Relentless Noise

Well I’m in Dhaka, finally. My tour isn’t due to start till tomorrow, so I thought I would sleep, but that’s now feeling like a very remote possibility. The city is relentlessly noisy. Everyone drives with their hands on their horns, the whole time. Someone is blowing a whistle constantly, presumably a traffic policeman on duty. There’s a school opposite, contributing the voices of several hundred students at break time. And, every so often, there’s a relatively melodic muezzin alongside. I’m on a high floor and I have a small balcony with a vertigo inducing drop to the street. I had to sign a disclaimer before they would even open the door, so I could get onto it.

The view reveals a grubby skyline, mostly concrete blocks, many of which are not yet complete. There are lines of bright washing decorating most of the balconies, and some tumbledown dwellings, lining a river at ground level. There are some more up-market buildings with roof gardens fronting the water. Bangladesh is a country of many rivers, some of them mighty. Dhaka nestles in a bend of the Buriganga River (Old Ganges). It ranks among the most polluted rivers in the country. I flew over the huge Ganges/Brahmaputra delta, on my way from Bangkok. It empties into the Bay of Bengal, the largest bay in the world.

I don’t need my alarm clock. The traffic bedlam begins early and the school yard is full by 7.30. My breakfast in the swish dining room is a buffet and my first reaction is that they left out last night’s dinner by mistake. It’s all beautifully polished chafing dishes, filled with curry, rice and noodles. I set to cheerfully, it’s a while since I had Indian style curry. It’s only later that I notice the omelette man sidling into his station, in the corner.

Even returning to my room is fraught. I know I’m in room 7004, but the button marked 7 in the lift won’t work. There’s also an L and M button because there’s a lobby and a mezzanine and so, I'm actually on the ninth floor. It seems I have to deploy button 9 and all the rooms starting with 7 are found there….

My Dhaka Team

My guide Atik met me at the airport, with his sign board. He had crafted it from the back of a photo frame. I’m to have my own minibus and fluffy bearded driver, Ekram, for the whole trip. I’m not sure if this will be an advantage or not yet. Atik is a fussy little man; he’s trying so hard to please. Back in my van, I can confirm that Dhaka is the most chaotic and noisy place I have ever been to. The traffic is truly terrible and sometimes stops moving totally for ten or fifteen minutes. It takes an age to travel from one sight to another. Atik, as I suspected, isn’t the most organised of guides. He’s entirely woolly about where we are going and how long it will take (even though he has Google) and has an irritating habit of saying things like, 'O yes, you would really like the bazaar back there, but we’ve missed it now and anyway it's only really good first thing in the morning’.

Dhaka Traffic

Nevertheless, moans over, it’s an absorbing day, with the highlight being wandering the streets (I never get bored with this) watching the people. I should say, trying to avoid the streams of humanity, moving rapidly with boxes balanced on their heads. Everyone, in their turn, is trying to keep out of the way of the multi coloured cycle rickshaws, threading in and out of even the narrowest of streets. Most of the thoroughfares are also jammed with the green CNGs. This is what the Bangladeshis call the electric racing green (in Dhaka) rickshaws or tuk tuks. CNG stands for the compressed natural gas that powers them. And then there are the cars, buses and vans. The busses are extraordinarily battered, dented and scraped. I suppose it’s not surprising.

On the Buriganga River, at Dhaka

We navigate a couple of bazaars and the fruit market, the biggest in the world, alongside the river, where the activity is absolutely frenetic. Fascinating, but exhausting, dodging the crowds, and the rickshaws, trying not to step in the garbage on the ground or fall into the sewage channels running alongside the streets. We also take a boat trip on a vessel made of wood blocks that is close to the water and appears alarmingly flimsy. It’s misty and atmospheric and the water is thronging with other boats large and small, paddle steamers and ferries. The traditional wooden commuter boats are locally known as kosha. They're propelled with long bamboo poles. Some of the larger (and not so large) vessels are packed really tightly with passengers.

‘Don’t they ever sink?’ I ask Akit.

‘Oh yes; he replies nonchalantly. ‘People often drown. They can’t swim. And the water is very dirty. But they usually get picked up by other boats.’

This is by far the best part of Dhaka. Much of the time, again, is spent stuck in traffic, or eating lunch. Oddly, this is taken at a roof top restaurant that serves Thai and Chinese food. But it’s another great view over the city.

Dhaka - Facts and Factoids

• Dhaka officially became the capital of independent Bangladesh in 1971 following its long history as a provincial capital under both Mughal and British rule.
• The Greater Built-up Urban Area of Dhaka is home to 36.6 million people. This ranks Dhaka as the second-most populous city in the world, trailing only Jakarta. Th city proper is home to roughly 11.8 million people. Dhaka is widely considered to be the most densely populated built-up urban area on Earth, with densities exceeding 33,000 people per square kilometre.
• Dhaka functions as the primary economic engine and financial centre of Bangladesh, heavily driven by the garment manufacturing, textile, and commerce industries. Dhaka was globally renowned during the Mughal era for producing Dhakai Muslin, an extraordinarily fine fabric that was so delicate an entire dress could allegedly fit inside a small matchbox.
• The city holds the historic nickname of the 'City of Mosques', because thousands of historic and modern Islamic architectural structures are scattered across its neighbourhoods.
• It is widely recognized as the rickshaw capital of the world, with hundreds of thousands of colourful cycle rickshaws doubling as moving art galleries, because local craftsmen cover the backboards in a distinct, vibrant folk-art style.
• The city boasts a highly celebrated street food culture centered around Old Dhaka, where vendors serve legendary local staples like spicy Chotpoti chickpea bowls, crispy Fuchka, and slow-cooked Kacchi Biryani.
• There is a stark contrast between the chaotic, narrow maze of historic Old Dhaka and the hyper-modern, upscale high-rises of northern districts like Gulshan and Banani.

Colonial Dhaka

Nevertheless, we also fit in a tour of modern and colonial Dhaka, before the sun goes down. The Curzon Hall is a grandly minareted red brick British Raj-era building, The building was originally intended to be a town hall and is named after Lord Curzon, the Viceroy of India, who laid its foundation stone in 1904. It's now part of the Faculty of Sciences at the University of Dhaka.

There's also the very pink nineteenth-century Ahsan Manzil, the official residential palace and seat of the Nawab of Dhaka, on the the bustling banks of the Buriganga River in Old Dhaka at Kumartoli. Unsurprisingly, it's known as 'The Pink Palace', blending Indo-Saracenic and European architectural design elements and showcasing grand staircases, columned verandas, and triple-arched portals It's now a national museum, housing dozens of exhibition rooms filled with historical oil paintings, furniture, and personal artifacts from the Nawabs' daily lives.

Lalbagh Fort

Lalbagh Fort is an incomplete seventeenth-century Mughal fort complex, with some pretty gardens, also on the Buriganga River, in the southwestern part of Dhaka.Mughal Prince Muhammad Azam Shah began construction of the fort, in 1678, during his tenure as the vice-roy of Bengal. But construction halted permanently when the daughter of the subsequent governor, Shaista Khan, died suddenly, within the complex. He decided this was an unlucky omen for the building.

The grounds feature three major architectural monuments, which include the elegant Tomb of Pari Bibi, the three-domed Lalbagh Fort Mosque, and the Diwan-i-Aam audience hall. Today, the fort is a popular public park, with beautifully manicured Mughal-style gardens and water channels..

Wandering here, Atik ventures the opinion that British colonialism was oppressive and we should give the Kohinoor diamond back. Interestingly, however, he adds that the British are viewed as being very intelligent and if you do something well, the locals say you are being British.

Modern Dhaka

More recent architecture houses the National Liberation Museum and the National Assembly Building (glimpsed through iron railings). After visiting the museum, I’m none the wiser still, about the history of the war with Pakistan and India’s involvement. Gallery 1, with the introductions, is closed for refurbishment and the English translation in the other galleries is really poor. What I can read is hugely biased (as one would expect) and immensely hysterical in tone. I shall have to do my own research, but the stories of those who died and the accompanying artefacts are incredibly moving.

A Tourist in Dhaka

When the mist lifts, Dhaka is exceptionally colourful. There are a range of hats and beards, many of the latter dyed with henna. And the women are gorgeous and elegant in their silk saris and salwar chemises. We hop on a cycle rickshaw ourselves, when the traffic round the van comes to a dead halt. Atik apologises, but I say it’s mandatory that we give one a go in any case. The sheer terror of executing a U turn in the face of oncoming traffic is an unmissable experience.

Throughout, I’m treated like the queen. Everyone stares, but is very friendly, calls out, wants a selfie, or poses for me to take their picture. There are no other tourists at all, that I can see. The world wide web tells me that the people of Bangladesh seldom smile. This is not because they are unfriendly, but because smiling  is considered a sign of immaturity.

The World's Second Least Liveable City

Back in my comfortable western style hotel I’m coughing and sneezing. Welcome to the traffic and pollution of Dhaka. Dhaka is the world's second least liveable city, behind only war-torn Damascus, according to The Economist.

Bang-ladesh - They're Right About the Accident Rate

On my final day, after touring North-west Bangladesh and the Sundarbans, driver Ekram and Akit want to take me to the big vegetable market. They are very keen, even though my programme has actually finished. This involves leaving at seven in the morning, so the roads are relatively clear. I’m wishing someone had pointed this out earlier in the trip. Getting up early is a sacrifice worth making, under these circumstances. However, my musings are brought to an abrupt halt, as we are hit by a bus.

I’m convinced my time is up, as I see the bus heading straight for me. My life doesn’t flash through my head and nothing goes in slow motion. It’s all fairy tales. I just think ‘This is it’ and then the bus veers and goes into us, just behind me. So, I’m very lucky - only bruised and very shocked, I think. The side of the van is caved in and the windows are completely shattered. The bus driver has run away, in case he gets lynched. This is Bangladesh, where life is cheap. The bystanders (and other occupants) are far more interested in the van and police reports than in whether everyone is okay. The local tour office manager turns up and doesn’t even address me. Poor Ekram is bemused. He’s never had an accident before, which is some accomplishment here. I return to the hotel in an Uber car and soothe myself with French toast and tea. I don’t think I will be going out again today, until it’s time for my flight to Kolkata and the Andamans.

(Or read more about Bangladesh here.)