Deeper in the country

Sunday, 23 December 2012

The morning of our second day is a crash course in Bangladeshi industry. Heading North of Palash we encounter a Russian power plant (explaining why we are mistaken for Russians repeatedly), then a humungous fertiliser plant surrounded by eye-tearing and suffocating vapours of ammoniac. Several jute mills follow. Previously the first export of Bangladesh (now overtaken by the explosion of garment) jute is still considered by the authorities as a strategic eco-friendly renewable product that can be used as a substitute to plastic (e.g. already in BMW car interiors) or even in the construction of roads. Finally, we encounter a shipyard where huge ship shells are being renovated nearly bare-handed.

At noon we have an "avant-gout" of what is awaiting us in the evening. The local eatery where we have spicy prawns (pulling tears out of Pierre's eyes) fills up quickly with curious people. A somehow English-literate young lad (insisting on becoming our Facebook friend) explains to us that he heard about westerners passing by two years before. We are clearly making the news.

The afternoon ride through a bright patchwork of green rice and yellow colza crops is truly beautiful. Quasi-biblical scenes are on display in the villages: the golden afternoon sun is shedding a warm light on children playing between hay heaps and delicate farm animals strolling by lazily. On the narrow winding road, bicycles and pedestrians have replaced the cars and trucks. There is a sense of profound peace.

At 4.45pm we arrive in Dampara, which is a rural community slightly elevated in the middle of vast expanse of watery rice fields. We stop in front of a larger concrete house that happens to be the local hospital and ask for a place to sleep. We are redirected to the Union Centre, a two-level brick building apparently serving as a town hall. A large crowd quickly gathers around us. We leave the bikes in the yard and settle in a tea shop hoping that an official will notice us and offer accommodation. After 30 min, the crowd is blocking the street and we are invited to go to the football field to accommodate more people.

The night is falling and we have no solution in sight. We head back to the bikes. The excitation is mounting. Everybody wants to touch the bikes (although we feel there is zero risk of anybody actually stealing anything). Kids are playing with the gear leviers and the ring bells. The darkness is nearly complete (as usual there is no public light) and we are literally swamped. After a long day of biking and a short night's sleep, we are at the verge of losing our nerves. We manage to have someone call the Chairman of the Union Parishad (i.e. the Mayor), to allow us in the Union Centre. We are invited to wait some more in the bazar around a table with elderly citizens bearing long beards. Up to five layers of people staring with intensity are staging behind probably standing on chairs or benches. Quite a comical scene.

A head civil servant speaking some English joins and we can explain our situation. We are finally invited to the chairman's office, which fills up completely with curious people. The chairman enquires on whether we are fulfilling an official mission. We explain that we are touring but, if needed, Pierre's business card suggesting diplomatic credentials seals the deal. After a while we are directed to a room up in the Union Centre with two handfuls of VIPs. Relief is in sight at last! Eye-tearing spicy chicken curry is brought to us from an neighbouring eatery and we eat in silence in front of the happy few attending. After some more chit-chatting, many handshakes and repeated comments on how to switch the electricity we are alone at last! Locked in our room we savour the moment. Four hours have passed since our arrival in town. A very well deserved night of rest is coming.