The Diplodocus

Thanks to MC’s internet, I’ve uploaded a whole ton of photos to my flickr account. A preview:

I’ll try to write up some of the stories behind the photos when I can.  Any requests?

Last night I went to an iftar celebration with my consular colleagues, both locally hired and Foreign Service.  We sat at a long table, passing jokes down the line, teasing their children for being shy, their husbands for eating so many gulab jamuns they were going to get fat, digging into Indian food with relish, toasting the sunset and what is, in many ways, the most festive holiday here in Bangladesh, Eid al Fitr.  That warm feeling of being with a second family set in, and despite not fasting during roja myself, it became obvious how important the holiday was for my friends. 

One thing did bug me though.  An abnormal proportion of my colleagues actuallu ate with a knife and fork.  The effeteness! Appalling!  We’re having lamb bhoona with veggie tharkari and naan, people.  Knife and fork?  Its a slippery slope.  One day it’s just innocently cutting meat from a bone, and the next thing you know you’ve got a special fork for fish (with the requisite tweezers for removing pin bones) and a spoon that you can only use with one specific type of daal.  Not for me, thank you very much.  Besides, eating with your hands is so much more fun.  So what if the waiters looked at me if I was straight from the village?  Snobs, the lot of them.

The Parents came and left Dhaka, repeating in many ways my whirlwind trip to Calcutta the week before.  One full day was not enough to show them all of this city, but we got to see the highlights, including the massive mall, the National Assembly building, and the obligatory trip to the Dhakeshwari Mandir.  There was also much shopping to be done, and I swear their suitcase left Dhaka at least ten pounds heavier.  They were pleasantly surprised by the DHK, at its wide avenues, lack of air pollution, and greenery.  Likewise at its unpredictability, the chaos that is so ever present that it ceases to be surprising.

The best part about the folks visiting was the fact that the roles were reversed and I got to play host to them for once.  It was comforting to have them in the spare room (snoring away as usual), seeing a city that I’m coming to think of as home through new eyes.    It helped immensely that they actually enjoyed Dhaka.  I’m hoping that they come back.

In that vein: Dhaka.  The more time I spend here, the more time I realize what a nice place it actually is.  Like any huge — okay, enormous — city in a developing country, it has its own special issues.  But its a fascinating place to be, and on the whole very pleasant.  The chaos that I found choking and frustrating has become background noise, and its easier now to appreciate the myriad parts of this city that make it so unique.  I know I’m speaking from less than a month’s experience here, but Dhaka has something about it all its own that I was definitely not expecting.  In many ways, it feels like India did to me back in the mid-nineties, millions of people with untapped potential and a serious love of life, moving through their day to day lives in lungis and shalwar kameezes.  Visiting here is not such a scary proposition, and if you come without any prior expections I suspect you could actually find it to be a fun trip.  Sure, it may not be Club Med, but seriously:  I’ve got a spare room.  Give it a try.  At the very least, you can enjoy the offerings of Ayub, my unbelievable cook, and hang out with me on the veranda watching the rickshaws go by.

My parents arrive in Dhaka in a couple hours.  It’ll be their first trip to Bangladesh, despite the fact that my takuma, nana, and nani (paternal grandmother and both my mom’s parents) were both from here.

I’m not sure what to expect, or how they’ll react to being here.  Some sort of weird, latent familiarity?  Complete surprise?  Disassociation?  Who knows?  I don’t think they think of Bangladesh as “home” the way my great-grandparents would have.  Maybe it’ll be like going back to the “old country” for them.

Also, and coincidentally, the first shipment of my stuff gets here today.  So I’ll have Mom to help me begin unpacking and setting things up.  

In quick summary: Mom and Dad get to see their roots and I get someone to help me set up my place.  I think everyone wins, don’t you? 

Its frightening how much the pan pizza at Pizza Hut Dhaka tastes just like the pan pizza at Pizza Hut Perry Hall, or for that matter Pizza Hut Islamabad.  Unlike the other chain’s I’ve eaten at abroad, Pizza Hut seems to do the best job in offering the most consistent product.  In the US, consistency is boring.  Here, well, its welcome.

Also, the all you can eat Iftar deal here – 299 taka for all you can eat Pizza! – is pretty fun.  At the prescribed time when it *officially* is night, someone rings a bell and everyone breaks the fast.  Waiters walk the room filling plates with meat (no pork!) lovers, veggie lovers, barbecue chicken, and extra cheese pizzas.  The pile of uneaten crusts at the end of the meal is a sight to be seen. 

The question: why don’t Bangladeshis eat the crusts of their pizza?  Our waiter wasn’t sure, but he did say that normally the locals order thin crusts, while foreigners order pan.  At this point I’m not sure why that is, but this does bear further investigation. 

One of the coolest things about the Islamabad American Club was their scooter.  We could pick up the phone, order food, and in 30 or so minutes, a scooter would appear at the consulate door with your order.  It was great when strapped for sustenance, especially after a trip to the gym or a morning adjudicating visas.

Here in Dhaka, we’re all in the same building, so a walk to the canteen is quite easy.  But!  We’ve got our own unique pleasure: The Tea Cart.  A nice Bengali gentleman walks around the floor with a cart stocked with various goodies throughout the day, including the eponymic tea, assorted pastries, candy bars, fruit, and so on.  Pretty great for satisfying instantaneous cravings, and now I’ve developed a substantial tea habit.  Not so bad that I get grumpy for lack of caffeine, but enough that when I see the cart I want my no-sugar, no-milk, slightly kora cha.  10 taka later (at current exchange rates: approximately 15 cents) I am a happy man.