Friday 1st February - Could have been worse

Having got to the stage where dinner cannot be spun out any longer it is time to head to the railway station. This entails a ten minute stroll down the street with our bags. There is a bit of a crowd at the station but we manage to secure a seat for R from where she can guard the luggage. D attempts to get guidance as to where our coach might be when the train arrives from Sylhet. The man in the ticket office grunts and waves in the direction of the solitary platform. D looks elsewhere. There is a door that has a notice in English - " Admittance Prohibited" - but there is a man at a desk inside. He is concentrating intently on transcribing figures from dockets of some type onto a list, apparently unaware of D's presence. Someone else opens the door rather noisily and fires a question at the man behind the desk. He answers and notices D. His English is quite good and he gives D the precise spot that we will need to be at when the train arrives.

Apart from the prohibition notice there is not a word of English to be seen. We have around two hours until our train is due and it is getting a little chilly. A man appears from somewhere and strikes a previously unobserved bell with a single stroke. We are unsure whether this is of religious or operational significance but around ten minutes later a loco draws in from the Sylhet direction pulling four very dilapidated coaches. A waiting passenger tells us that the train is heading for Akola but how he knows that we cannot tell. Nobody seems to get on or get off and after a couple of minutes the train moves on.

At some point a previously locked door has become unlocked. Inside there are some velour covered sofas and armchairs. The only occupants are two young men so we decide to move in out of the cold. One of them has good English and after asking about us and our visit, explains that he and his companion are civil servants returning home to Chittagong on leave. The room we are in is reserved for officials but he doesn't seem to think that we should be evicted. The Chittagong train is due an hour before ours but in the event arrives 30 minutes late, having been announced by a single toll of the bell.

The two officials depart and a few other people occupy our small haven of comfort. As we have had no information to say that our train will be late we gather our bags and move to the appointed place on the platform. There is some kind of announcement on the PA system but we cannot make out a word. D asks a chap bundling packages together if it was about the Dhaka train. "Yes. 5 or 10 minutes". Then the bell tolls and there is the sound of a not so distant loco hooter. The platform suddenly comes alive with people who want to look at our ticket and then indicate to us to stay put.

When the train comes to a halt we are alongside an AC coach. This we know because it has glass windows rather than shutters. At the door is an attendant who checks our ticket and leads us along the corridor to our compartment. The good news is that we have a two berth coupe, not so good is that it is the grubbiest compartment we have ever seen. We are both all in and quickly find our sleeping bag liners and douse the lights. The train pulls away at 00.40, twenty minutes late, and as it picks up speed we get the roughest ride D can remember. The track is jointed and clearly not very level. We are in the centre of the coach, away from the bogies where the ride will be even rougher. The AC is brutally efficient and we can find no way to switch it off. We seem set for a long night.

There is activity in the corridor outside and D consults the Map app on his phone. It is 04.30 and we are just by Dhaka Airport with about half an hour to go. At the terminus D takes the opportunity to get a shot of some mixed gauge pointwork. This is the highlight of the early morning. Things go downhill from here. The station facilities are locked up, there are massive queues at the ticket counters and the ATM D was going to use is closed. D decides that we will walk to the hotel which turns out to be further than it seemed to be last week. When we get to the hotel the shutters are down. Oh poo!

As we stand on the pavement wondering what to do next one of the hotel security guards bids us Good Morning. We ask if it is possible to access the hotel and he takes us up the steps where he bangs on the shutters. His colleague inside opens up and we pass our bags through the scanners. At reception on the 11th floor we are greeted and granted use of the facilities. The young man on reception asks for our reservation details and then says he will try to find us a room now. Five minutes later we arrive in our seventh floor Deluxe Double, smaller than the suite, but newly refurbished. By 07.00 we are both sound asleep.

By noon we have resurfaced so D sets out to find a laundry and get some cash. Today is Friday in a Muslim country and most places are shut but at least the ATM has been unlocked. The two nearest laundries are closed but D finds another one who claim it will take until Monday to do the job. Perhaps they are Christian. This makes some home laundry necessary. Luckily we are carrying the wherewithal from a previous trip to India. We also need to carry out a couple of running repairs on our luggage.

We are just starting to think about breakfast when a man knocks on the door and hands in a plate with two apples and two bananas on it. What a wonderful hotel. You can tell that we did not enjoy last night's train trip as we spend some time discussing the options of taking the bus or a plane instead of our as yet unbooked third train. D tries and fails to register with the Bangladesh Railways on line ticketing service. In the end we decide that the train works best from the use of time angle and D sets out to tackle the queues at the station.

Outside the hotel a cycle rickshaw driver is keen to do business. A price to the station is agreed and we set off. The driver has no real English but tries to persuade D to spend extra and turn the errand into a sightseeing tour of numerous places that he has never heard of. D insists on the station and mentions tickets which brings in a new line of attack. He will wait at the station then take D back to the hotel for only twice the agreed single fare. Deal.

At the station he ignores the Police line and rides into the vehicle free area. Pulling up he points at a counter, not obviously part of the booking office. D has written down his requirement on a piece of paper. A man looks and says " Not here. Outside, window number 4". This is a stroke of luck as D can recognise a Bangla four, which looks just like a real money 8. The queue is not too bad and the transaction goes smoothly. Ricky the rickshaw man has earned himself a bonus.

Back at base R has used the time to catch up on more sleep. Her fall and a miserable night's sleep on the train must have taken more out than we realised. D prepares to have the past 36 hours cast up against him sine die. We do summon up the energy to go out to eat at Bhoj which is just as good as last week. As we leave and return to the hotel Ricky greets us enthusiastically, hoping for another lucrative gig.