A Path Less Preened

by imthiar khan (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown Bangladesh

Nomads Travel Article A path less preened As the plane lands onto the melting tarmac, the humidity we all feel seems to breath into our bones. Hot is an understatement. The shabby, seemingly half built and renovated airport epitomised by the unorganised baggage collection carousel, with any endearing quaintness relinquished as we pass through an all round rude customs officials posting out onto the main concourse to exit the airport - the main international airport for Bangladesh situated here in Dhaka; Hazrat Shahjalal. The chaos, the sweltering heat, the panic and confusion, it is all part of the ride, the experience. If you can survive this , you will be able to get through and survive just about anything travelling has to throw at you. There is a reason why this country is statistically, and perhaps emotionally, the least ( YES THE LEAST!) touristic destination. That means, in terms of holidays, backpacking, reserve trekking and plain exploring this country is the place people desire less than any other country to visit. Take a trip to Dhaka, the capital, and it is more of a sentence to be served than an exploration or adventure. Or so we are led to believe. The truth is that if you know what you are doing, and crucially know a couple of people whom you wholeheartedly trust ( and by this I don’t mean Rashid and Abdul, the two friendly enough fellows you met whilst smoking and waiting for your connection flight in Doha) then there are sight, sounds and species one will never have the honour of absorbing anywhere else in this here breathtaking Globe of ours. Take the cheapest travel option, eat the most unhygienic and cheap authentic street food, take risks and put your life in danger for that ‘what if’ moment and that ‘oh my God’ view. I decide to walk out of the airport. Yes walk. Unheard of for a foreigner coming out of this airport. The chaos subsides for the briefest of moments, a slight otherworldly transcendence creeps around the edges of this scenario, in this moment local beggars, rickshawallash, taxi drivers, traffic police, pedestrians and airport security all look on in awe and amazement - possibly laced with concern and bafflement. I sense pride from those deemed as the lower ranks of the plebs. Some run over to offer their services in carrying my bag. I politely refuse, I only have one rucksack, but they insist and begin arguing with one another over who was going to carry my one solitary rucksack. A crowd begins to gather, the smell of dusk pollution and what is either my sweat or piss, offends my senses. I don’t need help carrying my bag so much as i need help warding off these hungry, impoverished, downtrodden, self flagellating, pity inducing hyenas. Here we are, I am facing myself, the two me’s. The pragmatic, logical, itinerary obsessed self versus the impulsive say right but take left self. Walk back to the airport pick up/drop off point - it isn’t far and i will almost definitely have to pay over the odds to get a transport to take me to the upmarket Banani Rd Eleven, a tax on my brash over exuberance - or pick a point man to help me ‘carry my bag’ ( which incidentally will never at any point leave my shoulders). I go for the latter, making eye contact with every individual I possibly can in the malaise that is the evening atmosphere, a difficult task as the thirteen hour flight sets its sights on my ability to make rationale decisions on top of the already deteriorating motor function capabilities. I find a set of trustworthy eyes belonging to a chap called Gulam, a father of three young daughters whom he supports through ferrying people with his rented rickshaw. You can read more about Gulam on my wordpress blog imthiar.wordpress.com - Tall Tales and Tailed Thoughts. I manage to get out into the wild of Dhakas sprawling metropolis as my adventure across Bangladesh begins.