New Year, New Challenge, New Continent

Well, it’s travel time again and a first for me, Dhaka in Bangladesh, my 48th country, give or take. And it looks as if I left UK just in time, courtesy of Emirates from Birmingham. I left the day before the first snow came and so there were happily no delays to speak of. By the way, Emirates have got it absolutely spot on. They do two flights a day-600 people- from Birmingham, two from Manchester and one from Glasgow, serving mainly the UK provincial Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi community. On my flight every seat was taken. The same goes at the Dubai end. Once those Indian expats get to Dubai they can choose from 21 airports on the subcontinent. The Dhaka flight (once again twice a day, 600 people was also absolutely full.

It’s 7 years since I visited Dubai airport, my brief stopover before the flight to Dhaka and my goodness how it has changed. I’ve never seen so many shops in an airport nor (more to the point) so many people shopping till they drop.

I added to my portfolio of films watched, more or less the only occasion I ever do, having a notoriously short attention span. Having the opportunity to choose one of 50 films I chose Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, pretty dark and, strangely unfinished.

And then I arrived to the bedlam that is Dhaka. I had a little hors d’oeuvres on the flight with a sense of chaos going on-nobody sitting down for more than a few minutes and all shouting (cheerily) at each other. When the flight landed people were up in a flash, walking down the aisles even when the aircraft was braking on the runway. Chaos at Immigration, chaos at the baggage carousel, a little haven of normality outside the front doors (the reason for all this is a high fence keeping the mass of humanity away from taxis and punters) and then the utter, utter chaos that is Dhaka, cars, buses and three wheeled tuktuks (Filipino word: I will find the Bangladeshi name in due course) all weaving between lanes trying to gain a few cm advantage, beggars at traffic lights staring into the cars longingly, jaywalkers seemingly coming to within a cm of sudden death as they cross the road and above all the cacophonous noise; car horns all the time.

The Civic Inn, my home for the next three weeks, is a little haven of modest civilisation and normality, where I can, if desired, have a mixed grill (but with chicken sausages) and watch the snow in Worcestershire on Sky News. But not much time for that in these frantic first few days of this project.