Frustration, frustration, frustration

Yes, this is what I felt like last night. Get the point?

I think the Bangladeshi government should post this sign at the airport as you are exiting customs into the chaos of Dhaka:

I spent the last 30 minutes looking for a good photo to represent what I went through last night. There are a lot of really funny pictures on the web when you type in "frustration". I thought visuals would be a good way to start my story.

My transportation fiasco last night reminded me of why I will not miss Dhaka when I leave. Trying to get to New Market last night to get some flea market shopping done, it took us 1.5 hours in an open air CNG (those little golf cart like things I mentioned before), to get there, and it was pouring out, so my beautiful white pants got soaking wet. Granted, I know the same 12km ride on highway from LAX to UCLA takes the same amount of time, but at least generally you are in a nice comfortable, air conditioned car. That makes the traffic a little more bearable. But the open air CNG made the mix of car fumes, trash, and rain, or the more unbearable last night.

Then, when we were leaving New Market we first, got harassed by a group of beggar kids who were rudely aggressive and touching me and slapping me on the arm to get my attention. I generally always give money to beggar kids, like 2 or 5 taka, but I really don't like it when they touch me. Being stressed out from not finding an open CNG for about 20 minutes in bumper to bumper traffic, I was not in any mood for kids to be hounding me for money. We kept on walking to different corners of the intersection to try to a) lose the kids and b) find a CNG. Sweaty and annoyed, Abra and I were getting VERY frustrated.

This nicely dressed man with very good English decided to take us under his wings because he saw us walking from corner to corner and still not having any luck. Anyways, long story short, he spent the next hour with us trying to find a CNG, then we took a rickshaw (three people in a rickshaw doesn't make for a comfortable ride) where my left leg was sticking out, dangerously exposed to getting scraped by an oncoming vehicle, for 30 minutes, and then finally, after the people we were supposed to meet for dinner had already finished their meal, we arrived at our location.

Then, after we finished, it took us another hour waiting in a hotel lobby for a taxi that the hotel called for us to show up even though they kept on saying "20 minutes, no problem, 20 minutes". I have come to realize that nothing in Dhaka takes 20 minutes.

My happiness from eating my great meal at dhaba wore off about 30 minutes into the wait. I was so happy when I finally got home (I can't believe I am actually calling the Grand Prince Hotel my home) last night, but even happier that I finally knocked some sense into myself and am moving to the Pacific Inn Hotel in the more convenient (to eatable places), cleaner, a little bit less crazy ex-pat area in Banani next week.

Sorry for the ranting. On another note, I love my white linen pants, but they were a stupid choice to bring to Dhaka. Everytime I get them cleaned, the next day I wear them, they have dirt splatter marks all over the back side and I need to get them cleaned again. sigh, so frustrating!

Happy news: My friend Ben is coming to visit from Hong Kong, and I'm really excited about it. It will be good to spend time with an old friend though I think he's crazy to want to actually come to Dhaka for no apparent reason. No one actually comes to Dhaka unless you HAVE to. It will be good to spend my last week in Bangladesh with a familiar face. We will head to Srimongol so he can see the utter beauty of the countryside that is completely opposite of the ugliness that you live and experience in Dhaka city.

Bangladesh as a country has a lot to offer in terms of topography, flora, and fauna. It's beauty is not unlike many of the more famous areas of the world that I have been to, such as Costa Rica and Thailand. And I have found [most of its] people have been extremely welcoming,warm hearted, sincere, and eager to help. So while it seems like all I do is complain about how much I dislike Dhaka, I do love the rest of Bangladesh. I definitely think the country is an untapped tourist destination- but only for the thick skinned adventure loving outdoorsie type who are at peace with any and all kinds of bugs and reptiles, and who don't mind being dirty and sweaty all day long.

Three star hotel, Bangladeshi style

[Start of Rant]
I just had to swat a cockroach away from my bed. one inch from where I lay my head down to sleep. Who knows how many more there are hidden under the carpeting and crawling over my stuff as we speak. I don't even want to know what all the stains are from on my wall nor do I want to think about how I can smell the cancer causing bug spray they use to kill the bed bugs in the beds here.

I hate being such a complainer, but I couldn't hold it in any longer. I thought I'd be used to it after six weeks, coming on seven, but I can't get myself to swat the cockroach away and smile at it at the same time anymore.

Sigh. And this is supposed to be a three star hotel. Bangladeshi style I suppose. I guess on the bright side, the cockroaches aren't monstrously ginormous like they were in the village. I can intimidate them.

Yes, I am looking forward to checking out of this hotel for good.
[End of Rant]

Sand, Waves, and some night time escapades

Night time view of beach.

Five star hotel dinner.

The boys mixing the 7-Up.

Andrea really enjoying her fresh fruit juices.

Enjoying the view from a beach-side restaurant terrace.

Rosanna and Andrea, what a cute couple.

View of beach close to sunset.

Beautiful!!!

Funny how my posts are only about my weekend escapes from Dhaka and not about what I actually do everyday in Dhaka. That would be boring for the most part, who wants to know about what I am actually working on?

Anyways, who would have thought there was actually a very nice beach in Bangladesh? We went to Cox's Bazaar this weekend to celebrate/ close the chapter on Rosanna's last weekend in Bangladesh. It was a long journey there, but well worth the peace and quiet away from Dhaka.

We met up with this young Bangladeshi named Babu, whom Andrea and Rosanna met and befriended in Dhaka awhile back, and his two friends at the beach. Let's just say that boys will be boys anywhere I suppose. They were very kindhearted and friendly, but definitely young college boys. They were very pleased with the contraband Smirnoff that they hid in a 7-UP bottle and brought with them everywhere. And one of the three smoked a joint before breakfast just because. I chuckled, trying to think back to my college days and the adventures I had at Berkeley. But my memory gets spotty more than five years in the past...

One of the biggest downsides to the beach was that women have to wear the same thing they wear normally on the streets into the water. Think completely opposite of the nude beaches in Europe. Those three piece suits, yes, those are worn into the water while guys can run around without their shirts on. Sexy I know.

So, because of the unfortunately maddening cultural restrictions, we decided to not even try to go into the water until it was dark and no one could see us in our scantily clad two-pieces wave surfing. After dinner, armeed with our "7-UP", towels, and bathing suits hidden under our traditional clothing, we headed to a secluded area of the beach to have some fun. It felt liberating to strip off our knee-covering long pants and shoulder covering tops and run into the water, giggling like little kids who just stole a cookie from the cookie jar without getting slapped on the hand by mom.

None of the boys knew how to swim, and were at first scared to join us playing in the water. But eventually, they came in and battled the sometimes scary waves with us. We wanted to document our little scandalous adventure, so we took some "flash" photos, but not too many, in case any locals were to see that we were in our inappropriate beach wear. I am not posting any of those photos out of respect for all parties involved, and because I realized I have four weeks to get in shape for Fiji. The high carb diet and lack of exercise opportunities and facilities for the last six weeks have not been good for my bathing suit body.

The beach was pretty beautiful, its nearly up to par with some of the world class beaches I have been to over the last few years. Much cleaner than I expected, but not as developed as I expected. Sadly, I can see Cox's Bazaar turning into a Phuket or Boracay in a few years time. Right now, its in a state of transition from the local beach to an internationally known beach.

We decided to splurg on dinner our last night at the beach after the boys had left, and ate at a five star hotel along the main strip of the town. It almost felt like we weren't in Bangladesh anymore, the restaurant was so modern and posh looking. While there, we met some other foreigners (YES, WE FOUND SOME BESIDES OURSELVES!!) who were doing aid work in the area. We found ourselves turning into typical Bangladeshis, staring and pointing and wanting to know what county they are from. Quite funny actually, that we were doing to the other foreigners what the Bangladeshis do to us. But, we met this interesting guy Peter, who works for the UN relocating refugees to other countries, and he invited us to a foreigner party with all the other aid workers. The one night we get invited out we have to get on a painful 10 hour overnight bus back to Dhaka. Just our luck of course!

Unfortunately, I am back in Dhaka again. But, our little adventure in Cox's Bazaar was well worth the exhausting trip there and back. Again, my weekend demontrated to me that Bangladesh has a lot to offer outside of Dhaka.

Calcutta: my peaceful escape from the chaos of Dhaka

I was really digging the old school taxis they have in Calcutta. They look like the cars from The Godfather, except in gold and blue.

This is the intricately decorated inside of one of the restuarants we ate at.

Victoria Memorial, so beautiful. Surreptitiously and illegally taken photos of Marble Palace (don't ask me why we weren't allowed to take photos of the place)

YUMMY!

Calcutta is only a 30 minute flight from Dhaka. The two cities share a language and a history, but that's about it. Everything else about the cities are like night and day, yin and yang. Granted, there are parts of Calcutta that look like Bangladesh (in old Calcutta, close to Howrah Bridge), with dilapidated shacks and trash on the ground and its citizens using the sidewalk as a bathroom. But even those parts only slightly resembled the far more unkempt and chaotic city that is Dhaka. I mean, who would have thought that people actually drive in the lanes and follow the traffic signals?!

And people rarely honked, and even the honks sounded quietly elegant compared to the incessant loud and unpleasant honking that is a staple of Dhaka's roads. It was heaven, a pleasurable vacation for me, really, to be in Calcutta.

All Dhaka bashing aside, Rosanna and I remarked that we didn't know how bad we had it until we left Dhaka and realized there is something better out there. This is the opposite of "you don't appreciate what you have until you lose it".

Poor Rosanna, she got sick after the first day and never fully recovered enough to enjoy the city like I did. I got to eat and drink to my little heart's desire. And that I did. I am detoxing over the next few days from all the deliciously buttery and cheesy and carb-heavy meals (including hops) that I happily consumed this weekend. We ate, well I guess I ate, at some amazingly decorated places. Way nicer than any place I've been to in Dhaka for the last six weeks. I also took advantage of the non-Muslim country aspect of India and enjoyed some cold beers with my lunch. Oh the pleasure of the little things in life!

Aside from being food tourists, Rosanna and I went to see all the famous places in Calcutta: Victoria Memorial, Marble Palace, Howrah Bridge, Kali Temple, Mother Theresa's House, Botanical Gardens, and Indian Museum. And of course we went shopping. And now I need to buy an additional luggage to bring all the crap I bought back with me to the States. No more, I keep telling myself. But everything is so cheap and unique as well....usually the latter argument wins in this battle.

Mother (Theresa's) House was not magnificent or anything, but it was very much like her: unassuming, plain, and practical. Even though we didn't spend much time there, it was still very special to touch the tomb of someone who was so amazingly selfless and caring to those most in need.

Our experience in Calcutta wouldn't have been the same if dear Rahul hadnt helped us out in arranging hotels and transportation in his home city. So this is my shout out to you Rahul, thanks so much to you and your parents for such great hospitality!

As I went to bed my last night in Calcutta, I was sad to know that when I woke up I'd have to head back to the craziness of Dhaka. But Calcutta gave me hope for Dhaka, that one day Dhaka can be like Calcutta.

Food Adventures

New fav place, Dhaba.

Yummy street food, in a non-street food setting.

Showing off the goods, my mutton biryani.

Happiness for Chicken Biryani

Dinner at Sigma's house.

My first of three plates of the night.

Home cooking! Thank you Sigma's mommy.

We all went to a "Mosque food" place up the street for some Chicken/Mutton/Veggie Biryani. A good local joint, and nice and cheap. I have actually had some pretty good food lately, but anything is an upgrade compared to our usual haunts of Chicken Waffle (a korean joint?!), Treat, and our sub par hotel restaurants. Home cooking is still the best. My list of "to-eats" when I get out of Dhaka is more than a page long. I am planning to start with dim sum in Hong Kong and then eat my way back to the States. I have high hopes for food in Calcutta, so hopefully it doesn't disappoint.

Another amazing thing I realized is that I can actually wear normal clothes in Calcutta! No more covering up my leggies or my sexy shoulders. FREEDOM here I come! This whole Bangladesh thing has made the problem of my white legs even worse, if that's possible. Oh yeah, and I can have a glass of wine and not feel like I have to hide it in my water bottle. Maybe I should have done my summer at SKS instead :)

Anyways, I included some pictures above of the food I have eaten along the way. Yes, I am Asian and I take photos of my food. So what?

Full, Happy, and Sleepy

For the first time in a long time, I am full, happy, and sleepy.

The one hour, seriously bruising CNG ride back to the hotel in the suffocating pollution kind of took away my food buzz. But Dhaba is my new favorite place! Good Bangladeshi food DOES EXIST!

Nite peeps. Tomorrow I will post more exciting things, I promise.

My buddy Yunus and I

About 50 interns or so gathered together this morning to take photos with Muhammad Yunus. He was kind enough to let us take one on one photos. He's such a nice old man. Always looks so happy to take photos with us crazy interns.

Yes, you must be wondering what the **** I am wearing... More pattern-y than I usually wear in the States. When I am not wearing my blatant tourist outfit ( fisherman's hat, dri-fit shirt, hiking pants and sunglasses), I'm trying to blend in in Bangladesh! I got that outfit custom made. Don't worry, I won't be wearing the outfit out and about in Chicago. Maybe for this coming Halloween.

All in a Day's work: Cute kids and Green Tech

Efficient heating stove

Us with the kiddies

Kids saluting us

A few days ago, we took a day trip to visit the field operations of two of Grameen's social businesses: Grameen Shakti, which installs solar home systems, biogas plants, and efficient cooking stoves, and Grameen Shikkha, which is in charge of running pre-schools in mostly the rural areas of Bangladesh. Talk about two completely opposite businesses.

The pre-school kids attended Grameen's school every day for two hours, in a little open-air multi-purpose shack. It was basically four poles, a straw roof, and woven mats on the ground with some posters of letters and numbers on the wooden supports. They went through their daily routine of learning letters and playtime. They also introduced themselves individually. And they sang twinkle twinkle little star for us. It was hard to hear it, but it was extremely cute.

The Grameen coordinator that was with us was teaching the kids about the important things in life: wipe your little behind with your left hand (since you eat with your right hand in Bangladesh), brush your teeth AFTER you eat, and make friends with all your classmates. Now if that isn't wisdom, I don't know what is. Wish they had taught me that in pre-school.

Then we moved on to learn about how solar home systems are being installed in rural homes in Bangladesh in areas where the country's electrical grid does not reach. To be honest, I was surprised that such advanced technology would be found in the rural areas of Bangladesh. I mean, I associate solar panels with advanced technology and the developed world- ie something to be found in a Silicon Valley mansion, not on a simple tin or straw hut with cows lazing about outside in the rural villages of Bangaldesh, one of the poorest countries in South Asia. I guess it's like third world discrimation-ism? Then we also saw the efficient stoves that Grameen Shakti manufactures and sells to villagers that eliminate the smoke released, and increases the efficiency (thereby reducing the costs of wood) by 50% or more.

I think our least favorite of their green technologies was the biogas plant, for obvious reasons. I spared you all photos of the large cows releasing the "fuel" for the biogas plant. But, I was amazed that a family of seven needed 40kg of bio "fuel" to get them through the day. I guess they got used to the smell. One of the interns was unlucky enough to step in some of the "fuel" and we sure had a laugh at her expense the rest of the day.

Meeting Yunus tomorrow for the second time. I need to think of some good questions to ask him, keep up my reputation in my group as the "girl who always asks questions". You know, the one we always roll our eyes at in class. Yes, I have turned into THAT one. :)

Calling all Foreigners!

Every time we go out, we play a little game: find the foreigners (not including Grameen interns) in Bangladesh! We always come back disappointed at the absence of our fellow white/yellow/black brothers and sisters out and about in Dhaka. Today, we saw four!!! That's a four week record.


There MUST be foreigners in the country, but I suspect they all get driven around by their drivers and live in their cushy private company-or NGO-paid apartments in the ex-pat district. They definitely don't live in our shady sub-district of Mirpur. I guess the only "visible" foreigners are the foreigners who can't afford to be invisible (ie unpaid Grameen interns). Instead, the Grameen interns get to walk in the blistering heat, take shady taxi cabs and dangerous golf-cart like contraptions, and endanger our lives to cross the street every day. Talk about segregation of the rich and the poor :) Damn. Bottom-of-the-pyramid!


Today this CNG (dangerous golf-cart like contraption) driver agreed to 50 taka for a ride, and then tried to give me back only 40 in change (even though he definitely had enough change) from a 100 taka bill. Really? Come on now. I know I am a foreigner, but I ain't no sucker! I know it's only 1/7 of a US dollar, but if you agree to a price and I get in to your vehicle, that means I am assuming I am paying you that price!! It's not the money, it's the principle.


SO then feisty Jinny (yes, the one that some of you have had the pleasure to witness first hand before) appeared and demanded my 100 taka bill back since he was trying to cheat me. I don't think Bangladeshi culture allows women to yell at men in public, so I am glad I showed him that I wasn't going to let him get away with it!


Oh and this is how used I am already to Dhaka's little quirks. I got into the elevator and then five seconds later, the power went out. Rather than freaking out, Rosanna and I just kind of laughed, and we're like, oh great. But, we know it's Dhaka, so we just waited. Unlike in the U.S., if the elevator breaks down, it's probably a big problem. In Dhaka, it's just a part of life.

Blogging is hard work!

I am behind in my postings and in my pictures... Will try to catch back up over the weekend.

You wonder how that shirt you are wearing came to be?

These pictures are a little out of order, but you can piece together the process from beginning to end.



Ironing the shirts before they get packaged.

Packaging the shirts.

They use manual labor to print labels and wording on the shirts.

Yes, that is a sweat shop worker :)

Where the clothes are dyed.

Where the water is squeezed out of them.

How the spools of thread of created.

We went to Grameen Knitwear yesterday, and saw the whole process of how cotton is made into thread, thread made into cloth, and cloth made into clothing. Quite a complicated and interesting process actually. Lots of machinery in the initial phases, and then all "sweat shop" work in the latter phases. At least at Grameen Knitwear they provided above market wages, life insurance, safety and quality standards, and other benefits like education scholarships for employee's kids. And, all the profits of the company go to funding the social mission of two not for profit businesses.

Thought you all would like to see the process first hand, so shared some pictures with you. Next time you all put on that shirt (that's made in some third world country), you can appreciate all the work that goes into it.

Oh and on a positive note, I got on a project today with Grameen Trust that is best of all worlds: I will be involved with all of the Grameen replication projects around the world, I can work from anywhere (which means I have the flexibility to take long weekends to travel), and I am going to have major connections with the heads of Grameen America. Who da woman? :)

On a negative note, the electricity has gone out four times already over the course of the last four hours. And my ghetto TV's channel buttons actually regulate the volume, and the volume buttons regulate the menu, and the menu button turns off the TV. Nice. Well, it's Bangladesh. What did I expect? :)

Srimongol, Part 1

Srimongol's beauty contrasts starkly from the ugliness of Dhaka. It's a wonderfully serene, peaceful, and likeable place.

Here is the complete set of photos, I couldn't upload them all onto blogger:

http://picasaweb.google.com/jinny.lung/Srimongol?authkey=Gv1sRgCPipzr_1jcaRnQE&feat=directlink

I went with two of my fellow interns, Andrea and Rosanna. We took a super luxury bus (think first class on an airplane) from Dhaka. I didn't think Bangladesh had such nice buses, since usually the buses look like they should be in the junkyard. Because of the cost (a little less than $10 USD), there were no rif raff on the bus, so the ride was nice and peaceful and comfortable.

However, the bus did NOT go direct to Srimongol, so we had to get off on a random stop in the middle of nowhere to catch a local bus to Srimongol. Yes, one of those junkyard buses that only the locals take. I always thought those buses were like death traps. but the ride wasn't as unpleasant as I expected. It was actually pretty OK. Except for the fact that it smelled like the kid next to me had peed on the seat. And the rif raff that couldn't afford our super luxury bus, yes, they were on this local bus.

This guy sitting next to me got into a heated verbal fight with the fare collector because he charged my friends 40 taka (1 USD= 70 taka) versus the actual fare of 25 taka. He wanted to make sure that because we are "guests" in his country, that we wouldn't be cheated along the way. Nice guy, but had to decline the invite to his home for lunch. While in the US that would be a way shady move, in Bangladesh, people will invite you to their homes to eat the first day they meet you. Super welcoming people.

So, once we arrived in Srimongol, we went to visit some tea estates and had some famous five layer tea. It was quite tasty actually, one layer was white tea, one was red tea, one was black tea, and two were condensed milk. I am not quite sure how I feel about condensed milk, I definitely prefer the real stuff, straight from the momma cow. That night, we were invited to our tour guide, Rashed's house to celebrate his niece's one year birthday. It was quite an ordeal, the star of the night arrived in a frilly dress and a gold crown. Everyone took turns taking photos with her. The family had bought a cake, which was quickly melting from the heat and the candles, and put up a happy birthday sign. We all sang happy birthday to her in English. It was quite cute, and sweet, actually that we were a part of their celebration. It was a bit chaotic, but after that party was over, we had a little party of our own.

Rashed had to go to great lengths to ensure that no one in his family walked in on us, and him, imbibing some illegal substances. He had to triple lock his door, shut his windows, and blast the music. Quite hilarious actually, just give the man some booze, poor boy!!! He secured us some Bangladeshi made white whiskey (I didn't know alcohol was produced in a country where its a crime to carry around alcohol), which was supposedly 75 proof, but tasted like 20 proof. Nontheless, we had our little secret party in his room in his family's house. What a day!

New Adventures

A lot has happened over the last week since I last blogged. I have done everything I was told never to do in Bangladesh:

1) I took a local bus. With all the locals. Quite the experience.

2) I ate with my hands. twice. Burned the tips of my fingers and dropped food all over the place. Haven't quite gotten the technique down yet. Still have a month to master it.

3) I went out at night with two other girls. No males were available, and we had a craving for Western food, so we chose food over safety.

4) I was at the train station after dark. Sketch. That is not an experience I'd care to repeat.

After all that, I made it out ok. Older, and wiser, for sure.

Took a trip to Srimongol this past weekend. What a beautiful place. I will blog tomorow specifically about my trip to Srimongol, complete with pictures and all.

We also went to see Grameen Knitware, a nicer version of a sweatshop owned and operated by Grameen. It was super interesting to see how our clothes actually come to be. And I got a free polo shirt. I love free things.

We risked our lives tonight for supposedly the best Mexican restaurant in all of South Asia, El Toro. The picture above shows the teeny weeny burrito I got. Maybe I am spoiled from El Farolito's $5 Burrito Supreme's but I was HIGHLY disappointed. Tasty, but not big enough for my big American belly. But what should I expect, it's Bangladesh.

That's my tag line for the summer: It's Bangladesh. What did you expect?