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  • Writer's pictureVoita

Leaving Dhaka

After a brief morning packing session I hastily head out to the city. I'm on the way shortly after ten, which must be my week's record. I wouldn't be winning any early riser awards here.

on the roll


I called off yesterday's ambition to stream, with the views towards the darkened skies. That left me a last chance today prior to departure from the capital.

Covering 3 miles on a bike takes over an hour, and then breakfast. l'm well aware that starting tomorrow I'll be on the chicken and rice diet, which steers my steps into a familiar bagel cafe.

geocache one and two (DNF)

Banani and Gulshan, northern part of central Dhaka, is where all the expats and local upper class flock. Skyscrapers squished up here cost more than all Bengali family houses combined.

You can tell by the sterility and quietness of the areas, dotted with much livelier patches of greenery.

entering paradise

We covered several parks inside the few hours allowed, before someone somewhere up there made an executive decision to wash the country back into the Bay of Bengal.

That's where are stroll came to an end.

Seizing the opportunity, we spent time reading from a Harry Potter - rationalist fanfic, which constructively and with joy rips apart logic of the original world. It's an unbelievably hilarious read to the point that if you ever come to hear stories of a mad foreigner, laughing out loud in Dhaka, it'd have been me.

"One competent hedge fundie could probably own the whole wizarding world within a week. Harry filed away this notion in case he ever ran out of money, or had a week free." (Chapter 4)

the main avenue

at least in pictures when not on stream

Few hours later, wet as a fish in the water, I made it back to my room. Now came the moment to steel myself for my first trip out of Dhaka. Bohura is a town in the north with two major landmarks located nearby.

The Office employees suggested I head for the nearest bus stop; but that happens to be on the very opposite side of the city, from where I'm trying to go. No bus will be crossing that divide.

But they had a point that trying to cover six miles to the station oriented in the right direction would be akin to a suicide.

That leaves me with a centrally situated bus stand two miles away. Uber, Pathao nor inDrive find any drivers, but in those fifteen minutes of waiting the traffic hasn't moved by a space of a single wheel. But the first mile is in the rain shadow provided by an elevated highway, and I opt in for the fastest transportation method.

Past the train line, crossing of which has been preemptively shut down fifteen minutes prior to the train's passing, traffic is able to breathe an inch. One riksha talks me into getting on. The highway is about to end anyway...

After ten minutes the dude starts progressively increasing the price and so forces me to disembark and leave him with an adequate part of the original cost.

It's raining so hard that the rainproof bag cover I left in Arunachal wouldn't suffice. I miss it all the same...

I reach the bus station twenty minutes later than if I walked the whole way, and as wet.

southern end

I've seen nicer bus terminals in hell

still nothing compared to Guayaquil

Why are all the world's bus stations creepy enough to cheer up Goya?

I drop my efforts to buy a ticket online after the surcharge crawles over 10% of the cost. Proceed to buy it from a quiet booth whose name I recognize from my failed online efforts.

I'm trying to not leave too early; the journey is meant to be between four to eight hours and arriving to a new place is always a drag. I take a half ten departure.

back on the diet

On paper. During a monsoon...

We're rounded up at midnight and led off to a bus. All my plans of bringing cameras up with me are washed away by the wait. Trust others...

No beds; that's inefficient. Seats it is. Gonna be a long night ahead...

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