hartals

During the last week, Bangladesh saw the end of Ramadan close out with three days of feasting better known as Eid. Myself and four friends decided to take this opportunity off from work to go down and explore the Sundarbans in the southwest part of the country, the mysterious jungle home to approx. 300 Bengal tigers. (no we didn't see any tigers but plenty of deer which appear to be an anomaly around here. Come the end of our trip we hear news from Dhaka that the opposition party, the Awami League, has declared a continuous hartal (strike) to prove to the BNP, the ruling party in Bangladesh, that they are serious about the upcoming election in January. No hartals were declared during the month ramadan as to respect the holiday, however, the day after Ramadan proved to be the perfect time to show that the opposition party is still serious about their demands.
My friends and I were therefore stuck on a boat outside the port city Khulna, 7 hours away from our homes in Dhaka with no means of transportation. No buses, trains, cars, motorbikes were able to head to Dhaka, thousands of people were stranded and forced to find other means of subsistence for the next couple of days. On the third day of imobility, we decamped and made our way back to Dhaka thanks to a temporary break in the 'continuous hartal'. The situation is shaky, but Bangladeshis seem to believe that the situation will work itself out in the next week. As for myself I am home at my appt. again and in the highly guarded district of Bonani, the diplomatic enclave, where policemen and RAB (special forces) guard its streets day and night. Now we just wait and see!

WARNING!!

Again, please do not read if you do not want to know my ...adventures. My stay in Katmandhu was short and sweet, a welcomed vacation from the crazy day to day activities that accompany living in Dhaka. We stayed on Freak st. off of Durbar sq. where many foreigners (tons of Europeans!) come to see the beautiful temples. Our room accomadations were provided by the Himalayan Guest House which is a quant quarters filled with pink walls and plenty of vegetation. The couple that owns the hostel were the first and the only couple to get married on top of Mt. Everest! (imagine that!)

I spent my days in cafes and reading Arundhati Roy's God of Small Things for the third time. But it was nice, and exactly what I needed. On the third day, Tim and I traveled to Nagarkot, a touristy city a half hour or so outside of Katmandhu. I took some walks through winding trails and began to notice that I was in a war torn country (bunkers...ek! time to turn back) And our gracious host, eleven year old Ashin, was the most adorable boy in the world. He took us through trails to see the snow capped peaks in the distance, which we never did see till our departure from the mystical city where seekers of enlightenment and daring treking trails travel. All in all it was a good time. Come the fifth day, the day of departure, I was, however, ready to return to Dhaka and the comforts of a culture I have come to love in all its oddity.

WARNING!! If you do not want to know my whereabouts please do not read!

WARNING NUMBER TWO! If you do not want to get to know me further than you already do, then please, do not read. This blog entry contains highly graphic and potentially traumatizing content. For those of you that continue to read, please, by all means, enjoy. ;)

The other night I was attacked...by bugs. No, not cockroaches, but transparent bugs that like to whisper and float through air, settling on the food and lips of unsuspecting persons. I was one of their latest victims (deserving? perhaps, I dared to dabble with cheese that was questionable)

"Hey Bacteria?! Did you hear Rachel is going to travel tomorrow?"
"Noi I hadn't Cold. Shall we pay her a visit before she departs?"
"Yea, I think that is a wonderful idea! I think she'll appretiate it as we havn't seen her in awhile, a good farewell gift."

Wrong, but thanks for the thought fellas. It is seven a.m., the day of departure for the highly anticipated travel to Katmandhu, and I wake up moaning. I am bloated, constipated, and cramping from some pizza that hadn't settled well the night before. I puked five times (pinnapple, cheese, vegetable--it was all there). Once I popped I didn't stop for the next two hours and found, sooner as oppossed to later, that it wasn't just my mouth that would be expelling my dear friend Bacteria from my body (my god what did I eat! And where did this cold come from!?)

From seven till ten I was paying hommage to the porceline gods. Strategically, I lied between my bedroom and the bathroom, bathroom and the bedroom, back and forth, forth and back. It was a precisely planned dance by all those involved other than myself; my body running to the torturous tune of timely feinds. The tune wasn't pretty.

By the time Tim returned, I felt I had at least exploded enough to salvage some time to make it to the airport. We grabbed our things and made for the door. I did, thank god, survive the airport experience embarrassment free and made it safely to Katmandhu.

To be continued...