Tearing the space-time continuum

Between Wednesday and Thursday, I managed to leap 500 years and several thousand miles in the space time continuum. Although physically, the distance travelled was only about 150 km, my voyage from a village somewhere outside of Mymensingh, Bangladesh to a jazz concert inside a vietnamese restaurant in Dhaka was a mind bender.

To get to said village, I drove 4 hours to Mymensingh, only to learn that the village was difficult to access, and would be nearly impossible for me alone, as deemed by my self appointed 'handlers'. It was not accessible by road at all, and required 2 boats and some healthy walking to get to. So began the journey. After arriving at the nearest bazaar, my driver and I walked maybe a mile or so, over sand and dirt, through rice paddies and cow grazing land, to arrive at the river. There, we found a man with a sail boat. While sailboat is the technically correct term, this vessel was a long bamboo and wood canoe, with a bamboo pole sticking up out of it. Attached to this mast was the sail - 4 jute rice sacks, cut open and stitched together - with one length of bamboo horizontally across the bottom, and one diagonally from the mast/bottom rod junction to top of sail. The sail was the responsibility of the passengers, since the boatman was in charge of steering. So, someone grabbed a little string tied to the sail and pulled it until some wind was caught. Thus did I cross 1 part of the mighty Brahmaputra river. Then we arrived at an island, so I got out, walked across the uninhabited island, and waited at the other side for the next boat. Unfortunately for us, it was busy ferrying a man with his banana haul, so this took a long time. Another sail boat ride later, I climbed a steep bank, was handed off to the next handler, and began a healthy walk around my village destination. I later learned that this village was built on 'reclaimed' land - land that used to be under water until some dams were built in India and water levels fell - so it was a highly undesirable location inhabited by very poor people. There was no electricity in the entire village and no rickshaw transportation. There was, however, a madrassah.

The return voyage, plus an over 5 hour car trip, was torturous. And interrupted by a pause for namaaz, another to purchase sugar cane juice, and a third to purchase the little fried treats that the driver needed in order to break his ramadan fast, at exactly 7:13pm.

And then there was Thursday. A walk through my posh neighborhood to Le Saigon, the empty vietnamese restaurant with a secret upstairs lounge. We opened the door to reveal a room packed with tables full of foreigners, and covered in bottles. Of Wine. of Beer. of Booze.

The buffet dinner included baguette, rice, indian chinese chicken, moussaka, and potato salad. Women were wearing sundresses, and background music included Funky Comedina. Then began the show. Jazzy Chopsticks, a band comprised of a German saxophonist, a Philippino vocalist, and 3 Bangladeshi musicians on the keys, drums and bass. With a smoke machine, and flashing green strobe, and lazar light effects appropriate for a rave or techno trance club. It was like being on a cruise ship, being sat at a table with strangers, watching an ok, but good for the moment show, eating wierd combinations of food.

Is this what to expect of expat life? If so, I must ready my mind for further leaps through time and space. And make sure my wardrobe can follow.