Wild encounters in Bangladesh: from the cacophony of Dhaka to chasing tigers in the Sundarbans
Be it the chaos of the country’s capital or the serene Unesco-listed mangrove forest, Bangladesh is a land of contrasts, the writer discovers, as he helps himself to fiery fritters and seven-layer tea along the way
Dhaka is not for the faint-hearted. The Bangladeshi capital is an overcrowded, noisy, steamy assault on the senses – a riot of colour, rickshaw-driver-pick-me imprecation, the smell of dopiaza curry and balls of fried vegetable bhaji (fritters) and the roar of flame beneath giant galvanised kettles of cha.
And then there’s the traffic; our hotel is in upmarket Gulshan, about 10km north of Old Dhaka. When I ask the concierge for a taxi to the old town, he says the journey will take two hours. I assume he has misheard.
He hadn’t. Dhaka has no MTR equivalent, so most journeys in this city of 15 million people are taken by road, in a frenzy. Our taxi edges into the flurry of cars, rickshaws and wooden carts piled with bundles of cloth pushed by barefoot merchants. Children dodge bonnets and the occasional goat before banging on car windows to attract attention to whatever it is they are trying to sell: popcorn, jaggery date palm fudge or balloons.
There are no traffic lights in Dhaka, no “After you, please”, just policemen ineffectually waving sticks and blowing whistles at crossroads while the traffic pushes and bumps its way around them. And it really does bump – a gentle nudge is acceptable and it’s rare to see a vehicle with an undamaged bumper or a full set of intact lights.