Living the Ex-Pat Life

Our last day in Bangladesh started with a tour of Shankhari Bazar. Anne has been working with two local architects to preserve this historical Hindu neighborhood, a narrow street full of artisans, vendors, Hindu shrines, and beautiful buildings used as tenements which are in danger of being torn down. This was the first part of our day hanging out with the embassy, NGO, and ex-pat crowd as Anne had arranged this tour to help introduce this crowd to this endangered neighborhood and the campaign to preserve it.

First, we made our way along the crowded street to get a sense of the artisans and vendors who have called Shankhari Bazar their home for generations. Among the artisans are carvers of shakhari-- beautiful bracelets made by carving a design into a conch shell, polishing it for shine, then slicing the conch horizontally. The bracelets are worn by Hindu wives as a sign of their virtue and are not removed until they are smashed apart upon the death of the husband. Anne has a pair from previous visits made here, and in fact, while we were visiting the Martyrs Memorial and Demrhai Metal Crafts, she was asked if she was Hindu based on the presence of the bracelets. Apparently, "I wear them because I like them" doesn't translate well as her inquisitors insisted that she is Hindu as all one needs to do to convert is to say, "I am Hindu."

We also made our way into several music shops and were treated to improvised performances on the tabla (traditional Indian drums) and on the harmonium. The streets were crowded with rickshaws and large sewage lines. Apparently, one person in our party spotted a man who was panning for gold in the sewer-- a job that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. The streets were also lined with produce vendors, meat shops (including one vendor who was selling freshly killed turtles, even slaughtering some for proof of freshness), and the delightful smell of roti being griddled and ready to be topped with curry. Unfortunately, with such a large crowd, it wasn't very conducive for snapping up a roti-- but settling for a lemon popsicle while watching a lecture on shakhari under a fan was a nice compromise.
The heat and the crowds were also a little taxing. Although I've gotten a little used to being stared at and having broken, brief discussions in which I essentially say that I am American and that I am a student, the bazar brought out a new form of gawking: people riding by in rickshaws or in the homes that we visited pulled out cell phone cameras to snap pictures of us-- a large crowd of 17 foreigners. Where the pictures went, I don't know. Sam attracted the usual crowd of fans, and was a trooper despite the heat and constant barrage of strangers pinching his cheeks an poking his little belly!


We also toured some of the tenements, homes to up to 20 families each. After braving the narrow, steep, and dark stairways, we would find ourselves on rooftops, with colorful saris and other laundry set out to dry and looking down on the bustling streets below. Some of the buildings had rooftop Hindu temples or shrines, beautiful despite some of their decay or partial destruction due to crossfire in the Liberation War in 1971.

Our tour guides pointed out specific buildings that are currently endanger by threats of demolition. The beautiful detailed facade pictured to the left is threatened to be demolished in less than two months. The landlords of many of the buildings here demolish the buildings and replace them with boring, but supposedly profitable living spaces such as this (pictured right). Although some destruction is government sanctioned, many demolitions and constructions are done without a permit.

Our final stop on the tour was at a home that is currently saved because a family of monkeys live there. The family who live in the house provide the monkeys with food and indeed, it does make for a good (if slightly unnerving) tourist stop to see monkeys so close.



For more information on efforts to declare Shankhari (or Shakhari) Bazar as a historical heritage exhibit, you can download a pdf file from here.

After our tour, we hung out at Anne and Randy's-- ate a pizza from the American Club and watched while John discussed various medical records with Anne and Randy's driver Harun and his mother. Luckily, the visual Bengali dictionary that John and his family gave to Anne before she arrived in Bangladesh has the seemingly useless for tourist purposes, guide to the human body in Bangla!

We then went out for Korean food (yes, Korean food!) then ended our night at a rooftop party hosted by friends of Anne and Randy as a combination going away party for some embassy and NGO workers whose terms ended this week and a traditional Swedish "Midsummer's Night" party. The latter is a celebration of the summer solstice when it is mostly light all day in Sweden. The roof top garden was an amazing departure from the usual Dhaka sites-- a tent covered an area with throw pillows and the whole garden was alive with twinkling white lights, votive candles and flowers. There was also a "Maypole" around which we were forced to dance and sing a Swedish song... something about little frogs having no ears. Although it was a lot of fun getting to see how ex-pats de-stress from the complications of living in a developing country, I'm sure that the singing "kuoacha cha" while jumping around in a circle, made us all the more bait for the various rickshaw wallahs down below eager to take people home-- a surreal, yet somehow fitting, way to say goodbye to Bangladesh.

Saris, and dolphins, and zaminders, oh my!

We're finally back home in Seattle, but thought we'd catch up on our last two days in Bangladesh.

Thursday was spent on a very pleasant river cruise-- the same one that Sharon blogged about when she visited Bangladesh back in February. Although the name of the boat means "Beautiful Woman" in Bengali, John dubbed it the Partridge Family Boat and subsequently, I had "Come on, Get Happy!" cycling through my brain for most of the day. Yet, it was a somewhat appropriate, if irritating soundtrack, as you couldn't help but be happy as we drifted slowly down the river, under a shady awning, sipping tea and watching a quieter, less polluted, and seemingly peaceful version of Dhaka from the water.

Our party was fairly small-- joining us were three other embassy worker family members-- Elaina, David, and Carma. Elaina's husband Charlie just arrived in Bangladesh to start work as a general counselor. He joined the foreign service after they had spent a number of years living in India and Pakistan doing ministerial work for a non-denominational church for expats. Since coming to Bangladesh, Elaina has been spending her time getting to know their new home and looking for work doing ultrasounds with nearby hospitals. Also joining us were David and Carma, parents of an administrative assistant at the embassy. Of all the weird coincidences, they are not only from Salt Lake City, but David's law office is only a block from where we lived in unincorporated Salt Lake County!

We chatted with our fellow site seers and made our way slowly down the river watching various water taxis, fishing boats, boats heavily weighed down with produce such as the pumpkins (pictured here) or with sand for making bricks or concrete, and life on the coastal villages pass along. Frequently, people in other boats or on the shore would wave enthusiastically at us, and occasionally we'd get the thumbs up sign. By they way, according to our guidebook and as vaguely confirmed by our river cruise guide, the thumbs up in B'desh is not a sign of "good work." As John put it to our guide-- in the US, we use a different finger. Our guide laughed and said yes but insisted that he felt that those who gave the thumbs up to us were just messing with us to see if we'd do it back.


Just before lunch we pulled the boat into a dock to visit Rajibari-- home to a now abandoned Hindu temple and a zaminder palace which is now used as a university. a zaminder was a land owner, similar to a feudal lord. This palace belonged to one of the wealthiest zaminders in the area. Built in 1889, the palace had a water pound open in the front of the building separating it from now inactive crematorium. We walked through the building observing the beautiful but decaying stained glass windows, rusted by delicately detailed spiral staircase, and intricately designed tiles. We then walked through the central courtyard and found ourselves behind the building facing another garden area and man made pond area called the harem. Here, the zaminder's wives and consorts would bathe, protected from the views of outsiders. Now it offers a quiet, peaceful place for children to splash around and be chased by their mothers who are trying to get them to dress and get back to their studies or chores.



We got back on the boat and shortly thereafter, were served lunch-- curried chicken, mixed potatoes and squash, rice, and koftas, yum! Despite our training in Ghana and reminders from this trip, we couldn't help ourselves and ate some of the raw (peeled) cucumber, tomatoes, and mango for dessert.

The boat then turned around and we made our way back north along the river. We passed by ship building, sugar and salt factories and continued to watch the industrial and farming activities along the coast. Along the way, we occasionally saw Gangetic dolphins surface then dive underwater-- these are "fresh water" dolphins that find their way over here through the estuaries of the Ganges River.


We made one last stop before returning to our port. Our guide led us to a village in which the local industry is traditional weaving. We visited several cottages in which pairs of weavers sat in front of looms, weaving brightly colored, translucent scarves and saris for sale in Dhaka and at the local market. We noticed that many of the pairs of weavers were young couples and indeed, our guide said that many of the weavers were husbands and wives who worked side by side. One cottage appeared to have no one over the age of 24 working there, as they blasted Bengali pop to keep them moving. If this makes any of you worry about sweatshop conditions and child labor exploitation, the village sells their weavings to a local store Aarong which only works only sells handicrafts made by artisans who are paid a fair wage and deal with fair trade.



After sifting through some scarves and saris available for purchasing, we made our way back onto our boat. The boat tried to pull out of dock, but somehow, we struck a boat docked next to us. We couldn't get a straight answer from our guide-- part of the Bangladehsi concern to not cause worry to guests, I suppose, but just kind of irritating when you're sitting still, with no breeze, in the heat and humidity and not getting any straight answers. Finally, I think we were told that although there was no damage done to the other boat, amends were somehow made to the angry boat owners, and the crew of our boat was trying to hammer back out a dent that the collision had made on our own boat. We did out best with the half hour delay, acting the full colonialist role by sipping tea, eating biscuits despite their being swarmed by ants, and quietly chatted about whether there was incoming rain above the clatter of hammers striking metal down below.

We eventually set off again, and pulled into port. The air conditioned van was comfortable, but the noisy, crowded traffic of Dhaka was no match for the otherwise relaxing day on the water.

A Macroloan of Hospitality

Today we were extremely fortunate that the family connections (Randy) were able to secure us a very last minute visit with Grameen Bank. Winner of the 2006 Nobel Peace Prize, Grameen provides micro loans (starting at 5,000 takka or about $60) to Bangladeshi families to help them start up businesses, build or improve homes, and pay for higher education. The bank is organized in regional branches who are scored based on the rate at which members pay back their loans and meet a 16 point goal plan. The goals are primarily socially based to reenforce repayment of loans but include other public health/social welfare aspects such as maintaining a safe water supply, sanitary latrines, and planting trees and gardens.

We met our highly esteemable guide, Shameen, at the bank's headquarters then made the drive out to a nearby village area still in Dhaka region but just north of Bhawal National Park. There, we met with the branch manager and Shameen explained the organizational structure, loan programs, and savings programs available at the bank. Although the basic loan (used for business start ups) have a high interest rate of 20%, this has not been an obstacle to repayment as the bank has a repayment rate of just over 98%. Additionally, there is no interest accrued on the education loans for children of bank members-- just a mere 5% service fee and the student is given a one year grace period after graduation to begin repayments on the loan, that is, enough time to start a business or find a job in order to begin repayments. Also, the interest earned in the various savings programs, including a pension program, are well over average interest rates offered by US banks (all between 8-12%).

Shameen explained that the branch members are made up of 12 groups of borrowers, each group averaging about 5 members each. In each group, there is an elected group leader who collects loan repayments from the other members and vouches for the group members whenever one has a new loan proposal. The groups are made up of neighbors so that they really know one another and can attest to each other's character and make sure that the money is being spent as proposed. Probably most fascinating for me was the fact that almost all borrowers/members of the bank are women. Shameen explained that this is the case for two reasons: 1) the bank has found that women are more likely to repay the loans and insist on repayment and 2) because the women are not the ones working in the fields or in the businesses, they are the ones who can come to weekly meetings with the branch manager. So although the money borrowed is ultimately given to their husbands to build businesses, the bank seems to provide an opportunity for women to not only socialize with one another but to give them real leadership opportunities in shaping the economic futures of their villages.

After our tutorial in Grameen Bank structure and organization, we then walked out to the village for their weekly meeting with the branch manager at which money for repayments are collected and borrowers make proposals for new loans (pictured above). However, the only part of the meeting that we got to witness was focused on us: Shameen asked the women questions on our behalf so that we could learn about what kinds of businesses they have started and how the bank has affected them and their families. It was very impressive to watch the entrepreneurial spirit materialize before us: women talked about how they initially borrowed 5000 takka to buy a single cow and over the years, have been able to earn money from milk sold at market to open their own grocery store and buy property which they now rent to others. Other businesses included a woman who weaves clothing sold to her neighbors, a family who runs a large (by Bangladeshi standards-- not Wisconsin standards!) dairy of at least a dozen cows, and even a woman who collects dust from the roads which is then sold to companies to make mosquito coils. One woman talked about how when she first borrowed money from the bank, the men in the village tried to scare her off saying that the bank would take away her children if she couldn't pay back the loan or would try to convert her to Christianity-- now those men and their children regularly borrow money from the bank as well!

The tables were then turned and the women had an opportunity to ask us questions. The women seemed to instantly relax and became more conversational, and the questions started pouring forth since apparently they've never had any Westerners visit them before. We answered in the affirmative that we're married, described what kind of schooling we've had and answered in the negative that we don't have children yet. The women clucked over this saying that we should have at least a 3 year old and a 2 year old by now. They all wanted us to visit their homes, but when Shameen explained that we did not have time to visit all of them, they insisted we come back to their village again-- with children!

We did have time to visit one member's home. We strolled our way through the village until we arrived at the large dairy. Our hostess was the wife of perhaps the longest standing borrower in the village. Her home consisted of maybe 4 buildings built of mud and tin roofs surrounding a courtyard. Thanks to Grameen, her family has earned enough money to provide clean water and electricity to the homes. Indeed, in the small but comfortable building that appeared to serve as both the master bedroom and family living space, they managed to have a large television, DVD player, and a shelf of DVDs. Her family offered us cola, bananas, biscuits, and jack fruit (pictured left). The jack fruit is the national fruit of Bangladesh, and indeed, John has been clamouring to try it. I'm not sure what the fruit looks like when cut open as they did this out of site, but what is ultimately eaten are small orange colored balls of fruity flesh surrounding largish pits-- kind of like lychee nuts in size but the flesh is softer. It's a bit stickier-- kind of like okra, but very sweet-- I think it tasted like bubble gum, while John thinks it kind of tasted like mango. In any case, it is very filling. I could only eat three pieces all the while fearing that this looked rude to our hostess until Shameen confirmed for me that it is very filling and not consumed in large quantities. Nonetheless, John ate a whole plate full but does not seemed to be suffering any consequences-- he even went on to eat the full lunch of PB&J sandwiches and pretzels that Anne-- our ever consummate hostess-- had packed for us.

They then provided water and oil for us to wash the sticky fruit juices from our fingers and we posed for one final goodbye. We left once again feeling both humbled by the amazing ingenuity and generous hopsitality and warmth of the Bangladeshi people. Many many many thanks are in order to Shameen, Randy, and the women of this village!

Try Not to Get That Song in Your Head

Yesterday we saw one of the more annoying aspects of Bangladesh, and one of the more inspiring ones.



We started the day out with a trip to Banga Bazar for a little shopping. This is a clothing bazar in Dhaka, and consists of row upon row of shops that seems to stretch on forever. It quickly became overwhelming; fortunately there are youths who will gladly lead you to what you desire, for a small tip.

We managed to make it through the rows of jeans to the men's area, to pick out a few Deshi style shirts. The annoying part was the haggling, which fortunately Anne took charge of by virtue of her language skills. We were clearly getting the foreigner price, but the seller would not back down much. After Anne got him down to a somewhat acceptable price and we forked over the cash, he claimed he did not have change. He said he would go to another stand to get it. Suspecting that he may not come back, we followed him. He made it quite a ways, but in the end found someone to break a 200 taka note.

It seems weird to get aggravated about paying a couple dollars extra, but the principle of paying based on your nationality is supremely annoying.



The day ended with the uplifting part: a tour of International Centre for Diarrhoeal Disease Research, Bangladesh, or the ICDDR,B. This is also called "The Cholera Hospital" by locals, and is where oral rehydration solution was developed. ORS is the kind of thing we learn briefly about in med school but never hear much about the origins of it, or what an impact it has made on health care throughout the world. The ICDDR,B deals mainly with, as the name implies, diarrheal diseases, and has streamlined the care with impressive results.

We were led through the short- and long-term stay units, the "special care unit" which is similar to an ICU, a research unit where 5 clinical trials are taking place, and a nutritional care unit. This last unit was for children who were malnourished prior to their diarrheal disease, and need more care after that episode has resolved. The mothers are taught how to prepare palatable, calorie-dense meals with a few inexpensive ingredients, such as rice, lentils, sugar, and oil.

What is particularly impressive is the cost-benefit analysis they presented. They are able to quickly triage patients with mild, moderate, and severe dehydration, and treat according to severity. Mild cases recieve education about ORS. Moderate cases may receive IV fluids and go home after a few hours. Our tour guide said their cost-per-life-saved is about $15. As I work in a health care system where policy is made based on interventions with a cost-per-life-saved in the tens of thousands, I found this amazing. The tour guide also pointed out (and with a slight smirk) that getting IV fluids in the US usually involves at least $2000 in total health care resources. This left an impression on how health care is delivered in the US; we may have more resources, but we are terribly inefficient in how we distribute those resources.

More information is at http://www.icddrb.org/ (And yes, Anne has blogged about this as well)

However, their use of the British spelling "diarrhoeal" is distressing to me, as I only recently have been consistently spelling "diarrhea" correctly. That is quite embarrassing in my line of work.

Random Acts of Tourism

On our first full day back in Bangladesh, we made the hour long trip out to the nearby city of Savar with three site seeing goals in mind: a tour of the Center for Rehabilitation of the Paralysed (CRP), a visit to the Martyrs Memorial, and a trip to a Hindu brass casting business.

Our first stop was at the CRP-- not your typical vacation idea, I know, but it was an intriguing find that met both John's interests as a physician and my own interests in disability rights. The CRP provides spinal surgery, occupational therapy, mental health treatment, vocational training, job placement, and advocacy/education with the goal of making people with disabilities fully integrated in their communities. They provide both inpatient, outpatient, and home based services for both children and adults. The services for children include training their parents in providing physical care, sanitary and safe feeding, and even back-strengthening exercises to help prevent injury in lifting and transporting their children.

Among the leading causes of paralysis of CRP's patients include falls from trees, rooftops, and the tops of moving vehicles; spinal tuberculosis; falling while carryng heavy loads on tops of heads; and well... "bull attacks." The grounds include a housing area (some with electricity for those patients who come from the city, some without for those from more impoverished villages to be more of a simulation of their respective communities) in which patients may get rehabilitation training in their activities of daily living. Among the vocational training opportunities provided at CRP are training to use sewing machines, fix televisions and other electronics, using computers, and mouth painting and drawing (this last one I suspect is also an important way for the CRP to raise awareness and funding by selling cards and paintings and other advocacy events such as the Abilympics-- an international competition that celebrates the different talents of people with disabilities.)

The CRP gets some equipment donated but they also have a workshop on site where they make their own wheelchairs! The CRP also strives to raise awareness and advocate for the rights of people with disabilities, including holding wheelchair rallies and producing documentaries and feature films based on the stories of their patients. As we drove along the roads of Savar, I noticed signs on the side of the road discouraging cell phone use and encouraging safe driving, all sponsored by the CRP as an accident prevention campaign. Overall, it was impressive to see that they incorporate pretty much the same PT/OT techniques, as well as approaches to encourage full integration and participation in society as we see in the States only with a significantly smaller budget.



Our next stop was at the memorial commemorating the over 3 million Bangladeshis who gave up their lives in the War for Liberation in 1971. We walked around the memorial but soon found ourselves the center of attention as people gathered around and stared at us while we took pictures. Some people gave us friendly greetings, citing their own connection to America as a way of welcoming us to Bangladesh, others just watched us in silence. We very quickly acquired an entourage of kids who at first insisted that we take flower leis from them for free, then clamoured for us to take their picture. They followed us around and shooed away other kids similarly bearing leis. Anne asked them if they went to school which they all denied-- apparently they come to the memorial every day. When we got back to our car, Anne tried to give them 50 takka to share but they insisted on more. A man then came along with a big stick and started swatting at the kids to clear a path for us to our car-- many of them ran off, crashing into us as they scattered in all directions, but the ring leader stood his ground until Anne produced a 100 takka bill (roughly $1.30) and then he ran off victoriously.

Our last visit for the day was at the Dhamrai Metal Crafts. Located in a Hindu village, the same family has run this business for 200 years, with a brief break when they were persecuted by Muslims. We were given a brief introduction to the brass making process including the carving of casts in wax which are then set in clay, then the metal is melted in the big oven shown above and poured into the casts. We walked through show room after show room of beautiful figurines and statutes of Hindu gods and goddesses, bowls and platters made of brass and even this chess set (the king is Shiva and the queen is Pavrati, with Ganesh as the bishops). Our guide warned us that there was a counterfeit business across the street that uses their name in an effort to attract business and sure enough, when we returned to the car, Anne's driver gave us a brochure from that factory in which the Muslim owner advertises that she does not get any disapproval from the community for making Hindu icons as the work is all handcrafted "by her Hindu colleagues but is truly her own."

I said, "SERENITY NOW!"

After two days in the interesting but polluted Kathmandu, we were ready to head up to the mountain village of Nagarkot for some peace and quiet. Of course, these things have to be earned.

We started earning it the morning we left Kathmandu. Randy was flying in from Dhaka that day, and the plan was to pick him up from the airport on the way to Nagarkot. His flight was delayed, first one hour, then seven hours. At that point, it wasn't worth it for him to come out for such a short time. So, we missed his company while in Nargarkot.
Then, came the drive.
The driver we hired to take us up to the Nargokot Farmhouse was an excellent and very safe driver. The road up the mountain started out smoothly, but got rougher after we left the main, paved road. Eventually a hairpin turn in the road revealed, well, something one would be hard pressed to call a road. Recent rains had opened chasms into the road, and we didn't feel great about trying it in the beater minivan.
The driver called the hotel and they assured us the road was better after about 200 meters. A quick inspection confirmed this, but we still weren't thrilled with that 200 meters. So, the driver eased the van down the tricky area, while we followed behind. We rejoined him once the road was smoother (and calling it smoother is being generous).


The Nagarkot Farmhouse itself was wonderful. It seemed to have the peacefulness we wanted, and the views were only partially obscured by the monsoon season clouds.


The rooms were a bit rustic. When you are up in the clouds, the bedding will get damp. Hot water was present intermittently. The bugs were out of the Temple of Doom. Electricity was also intermittent, not that we needed it that often. But, the food was amazing, and the staff would bring tea to your door for the sunrise:



Did I mention this was right outside our room? This is what we saw when we woke up. No, really.
Everest would be a small dot on the right, if the clouds weren't in the way.

The Farmhouse wasn't just about sipping tea as the sun rose over the Himalayas; there were two wrinkles. We were warned about both by the caretaker when we arrived:

-He told us that a small group was staying there, and using the meditation room for "some sort of meditation that involves yelling and crying." When we asked what kind of meditation that was, he wrinkled his nose and said, "not any kind that I do."
Sure enough, as I was walking around the grounds below the meditation room, I could hear someone yelling, "Goooo toooo helllllllll...." repeatedly, followed by a women yelling "Say it louder! Like your life depended on it!" This was followed by loud sobbing. Fortunately, this soul-searching did not last for too long, but it kept us from taking any of those people seriously when we saw them in the dining room. Apparently this new state of enlightenment doesn't keep you from demanding extra toast and complaining that the internet connection is too slow.

-He also warned us to walk mainly on the sidewalks, as leeches often live in the grass during the rainy season. I only disregarded this a few short times, and only for 3-4 feet. But of course, as I got up from breakfast the first morning I felt an odd squish in my sandal. I took it off to find blood over my sole, and a leech falling off with the sandal. I tried to excuse myself as calmly as possible. I suspect it latched on on my way to breakfast, so it was probably on for 30-45 minutes. And as is often said, it didn't hurt at all. And yes, I took a picture of the wound, but I'll spare you all by not putting it up on here.

So now I can say I've had the full third world experience, in that I can say "Why yes, I was bitten by a leech in Nepal." But, I was not the only one to share in this joy. Later that day we went on a short hike to the village itself, and had a picnic lunch near the side of the road. We were greeted by two Nepalese women who tried to engage us in conversation. Anne was able to use some of her Bengali with them, but most of the conversation was fruitless. They seemed to be telling us to hike further up the road to eat, rather than eating there. When they finally left us, we discovered why. Anne felt the dreaded sensation on her ankle, and had the presence of mind to hand off the nephew to me before freaking out on the leech. Perhaps these kind women were trying to tell us, "Idiots, don't eat your lunch in a ditch where there are leeches."

It is times like these, when you just hike back to the hotel, have the staff bring some beers to your room with the amazing view, and stay the hell out of the grass.



And here's another Sam picture:

Baksheesh? sheesh...

Yep-- that's right-- EVEREST, baby!!! Day two in Nepal began bright and early with a plane trip on Yeti Airlines for an hour long flight over the Himalayas, including supposedly coming in within 5 nautical miles of Everest. The smallish plane had a row of single seats along one side of the plane and two seats on the other side. It appears that they assign all of the window seats first in order to ensure that each passenger has a window seat. The plane turns around to ensure that everyone gets a "front row" view of Everest and the rest of the Himalayas, then one by one, each passenger is invited up to the cockpit for a full on view.

And in case you're wondering, as awe inspiring as it was to see Everest, I still have no inclination to try to scale it. I'll just have to be satisfied with the little certificate we each got after the flight was over, signifying that we'd flown by Everest and signed by the Captain of the flight!

We then returned to the Hotel Vadjra for breakfast, and while Anne put Sam down for his morning nap, John and I went on the 10 minute walk up the road to the Swayambhunath Stupa. This is also colloquially known as the "monkey temple" for the monkeys that play around the base of the stupa, entertaining worshippers and tourists as they make the long trek up the stairs to the stupa.

Note: if any of you are fortunate enough to visit Nepal, beware of "holy" men bearing red paint. As soon as we entered the eastern gateway to the stupa, one such holy man of dubious credentials made his way over to us and forced a blessing then demanded a contribution for his services. John says that the holy man's gravelly toned request, "Baksheesh... 5 dollars" haunts his dreams. Words on a blog can't convey the creepiness-- just picture Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom when the holy man growled "kali mar!" then ripped that dude's heart out. In any case, I'm not so sure that we were "blessed" but perhaps given the mark of the sucker as vendors were particularly keen on demanding that we look at and buy some of their wares.

Both the pollution and the altitude of Kathmandu challenged our lungs as we made our way up the steep steps, but it was well worth the effort. We were rewarded with views of Kathmandu below us and slightly cleaner air. At the top of the stupa, we were greeted by the watchful eyes of Buddah, spinning prayer wheels, and the sounds of monks trumpeting horns and chanting as part of their morning prayers.


We then met up with Anne and Sam again and made our way into Thamel. Thamel is lined with stores, vendors, and hotels as it was once upon a time the favorite hangout for American hippies in the 1960s (which is why a road in Kathmandu is called Freak Street) and today is often a launching pad for trekkers and other outdoor enthusiasts. You can buy anything from felted bags and slippers, to pashmina shawls, to imitation North Face outdoor gear here. Despite the touristy feel (if you can have such a feeling in a developing country) we found another pleasant hideaway from the city traffic and noise in the Garden of Dreams. This elaborate garden was built by a General in imitation of Edwardian English gardens. The urge to re-enact Jane Austen novels was suppressed by the ever present reminder of 21st century necessities as the garden advertised having wi-fi service available all throughout the garden for a mere 10 Nepali rupees/hour.

This ended our time in Kathmandu. As irritating as were the pollution and the constant barrage of fees and vendors, it was pleasant surprises such as the Hotel Vadjra and the Garden of Dreams that provided stark and wonderful contrasts-- kind of like how what makes backpacking such a great experience is the satisfying feeling of putting your feet up and having a solid night's sleep after a hard day of hiking. Nonetheless, I think we were all more than happy and anxious to move on to Nagarkot, a village and farmhouse up in the hills that promised to provide a quiet, peaceful setting and spectacular views of the mountains and Kathmandu valley below. (Knowing us-- you should take that as a hint that idealism once again kicks us in the butt!)

Serenity Now!

We're back in Dhaka after five days in Nepal! We'll still break down the Nepal trip into days so as not to overwhelm with one long blog post. :)

Kathmandu is just a short hour and fifteen minute flight from Dhaka. We arrived in the early to mid-afternoon as our flight was delayed by a couple of hours. After making our way through immigration and picking up our bags, I had an instant flashback to landing in Accra: we were swarmed by men who were jockeying to transport our luggage to the van that would drive us to the Hotel Vadjra. A team of 6 to 8 men, all presumably having contracted with our van driver, jostled one another trying to all wrangle control of our two pieces of luggage then demanded tips-- including tapping John on the arm through the window of the van demanding "one more one more" piece of currancy, no matter the denomination. Only problem? We didn't have any Nepali rupees or much by way of small change American bills. We ended up tipping the lot of them some $26 (six initially for our bags which was apparently upsetting to them, then another $20 when two more guests arrived at the van with no money for tips.)

As the above suggests, I soon learned that the portrayal of Kathmandu as a haven of peace and serenity is way way way overly romanticized. The pollution from all of the traffic hangs over the valley as a thick, smoggy mist and the din of beeping car horns and barking dogs reverberates through the crowded, narrow streets. It was therefore all the more wonderful and surreal when we arrived at our hotel-- located just a little ways off of the center of downtown-- as the courtyards and gardens of the Hotel Vadjra seemed to silence some of the city noise.

We ate a late lunch then headed back out into the city for Durbar Square. This is perhaps the biggest tourist attraction in Kathmandu: a centrally located city square surrounded by Hindu and Buddhist stupas or temples. Annoyance mixed with liberal guilt struck again as we had to fend off vendors and people wanting us to hire them to be our "guides." Nevertheless, we managed to see some of the more famous stupas, including the one pictured here: the Kumari temple, or the "Living Goddess" temple. The Kumari is believed to be an incarnation of a Hindu goddess. She is a prepubescent girl chosen from among a number of candidates who must first possess very specific physical characteristics, must then face men dancing in scary masks without crying (a goddess wouldn't be afraid of that!) and then choose personal belongings from the previous Kumari to prove that she is the next incarnation. The Kumari then lives at the temple under the watchful eyes of priestess guardians until her first menstruation. It is believed that the goddess's spirit has moved on to another young girl and the process of choosing the new kumari begins.


After spending some time walking around and looking at the other temples, we went on a walking tour of Kathmandu. The streets are lined with some beautifully preserved buildings, with intricate carvings in the Newari style. Also pretty interesting were the short doorways for stores, or as our tourbook called them "hobbit shops," including this oddly amusing store dedicated to selling instruments for marching bands.

Finally, as dusk began to settle, the pollution was too much for me and the nephew was overly due for a nap and feeding. We took a pretty scary taxi ride back up to the hotel, while John walked his way back. Dinner on the rooftop of the Vadjra was a welcome taste of some of the serenity that people seek in Kathmandu... of course, I can find serenity anywhere there is a gin and tonic nearby!

See Us Waving from Deshi Heights

We set out to get out visas for the trip to Nepal on Wednesday. After three trips to the embassy, we finally have them, and welearned that bureaucracy translates into any language.

Tuesday was primarily spent seeing some of the architectural highlights of Dhaka. First stop was the Lalbagh Fort. Construction on the fort originally began in 1677 but halted after the death of Pari Bibi, the daughter of Shaista Khan, as her death was taken as a bad omen for finishing construction. The walls of the fort now surround beautiful gardens and the masoleum for Pari Bibi-- apparently the only site in Bangladesh where you'll find black basalt and white marble. It also appears to be a lovers' lane of sorts for young Deshis-- or at least that was inferred from the numbers of shy looking couples holding hands and whispering around the masoleum.

We walked along the top of one of the walls and generally served as the tourist attraction for locals. Kids clamored for our camera, striking wonderfully unnatural poses. We also were approached by a group of college students from a local university who invited us to their birthday celebration for one of their friends as a chance to practice their English. We were also the recipients of a few (unsolicited) invitations to tour the closed museum.

We then drove on to Dhakeswari Temple, a nearby Hindu temple. Again, we had an unsolicited tourguide, who according to Anne seemed to be saying "temple" a lot. A lot of the shrines were closed off from viewing, but after removing our shoes, we were bidded by our guide to step into one area despite what appeared to be an ongoing memorial of some kind. The family gathered there didn't seem to mind and the marbled floor and ceiling fans were somewhat of a cooling relief.

We then drove on to the National Assembly Building-- a source of real pride for the Deshis as it is world renowned for its being designed by Louis Khan, but unfortunately, we couldn't get very close since the caretaker government has closed off public access to the grounds out of security concerns. That didn't stop one man who works in the building from trying to insist that he could get us inside-- in exchange for Anne's phone number, of course.

Finally, our tour ended with a stop at the Bangladesh China Friendship Center-- a conference center established by China in 2002. It was hoped that I could use my heritage to provide some leverage for getting us access... I'd just have to fake speaking the language which I suppose i could do my usual counting 100 "boogers" in cantonese and no one would be any wiser.

Off to Nepal today-- so Namaste!

New Adventures, At a Different Longitude

We decided to revive this blog for our trip to Bangladesh. We have yet to find fufu or foam rubber mattresses here, but hey, the trip is young.

We arrived yesterday after a relatively uneventful trip. The only snag was 90 minutes spent in a extra security line at Heathrow Airport but watching several fights almost break out provided some entertainment. After landing in Dhaka we recieved the VIP customs treatment (an "expediter" took our passports through immigration and helped us to our transportation), thanks to the family connections (ahem), which made things easier. Or at least saved us from another line.

The car ride to the house was our introduction to Dhaka traffic. Our experiences in Ghana prepared us well for this, although being on the left side of the road made me more nervous for some reason. The large number of rickshaws and CNGs (essentially motorized rickshaws) add new layers to the chaos, but I figure if they aren't nervous, why should I be?

After a much needed shower, a pot of coffee, and quality time with the nephew, we set about getting oriented to Bangladesh culture. This started with lunch at a Deshi restaurant, with some of the best naan I've tasted. The naan here is flakier than the naan we've had in Indian restaurants at home. An order of "hot naan"-- garlic and green chiles was especially tastey. It was also the primer on eating habits to avoid while traveling. I mistakenly took from the bowl of fennel seeds that is served after a meal...forgetting that it is a communal bowl, making that not the best idea. No ill effects yet. Anne was wise enough to question the broken seal on the bottle of water that we ordered. A waiter swept in and replaced it with a new bottle....and then took the first bottle and served it to another table.

Later, Chris purchased a shalwar kameez, the baggy tunic/pants combo typically worn by women here. The nephew was a big hit with the saleswomen, who were passing him around the store to be admired.

Our first day ended with an evening getting the expat experience at the American club, and a night adjusting to jet lag with the friendly help of Ambien.

And in case it had made the news in the US at all, the flooding in Chittagong is nowhere near us. However, the rains have flooded part of the port in Dhaka, which limited our sightseeing a bit. We were considering visiting Chittagong while we were here, but that looks less likely right now.
Don't know what I'm talking about?
http://edition.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/asiapcf/06/12/bangladesh.floods.ap/index.html

Home at Last

Our last day in Accra was spent doing tourist stuff; that is, buying more stuff to get rid of our cedis that the European money changers won't exchange. We also spent quality time at the KLM office to make sure Chris and I could fly home on the same planes. After two visits over several hours, we were successful! The eight hour layover in Amsterdam was a nice break, and we took the train into town for chocolate pastries and coffee at a cafe, followed by a visit to the Anne Frank House. Yup, the slave castles and the holocaust in the same trip. Party on.

We had a nine hour flight from Amsterdam to Minneapolis, complete with triple bag screening and being wedged into the very middle seats of a DC-10. We thought we had less than hour to get through customs and to our flight to Salt Lake. We managed to get through quickly, only to get to our next flight and sit on the tarmac for over two hours while a rescuse slide was being repaired. 35 hours after arriving at the Accra airport, we arrived home, and I sleepily wondered how many cedis we would be charged to stay in this nice guesthouse.

And now it's time for a shower and some Ambien.....good night.

Final Days

We said goodbye to Kumasi this morning and took the first-class bus to Accra. The first-class bus, since you asked, includes A/C, and on-board washroom (not working today), and video screens featuring the best of Nigerian cinema. The teen romantic drama was worth a few laughs: boy meets girl, boy's best friend gets girl pregnant, boy pays for girl's abortion, boy sees girl hugging best friend after he apologized for his actions, boy runs off in anger and gets hit by a car. Credits roll. This was followed by a murder mystery whose plot I couldn't follow, despite the high volume at which it was played. It involved a lot of women screaming and crying, and men in their underwear hitting each other. I was glad I had my earplugs. Chris was not so lucky.

Paying three times too much for a taxi from the bus station to the hotel has left us all in a foul mood. We recieved the classic obruni treatment: three cabs next to each other that each refused to negociate, claiming it was "traffic time," a bald-faced lie and we knew it. It seems silly to get worked up about an extra dollar, but the principle that you pay more based on the color of your skin annoys me.

So, on my last full day in Ghana, and feeling about ready to leave, I've been reflecting on what I will miss from here and what I miss at home:

Will miss (a very brief list):
-pepe sauce
-fresh African pinapple (none of this Hawaiian crap)
-people randomly saying "Akwaba/Hello" on the street
-groups of small children yelling "Obruni!" and waving
-diversity of flora
-monkeys
-"brother" and "sister" as a standard way of greeting someone
-red-red and fried plantains
-Fan Ice

Will not miss:
-Nescafe
-canned milk
-paying obruni prices
-everyone else yelling "Obruni!" at me
-two-foot deep sewers
-humidity
-mosquitos, botflies, tsetse flies, termites, ants
-foam mattresses
-Ghanian pop music, plus repeated playings of "African Queen," "Mr. Lonely," and old Backstreet Boys songs.

When we get home, I plan on having a large salad with a glass of wine, and washing my clothes using the washing machine and dryer. In the morning, I will have brewed coffee and cereal with REAL milk while reading the newpaper. I will then go to the gym, where I plan to not be drenched in sweat after two minutes. I will then take a shower standing up, without having to turn on the water heater 30 minutes ahead of time. I will not apply bug repellent prior to leaving the house.

Not to imply that being in Ghana hasn't been a positive experience. I've learned a great deal about tropical medicine and about delivering care with limited resources. Almost everyone here has been very welcoming. The food, despite its reputation, has been delicious. And although I've gained appreciation for much of the excesses of American society, I'm a little homesick for those excesses right now.