Friday 25th January - Are you a Foreigner?

Medical bulletin - R is recovering well. Even the bruise on her knee is subsiding, which is just as well as there is a plan for this morning. No Garlic Prawns on offer for breakfast today, just Cheaf Special Mattan. After getting togged up in the bird watching gear D gets online to order an Uber. This appears to be the only cab hailing app that is available in Dhaka. The app sends us a registration number to watch for but plates here have Bengali numerals so we are no wiser. The hotel security man takes charge and our ride turns up promptly in a slightly battered Toyota. He has no English but D compares screens and the destination is agreed. The traffic is much quieter at 08.30 and possibly Friday makes a difference.

We make good time on the 10km ride out of the city. The Botanical Gardens and the Zoo are next door to each other but the former is our target.  The guide book suggests that foreigners pay 10x the local rate but we are charged just 20 BDTakas each, around 20p. He is even happy to give change for a 1000 note. It doesn't seem very busy inside but we haven't gone 50 yards before we get asked for 'Just one selfie'. We pose for that and then turn off the main drag. There are birds everywhere. Mainly old favourites such as Bulbuls, Oriental Magpie Robins and Bee-eaters. A reasonable sighting of a bright yellow Black Hooded Oriole follows. There are a couple of others that we cannot identify as we complete a circuit of a small lake and peer into a large rose garden that is apparently not open to the public. Plenty of homework to do with the bird book tonight.

There is another gate where our tickets are checked again. Apparently we have spent the last hour in some kind of buffer zone. We still saw more birds in that time than we did in three weeks in Vietnam. D spots the Oriole again and tries for better pictures. While he does this a local family stop and a small boy asks R in impeccable English 'Are you a Foreigner?'. Quick as a flash she responds with ' Yes I am here but not in Scotland'. Small boy's father then explains about the UK and it's constituent nations, only missing Wales out of the mix. We part amicably.

Once again we turn off the main footpath and wander the brick paths through the trees, stopping to watch the birds from time to time. The benches in the quieter areas of the park are occupied by young couples. R's guess is that they are avoiding mother in law.  A few times we see groups of two young men and a girl. Maybe boyfriend and her brother as chaperone?

Both the temperature and the noise levels start to rise.  There is a game of cricket squeezed in between the trees. D has great difficulty in persuading them to play on so he can take a photo. We find a bench in the shade, overlooking a pool from where R spots a large bird perched at the top of a tree. At first we think it is a Shikra, a bird of prey, but the beak is wrong. Then we hear its very distinctive call and know that it is a Brain Fever Bird, more properly known as a Common Hawk Cuckoo. We have heard these before but never spotted one.

We come across a group with very serious cameras and lenses indeed. They are under a tree which audibly contains a woodpecker whilst looking upwards. D asks if they can see the bird and they point to a branch not very far up the tree. It is a Fulvous Breasted Woodpecker, quite small, but making a real racket by hammering its beak against the branch. It is the closest we have ever got to a Woodpecker but it seems totally unperturbed.

Further along the shore of another lake there is some kind of viewing platform. It is locked off. A large group of very well dressed men and women approach from the other direction. We wish them Good Morning and D falls into conversation with a man who speaks excellent English. After the usual chit chat and pleasantries he tells D that he is the Secretary of the Ministry of Religious Affairs. Hence the entourage including an extremely smart policeman. R talks to one of the ladies in the group who remarks on how polite we are as we part. If only they knew. 

Back at the entrance things are much busier than when we arrived. A taxi driver approaches us but wants a small fortune. D agrees a fare with a CNG driver to take us to the National Museum, a landmark within walking distance of the hotel. He drives like Fangio on speed and views having to stop as a personal affront. He leaves us outside the Museum where we are approached by an earnest young man handing out leaflets for a calligraphy exhibition in the Museum that starts tomorrow. Assuring him of our interest we set out to cross the road. He pursues us to give each what appears to be an invitation card. The only words of English read 'Media Partner' so we have no idea what it is about.

As we part again to cross the road he wishes us Good Luck. Compared with most roads in Dhaka it doesn't look too formidable but we do take extra care. On the far side is a flower market. R admires some blooms and the stall holder presents her with a rose. Diving into a small cafe for a cold drink, R attempts to leave the rose behind but is thwarted by the eagle eyed staff. Our route home takes us through the park we were evicted from yesterday, definitely worth the effort of visiting, as R spots our first Kingfisher of this trip.

After the exertions of the morning a lazy afternoon sorting our laundry is in order, after which we decant ourselves for complementary High Tea. As old hands we pass on the comestibles and just enjoy a cup of tea each while sorting today's photos. So far our culinary excursions have not been very Bengali but that is put right this evening. Lonely Planet recommends a basic restaurant around ten minutes walk away. The directions involve first finding a cinema and then looking down the adjacent lane for the Dhaka Roti House, a no frills kebab place. We surprise ourselves by finding it no bother and we are welcomed and seated toot sweet. The man in charge quickly talks us through the menu. There is nothing written.

We think we have ordered mutton kebabs, rice and roti washed down with Sprite. We dare not risk the alternative which is tap water. When the food appears, only minutes later, we have kebab, rice, dal, mixed veg and some king of cucumber salad. But no roti. Our meal is delicious and there is plenty of it, not quite a Burns Supper but a more than adequate substitute. The bill also gladdens a Yorkshire miser's frosty soul. Eating here not only saves money but time. We are in and out in less than half an hour and find ourselves with a free evening. After contemplating the cinema we opt out on the grounds that we don't like the look of any of the characters in the main feature. A gentle perambulation along the boulevards of Central Dhaka must suffice for us.