Thursday 24th January - Close Encounter of the PM Kind

We surprise ourselves by sleeping right through. The morning is a little misty but this soon clears. Breakfast is a buffet with one or two surprises such as Szechuan chilli soup and garlic prawns. We are only on day 2 here so we pass on the exotics and go for boiled eggs and parathas. Uninspired was the verdict although the staff were polite and attentive. The first job for today is to visit the relocated BIWTC office to secure boat tickets. We have an address and Google Maps so there should be no problems here. It is just over a mile away so we set out on foot as the morning warms up. The mapping system suggests that we can cut through a park en route. This is quite a large expanse of trees and scrubby grass with a few flower beds dotted about.

The paths are well paved and shady as well as being totally traffic free. Two hundred yards into this paradise we are faced by a line of uniformed men with rifles who motion us to turn round and retrace our steps. We leave the park and start walking along the pavement outside the fence. Again we see a line of tooled up rozzers ahead turning people back. The locals are crossing the street and it appears that access along the pavement on that side is still happening. The centre of the no go zone appears to be the Intercontinental Hotel but there is no clue about why. It seems a bit early in the morning for it to be Happy Hour.

D makes good progress along this side until it dawns on him that R is missing. She turns up covered in dust and bruises having tripped full length on some concrete and reinforcing bar sticking out of the pavement. We start to dust her down when a policeman approaches to shoo us back whence we came. D tells him that we must cross the main road by the footbridge. He gives us the OK but says we must hurry. By the time we have descended at the far end the public are being refused access. We head to where we think we are going but get stopped by more coppers who tell us to stand in an alley along with a crowd of locals. One of them tells us that the Prime Minister of Bangladesh is visiting. That would account for the endless motorcade of police and military vehicles heading past. 

Suddenly the locals start moving. We trudge up and down the same hundred yards of pavement without success. We show our piece of paper with the adress to several people, all of who have different ideas about where we should go. Eventually one chap says follow me and takes us to the gate of a compound twenty paces further north than we have been so far. The gatekeeper confirms we are at the right place and points out where we need to go.

The BIWTC booking office is a traditionalist's delight. One elderly man and another not quite as elderly sit behind huge ledgers. They seem pleased to see us and we reciprocate when they confirm that we can book here. We mention our proposed date. No problem. They don't need to look it up. D writes down his name and they leap into action with acres of carbon paper and pins to hold sundry bits of paper together. While they scribe we answer their questions about Scotland and our family. We hand over the fee and depart clutching the precious ticket. Next job is to find a no-win, no-fee lawyer who knows how to take the Dhaka Municipal Pavements Authority to the cleaners.

Maybe not. We find a CNG (local name for auto, tuk tuk etc) to take us back to the hotel so R can get cleaned up. In order to take some painkillers she needs to eat so we head down to the coffee shop where she turns native and orders a chocolate donut.

After this maintenance stop we take another CNG down to Sadarghat, Shaka's river port and part of the Old City. We stroll along the quay until we get to a really smelly bit, then move inland to the wholesale fruit market area. The day's business is largely over and people have time to chat and ask 'What country?' The inner halls are quite cool and shady and the arrays of fruit are mouthwatering. We know most of them but there are lots of a small, green fruit, a bit like a plum. We ask the name but nobody understands the question. They just keep offering us one to eat. So today's Radinja Star Question is "Name this fruit".

We wander northwards through bazaars, alleys, a very pleasant area around a large tank until we hit the bicycle bazaar. Do we really look like we need inner tubes? We have one more visit in mind. This is Bangalore Bazaar, allegedly famous for t shirts. We ask a cycle rickshaw driver who turns us down flat so we start walking. We soon see why he is reluctant. There is just a long line of immobile rickshaws ahead. The guide book says it is quicker to walk in Old Dhaka and they have that right.

The t shirt market is less impressive than we had hoped. By the time we have walked through it we are out of the Old City and the traffic is actually moving. We hail a rickshaw who knows where our hotel is and quotes a price that even D will pay. He earns his fee and a bonus.

Back at base we discover that our room has not yet been made up but we do have an invitation to complimentary 'High Tea' in the coffee shop. When the cleaners arrive we take up this option. The cup of tea is very good, the chicken in a bun is interesting and the deep fried, crispy Madeira cake pretty revolting. Today's step count is 16,000 and we are quite hungry so the cake is a real disappointment.

We make up for it later at a nearby Chinese restaurant on the 14th floor of a tower block. It has good reviews and makes an immediate positive impression. The waiter warns us not to order too many dishes as the portions are big.  He meant huge. We could only manage half of the chicken and corn soup. The Sweet and Sour Phish was divine and the Crab Masala improved no end once the fancy implements arrived.