds of other boats on the river, welders working on boats on the riverbanks, and seemingly hundreds of brick kilns with tall smokestacks. The big launch was packed and I, as the only foreigner on board, was incessantly pestered by questions, requests for photos, and open-mouthed stares. After a while, I got pretty tired of it. Maybe, after a month, I had finally reached my saturation point.
The launch reached Chandpur about 3:30. I had hoped to find a bus heading southeast to Chittagong, but there wasn't one among the buses waiting for the launch. Chittagong is about 120 miles from Chandpur, so even if there had been a bus it probably wouldn't have arrived there until late. Instead, I decided to head to Comilla, only about 45 miles from Chandpur. I hopped on a small bus headed east to Hajiganj, and then another one northeast to Comilla. A friendly fellow passenger insisted on paying for my ticket on the first leg. The bus rides were slow, with many stops, and I arrived in Comilla at 6:30, after dark. I took an auto rickshaw to what turned out to be a very noisy hotel, from street traffic. I ate a good chicken and naan dinner at a restaurant that specializes in that.
The next morning, after a chicken breakfast, I took a CNG to Mainimati, a half hour ride southwest of town. Mainimati was a famous Buddhist center between the 6th and 13th centuries. I headed to the restored ruins of the Salban Vihara monastery. There wasn't much to see, mostly restored brick foundations of 115 cells surrounding the stubby remains of a temple. There was, however, a very good museum and the day was pleasantly warm. I spent about an hour and a half there before coming back to Comilla for lunch (chicken, of course).
I left for Chittagong, about 90 miles southeast, on a big bus with plenty of leg room about 12:30. At first the bus traveled right along the Indian border. The bus made a half hour stop for passengers to pray at a mosque on the way, the first time I can remember that happening. We passed some rice, but not a lot. I didn't see much water, either. The countryside seemed considerably drier than what I had seen in the rest of the country. I did see some crazy driving. Eventually, a line of hills appeared to the east. I hadn't seen many hills in Bangladesh previously. Approaching Chittagong, I spotted lots of places selling marine supplies. Ship breaking yards line the coast north of Chittagong, and I imagine these shops sell items taken from the ships. After more than four hours, the bus reached Chittagong, and I took an electric rickshaw to a hotel (more expensive than usual, 1000 taka, about $13) in the center. Chittagong is Bangladesh's second largest city, with 2.5 million people. It is congested and polluted, but it does have hills, beautiful rain trees, and some attractive colonial era buildings.
The next morning about 10 I hired a CNG to take me to Kumiraghat on the coast northwest of Chittagong to see the ship breaking yards. Getting there took about an hour, passing lots of marine supplies shops on the way. Because the difference between high and low tide is so great along this part of the coast, huge ocean-going vessels which have reached obsolescence are beached here to be broken up. It is hard and dangerous work, done with few protections for the workers. Publicity has been bad, and the yards now restrict visitors.
Upon arrival, I walked on a dirt road paralleling the shore and passing the high fences and gates of several ship breaking yards. Signs said "No Photos" and maintained that only adult workers were employed. I could see the huge ships behind offices and piles of debris in the yards. Cranes and bulldozers were also visible in the yards. I walked back and then walked out on a more than half mile long jetty. A huge collection of orange lifeboats lay on the mud at the foot of the jetty. From the jetty itself I could see big ships in both directions, resting on the mud. Some were only partially intact, and I could see what looked like tiny little workers on the closest ones. The evening before I had checked the time of low tide (9:25 a.m.) and high tide (2:45 p.m.) Gulls rested on the mud as the tide began to come in. Small ferryboats crowded with passengers came and went, heading to and from Sandwip Island, a large island about ten miles across the Sandwip Channel.
The day was warm and from about 12:30 to 2 I sat in the shade of the shops at the foot of the jetty. I had something to eat and watched the activity. A truck made a big potato delivery, sacks and sacks of potatoes. A man was selling big papayas. Passengers to and from Sandwip came and went. About 2 I walked out again to the end of the jetty. The tide was in. The mudflats were now underwater. I hired a boat to take me along the big ships to the north, and that was interesting. I could see right into the interior of at least one of them. One was only about half intact. The whole front half of the ship appeared to have been dismantled.
I returned to Chittagong about 4 and walked to the dirty shore of the Karnapuli River, maybe a half mile wide. The river was full of boats, with a new bridge upriver. I walked along the river, watching all the activity and in particular the small ferries full of people being taken across the river. The sun set down the river.
The next morning I took a CNG to the World War II cemetery in town, with about 750 graves. About half are British and more than 200 are Indian, almost all Muslim. There are also graves of Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders, Africans, and one Dutchman. There are also 19 Japanese, which must have been POWs. There was a wartime hospital in Chittagong. I wandered around the white headstones and well-tended green lawn, with flowers. Three caretakers were at work. One had to unlock the gate to let me in and out.
From the cemetery I headed to the Zia Memorial Museum in a colonial era mock Tudor mansion, formerly the Circuit House, where visiting government officials would stay. This is where President Zia was assassinated in 1981. The bedroom where he was shot is kept as it was in March 1981 and a sign directs you to a wall with his blood on it. Another room has a replica of his 1971 broadcast from Chittagong announcing the nation's independence and calling on the people to resist the Pakistanis. A mannequin at the microphone is dressed like Zia. The museum also has photographs, personal items like his sunglasses, and even menus and a certificate of fitness by his chief surgeon. There is a statue of him outside.
From Chittagong I had wanted to go to the Chittagong Hill Tracts, full of interesting hill tribe people, in the hills to the east along the border with India. There are something like 10 different ethnicities, mostly Buddhist and Christian. However, the government just a few weeks earlier had closed the Hill Tracts to foreign tourists. There has long been anti-government activity in these hills, since newly independent Bangladesh started sending Bengali settlers into the hills. The local people resisted, the government responded harshly, and tensions have waxed and waned over the years. About half the population of the Hill Tracts is now Bengali. The government says it is restricting foreigners' access to protect foreigners, but it probably is more concerned about foreigners seeing how the hill tribe people are mistreated.
Unable to visit the Hill Tracts, I left Chittagong about 12:30 on a bus heading south to Cox's Bazaar, a trip of almost 90 miles. The bus crossed over the wide Karnapuhli River on the new bridge and heading south passed through small towns and villages, forests, and some rice paddies, but without much water. Sometime after 3 the bus stopped in the town of Chakalia for more than half an hour. I don't know what was going on, but eventually we were told the bus would not continue onto Cox's Bazaar, and we had to take a smaller, much more crowded and unpleasant bus. It finally arrived in Cox's Bazaar after 5.
Cox's Bazaar is situated on the world's longest continuous natural beach, a wide beach 75 miles long. It is a resort town, with big hotels, some quite fancy. (It is named after Captain Hiram Cox, a British East India Company representative.) There are few budget hotels. However, with Bangladesh's transport problems there are few tourists, and I was able to get a room for 1100 taka (about $14), after a 40% discount. After checking in, I walked to the beach, a ten minute walk away, about 6, passing through a grove of thin casuarina pines growing in sandy soil just before the beach. The sun had already set. I spent about 15 minutes on the wide beach and then walked back.
I was up and on the beach at about 7 the next morning and spent about two and a half hours walking on it, first to the north and then back. Fishing boats were out on the sea and on the beach. Fishermen were using nets to catch fish, pulling the nets not onto the beach, but into their fishing boats just offshore. People, all Bangladeshis as far as I could tell, were also strolling the beach, but not many. One was collecting sea shells. All sorts of small crabs were on the beach, rolling little balls of sand around their holes. They were especially prolific near shallow pools of standing water in depressions on the wide beach, the water left behind by the receding tide. The tide was coming in and the day heating up as I headed back to my hotel for breakfast. The hotel had a good breakfast -- fried eggs, toast and butter, coffee, and "caned" juice, as the menu said -- all included in the room price. On television during breakfast the news focused on the Oscars.
After my late breakfast I walked to a Burmese style teak temple, built in 1898, in town and then walked to a jetty on the river, or maybe a bay, on the north side of town where speedboats leave for Maheshkali Island, a large island a few miles north. To get to the speedboats you have to walk on a long wooden walkway with many broken and missing planks. In fact, there were several such walkways with small boats alongside them. Further out on the water were perhaps a hundred wooden fishing boats, looking like miniature pirate ships with small, but high "poop" decks at the stern. Some of these boats were flying flags, much longer vertically than horizontally, two flags and flagpoles to a boat. One set of flags was yellow with black dots. Others had stripes or symbols.
About 1 I left on a small, crowded speedboat for Maheshkali, about a 15 minute trip. We sped up a mangrove lined channel, left it and had a glimpse of the open sea to the west before coming along the mangrove covered shore of the island. A friendly Hindu young man was on the boat with me and said he was going to the island to visit a relative's home. The speedboat docked at another long causeway, this one concrete, on the southeast end of the long island, maybe 15 or more miles from north to south.
From the little town at the end of the long causeway I hired a cycle rickshaw to take me to the Adinath Temple a few miles away halfway up a hill to the north, on the eastern shore of the island. The streets of the little town were congested with all sorts of vehicles, as was the road leading to the temple. It turned out there was a big Hindu mela, or festival, at the temple, with thousands of people. I walked up the stairs to the temple on the hill, mobbed with people. The views from the temple were good, of the mangroves and water below, to the east, with fishing boats on the water and another long jetty.
It was the activity at the temple, however, that was the most interesting. I spent about three hours there. Men and women were carrying little babies all dressed up and wearing hats. This was a first rice ceremony, when a child is first fed rice. Red robed priests presided and everybody was very friendly. I was the only foreigner there. People happily posed for photographs; in fact, they brought babies to me to be photographed. Everybody seemed to be in a great mood. I walked all over and sat here and there, watching the individual rice feeding ceremonies. There were parades and blowing of horns and beating of drums.
Eventually, the temple mostly cleared out and many of the people gathered just below the temple for a meal. They sat in rows on the ground as others dished out food from pails onto plates. Everybody ate with their hands. I watched from above and folks would spot me and point or wave or smile. About 4 I walked to the top of the hill, higher than the temple. There is a golden stupa on the way to the top. I would guess the hill reaches maybe a hundred feet above sea level.
About 4:30 I took a cycle rickshaw back to the jetty, about a half hour trip. I passed boat building, salt works, and rice growing. The town streets were much less congested than at my first arrival. The speedboat sped back to Cox's Bazaar, passing several of those pirate ship lookalikes on the way and arriving at a different jetty. The tide was very low, with mudflats everywhere. From the speedboat we had to climb into and out of a sequence of other speedboats to get to the wooden jetty, which was a little difficult. I made a dash to the beach and got there just in time to see the sun disappear into haze about 15 minutes before the scheduled time for sunset. A few fishing boats were still out to sea. I watched them from the casuarina trees and then walked on the beach until dark. A crescent moon appeared.
The next morning I was on the beach again about 7 and spent another two and a half hours there. This time I walked south, passing large beachside hotels, many under construction. Again, there were few Bangladeshis on the beach. Along one stretch of the beach were red colored lounges and umbrellas. A hotel sign advertised "Burger Fest" with pictures of hamburgers. Horses and jet skis were available for rent on the beach. I watched fishing boats out on the sea and again saw fishermen pulling in fishing nets. I spotted a red crab on the beach. Coming back to near my hotel, I sat for a while under the casuarina trees before going back for breakfast.
The hotel manager joined me for breakfast. I'm not sure there were any other guests in the hotel. He was an interesting guy. He had worked at sea for 31 years, as a boatswain. He told me he had been to 123 countries, and to New York, Miami, Tampa, New Orleans and San Francisco in the United States. He said he had worked on oil tankers, with crews of 50, container ships, and even a cruise ship that traveled from Southampton to New York and the Caribbean.
From Cox's Bazaar I had wanted to travel further south, to St. Martin's Island, off Bangladesh's furthest southeastern mainland point and closer to the Burmese mainland than to the Bangladeshi. However, I was told that because there were so few tourists the ferry wasn't running. So I had to give that up. At 12 left on a bus headed back to Chittagong. The bus was slow, with lots of stops, and reached Chittagong about 4:30. After checking into a hotel I walked over to the train station and bought a first class ticket for 460 taka (about $6) for the next morning's train to Sylhet, way up in the northeast corner of Bangladesh.
The launch reached Chandpur about 3:30. I had hoped to find a bus heading southeast to Chittagong, but there wasn't one among the buses waiting for the launch. Chittagong is about 120 miles from Chandpur, so even if there had been a bus it probably wouldn't have arrived there until late. Instead, I decided to head to Comilla, only about 45 miles from Chandpur. I hopped on a small bus headed east to Hajiganj, and then another one northeast to Comilla. A friendly fellow passenger insisted on paying for my ticket on the first leg. The bus rides were slow, with many stops, and I arrived in Comilla at 6:30, after dark. I took an auto rickshaw to what turned out to be a very noisy hotel, from street traffic. I ate a good chicken and naan dinner at a restaurant that specializes in that.
The next morning, after a chicken breakfast, I took a CNG to Mainimati, a half hour ride southwest of town. Mainimati was a famous Buddhist center between the 6th and 13th centuries. I headed to the restored ruins of the Salban Vihara monastery. There wasn't much to see, mostly restored brick foundations of 115 cells surrounding the stubby remains of a temple. There was, however, a very good museum and the day was pleasantly warm. I spent about an hour and a half there before coming back to Comilla for lunch (chicken, of course).
I left for Chittagong, about 90 miles southeast, on a big bus with plenty of leg room about 12:30. At first the bus traveled right along the Indian border. The bus made a half hour stop for passengers to pray at a mosque on the way, the first time I can remember that happening. We passed some rice, but not a lot. I didn't see much water, either. The countryside seemed considerably drier than what I had seen in the rest of the country. I did see some crazy driving. Eventually, a line of hills appeared to the east. I hadn't seen many hills in Bangladesh previously. Approaching Chittagong, I spotted lots of places selling marine supplies. Ship breaking yards line the coast north of Chittagong, and I imagine these shops sell items taken from the ships. After more than four hours, the bus reached Chittagong, and I took an electric rickshaw to a hotel (more expensive than usual, 1000 taka, about $13) in the center. Chittagong is Bangladesh's second largest city, with 2.5 million people. It is congested and polluted, but it does have hills, beautiful rain trees, and some attractive colonial era buildings.
The next morning about 10 I hired a CNG to take me to Kumiraghat on the coast northwest of Chittagong to see the ship breaking yards. Getting there took about an hour, passing lots of marine supplies shops on the way. Because the difference between high and low tide is so great along this part of the coast, huge ocean-going vessels which have reached obsolescence are beached here to be broken up. It is hard and dangerous work, done with few protections for the workers. Publicity has been bad, and the yards now restrict visitors.
Upon arrival, I walked on a dirt road paralleling the shore and passing the high fences and gates of several ship breaking yards. Signs said "No Photos" and maintained that only adult workers were employed. I could see the huge ships behind offices and piles of debris in the yards. Cranes and bulldozers were also visible in the yards. I walked back and then walked out on a more than half mile long jetty. A huge collection of orange lifeboats lay on the mud at the foot of the jetty. From the jetty itself I could see big ships in both directions, resting on the mud. Some were only partially intact, and I could see what looked like tiny little workers on the closest ones. The evening before I had checked the time of low tide (9:25 a.m.) and high tide (2:45 p.m.) Gulls rested on the mud as the tide began to come in. Small ferryboats crowded with passengers came and went, heading to and from Sandwip Island, a large island about ten miles across the Sandwip Channel.
The day was warm and from about 12:30 to 2 I sat in the shade of the shops at the foot of the jetty. I had something to eat and watched the activity. A truck made a big potato delivery, sacks and sacks of potatoes. A man was selling big papayas. Passengers to and from Sandwip came and went. About 2 I walked out again to the end of the jetty. The tide was in. The mudflats were now underwater. I hired a boat to take me along the big ships to the north, and that was interesting. I could see right into the interior of at least one of them. One was only about half intact. The whole front half of the ship appeared to have been dismantled.
I returned to Chittagong about 4 and walked to the dirty shore of the Karnapuli River, maybe a half mile wide. The river was full of boats, with a new bridge upriver. I walked along the river, watching all the activity and in particular the small ferries full of people being taken across the river. The sun set down the river.
The next morning I took a CNG to the World War II cemetery in town, with about 750 graves. About half are British and more than 200 are Indian, almost all Muslim. There are also graves of Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders, Africans, and one Dutchman. There are also 19 Japanese, which must have been POWs. There was a wartime hospital in Chittagong. I wandered around the white headstones and well-tended green lawn, with flowers. Three caretakers were at work. One had to unlock the gate to let me in and out.
From the cemetery I headed to the Zia Memorial Museum in a colonial era mock Tudor mansion, formerly the Circuit House, where visiting government officials would stay. This is where President Zia was assassinated in 1981. The bedroom where he was shot is kept as it was in March 1981 and a sign directs you to a wall with his blood on it. Another room has a replica of his 1971 broadcast from Chittagong announcing the nation's independence and calling on the people to resist the Pakistanis. A mannequin at the microphone is dressed like Zia. The museum also has photographs, personal items like his sunglasses, and even menus and a certificate of fitness by his chief surgeon. There is a statue of him outside.
From Chittagong I had wanted to go to the Chittagong Hill Tracts, full of interesting hill tribe people, in the hills to the east along the border with India. There are something like 10 different ethnicities, mostly Buddhist and Christian. However, the government just a few weeks earlier had closed the Hill Tracts to foreign tourists. There has long been anti-government activity in these hills, since newly independent Bangladesh started sending Bengali settlers into the hills. The local people resisted, the government responded harshly, and tensions have waxed and waned over the years. About half the population of the Hill Tracts is now Bengali. The government says it is restricting foreigners' access to protect foreigners, but it probably is more concerned about foreigners seeing how the hill tribe people are mistreated.
Unable to visit the Hill Tracts, I left Chittagong about 12:30 on a bus heading south to Cox's Bazaar, a trip of almost 90 miles. The bus crossed over the wide Karnapuhli River on the new bridge and heading south passed through small towns and villages, forests, and some rice paddies, but without much water. Sometime after 3 the bus stopped in the town of Chakalia for more than half an hour. I don't know what was going on, but eventually we were told the bus would not continue onto Cox's Bazaar, and we had to take a smaller, much more crowded and unpleasant bus. It finally arrived in Cox's Bazaar after 5.
Cox's Bazaar is situated on the world's longest continuous natural beach, a wide beach 75 miles long. It is a resort town, with big hotels, some quite fancy. (It is named after Captain Hiram Cox, a British East India Company representative.) There are few budget hotels. However, with Bangladesh's transport problems there are few tourists, and I was able to get a room for 1100 taka (about $14), after a 40% discount. After checking in, I walked to the beach, a ten minute walk away, about 6, passing through a grove of thin casuarina pines growing in sandy soil just before the beach. The sun had already set. I spent about 15 minutes on the wide beach and then walked back.
I was up and on the beach at about 7 the next morning and spent about two and a half hours walking on it, first to the north and then back. Fishing boats were out on the sea and on the beach. Fishermen were using nets to catch fish, pulling the nets not onto the beach, but into their fishing boats just offshore. People, all Bangladeshis as far as I could tell, were also strolling the beach, but not many. One was collecting sea shells. All sorts of small crabs were on the beach, rolling little balls of sand around their holes. They were especially prolific near shallow pools of standing water in depressions on the wide beach, the water left behind by the receding tide. The tide was coming in and the day heating up as I headed back to my hotel for breakfast. The hotel had a good breakfast -- fried eggs, toast and butter, coffee, and "caned" juice, as the menu said -- all included in the room price. On television during breakfast the news focused on the Oscars.
After my late breakfast I walked to a Burmese style teak temple, built in 1898, in town and then walked to a jetty on the river, or maybe a bay, on the north side of town where speedboats leave for Maheshkali Island, a large island a few miles north. To get to the speedboats you have to walk on a long wooden walkway with many broken and missing planks. In fact, there were several such walkways with small boats alongside them. Further out on the water were perhaps a hundred wooden fishing boats, looking like miniature pirate ships with small, but high "poop" decks at the stern. Some of these boats were flying flags, much longer vertically than horizontally, two flags and flagpoles to a boat. One set of flags was yellow with black dots. Others had stripes or symbols.
About 1 I left on a small, crowded speedboat for Maheshkali, about a 15 minute trip. We sped up a mangrove lined channel, left it and had a glimpse of the open sea to the west before coming along the mangrove covered shore of the island. A friendly Hindu young man was on the boat with me and said he was going to the island to visit a relative's home. The speedboat docked at another long causeway, this one concrete, on the southeast end of the long island, maybe 15 or more miles from north to south.
From the little town at the end of the long causeway I hired a cycle rickshaw to take me to the Adinath Temple a few miles away halfway up a hill to the north, on the eastern shore of the island. The streets of the little town were congested with all sorts of vehicles, as was the road leading to the temple. It turned out there was a big Hindu mela, or festival, at the temple, with thousands of people. I walked up the stairs to the temple on the hill, mobbed with people. The views from the temple were good, of the mangroves and water below, to the east, with fishing boats on the water and another long jetty.
It was the activity at the temple, however, that was the most interesting. I spent about three hours there. Men and women were carrying little babies all dressed up and wearing hats. This was a first rice ceremony, when a child is first fed rice. Red robed priests presided and everybody was very friendly. I was the only foreigner there. People happily posed for photographs; in fact, they brought babies to me to be photographed. Everybody seemed to be in a great mood. I walked all over and sat here and there, watching the individual rice feeding ceremonies. There were parades and blowing of horns and beating of drums.
Eventually, the temple mostly cleared out and many of the people gathered just below the temple for a meal. They sat in rows on the ground as others dished out food from pails onto plates. Everybody ate with their hands. I watched from above and folks would spot me and point or wave or smile. About 4 I walked to the top of the hill, higher than the temple. There is a golden stupa on the way to the top. I would guess the hill reaches maybe a hundred feet above sea level.
About 4:30 I took a cycle rickshaw back to the jetty, about a half hour trip. I passed boat building, salt works, and rice growing. The town streets were much less congested than at my first arrival. The speedboat sped back to Cox's Bazaar, passing several of those pirate ship lookalikes on the way and arriving at a different jetty. The tide was very low, with mudflats everywhere. From the speedboat we had to climb into and out of a sequence of other speedboats to get to the wooden jetty, which was a little difficult. I made a dash to the beach and got there just in time to see the sun disappear into haze about 15 minutes before the scheduled time for sunset. A few fishing boats were still out to sea. I watched them from the casuarina trees and then walked on the beach until dark. A crescent moon appeared.
The next morning I was on the beach again about 7 and spent another two and a half hours there. This time I walked south, passing large beachside hotels, many under construction. Again, there were few Bangladeshis on the beach. Along one stretch of the beach were red colored lounges and umbrellas. A hotel sign advertised "Burger Fest" with pictures of hamburgers. Horses and jet skis were available for rent on the beach. I watched fishing boats out on the sea and again saw fishermen pulling in fishing nets. I spotted a red crab on the beach. Coming back to near my hotel, I sat for a while under the casuarina trees before going back for breakfast.
The hotel manager joined me for breakfast. I'm not sure there were any other guests in the hotel. He was an interesting guy. He had worked at sea for 31 years, as a boatswain. He told me he had been to 123 countries, and to New York, Miami, Tampa, New Orleans and San Francisco in the United States. He said he had worked on oil tankers, with crews of 50, container ships, and even a cruise ship that traveled from Southampton to New York and the Caribbean.
From Cox's Bazaar I had wanted to travel further south, to St. Martin's Island, off Bangladesh's furthest southeastern mainland point and closer to the Burmese mainland than to the Bangladeshi. However, I was told that because there were so few tourists the ferry wasn't running. So I had to give that up. At 12 left on a bus headed back to Chittagong. The bus was slow, with lots of stops, and reached Chittagong about 4:30. After checking into a hotel I walked over to the train station and bought a first class ticket for 460 taka (about $6) for the next morning's train to Sylhet, way up in the northeast corner of Bangladesh.
No comments:
Post a Comment