Something fishy

Chittagong is not what the tour books would describe as a site seeing city. In fact the Bradt guide book says this about Chittagong in the opening few sentences:

"Bangladesh's second city is at first a slap in the face: a teeming mess of highly decorated trucks chock the already polluted air. As a city it has little to offer bar its people, who are renowned for their generous hospitality..."

Enticing? So when the weekend rolls around in these parts, we make our own fun!

A while back, Christa, John and I decided to get up early in the morning to see the fish boats docking and coming in at the port. Unfortunately on the morning we went the tide was too low for the boats to go out to fish, instead the boats were docked and the fishermen were on dry(ish) land mending their nets.

This was in fact the same morning where I felt like a rockstar at the local Cha stand!

So here are some pics from the morning exploring at the fishing port, with no actual fish in sight.

A runner?

Does going for a run three times (in one week!) make you a runner? Oh well, it's pretty momentous for me, so I'm claiming it. I'm now a runner!

My dear friend here, Christa, is my total inspiration. I was whinging to her that I've developed quite a severe rice belly during my 5 months in Bangladesh, (it's not my fault, my colleagues just keep loading my plate and I have no option!) Plus the dodgy footpaths and rickshaw-ing everywhere really doesn't help the cause!

I didn't purposefully exercise for the sake of it at home, but I have realised that the incidental stuff I used to do (netball, dancing, walking places and BIKE CLUB!) meant I was at least a little active.

Fit, gorgeous, yoga instructor Christa, suggested we start running. This would be normal most places in the world. But for women in Bangladesh, it's more than a little shocking! To overcome the heat and general craziness and intense stares of outside in Bangladesh we decided to start running at 6:30am, and Christa had marked out a bit of a 'circuit' on the residential streets of Khulshi, avoiding main roads.

But then the real dilemma came... to orna or not to orna?

It seemed ridiculous at 6:30am to run with a scarf flopping in my face (and I'm not even very practiced at running!) but I have actually never stepped outside in Bangladesh without a second layer of material covering my chest. I know! After much deliberation we decided to embrace our western-ness and go orna-less. Liberation!

All was going well, until I was caught in the rain. My running attire of full length tights and a purple and white loose kameez top that goes to my knees, and yep, it got pretty wet. Now, you can probably imagine what a black bra under a purple kameez looks like. As much as it would add to this story, I decided to spare you a photo. It was ok on the actual run as there weren't many people around, but it was my house guards (who I have to see every time I enter and exit my apartment) I didn't want to shame! So as the guard opened the gate for me, I put my arms across my chest and hurried to the stairs. I'm not quite sure my 70 year old house guard is ready for women's liberation!

But I think this has just confirmed my runner status, what athlete can get through their career without a little bit of scandal? ;)

Being back

Monsoon downpour, at the fishing port in Chittagong

I'm back in Chittagong and feeling refreshed after two weeks away in Beijing and the Mongolian country side. I tell you what, wide open spaces and no people or buildings for miles just does something for a Tasmanian soul!

But as refreshing and amazing as the holiday was, the downside of going away was coming back and seeing Bangladesh again with fresh eyes. Suddenly everything wasn't all new (figuratively, obviously!) and exciting anymore. Where before I thought that having 10 men stop working and take my photo (with their circa 2004 phone cameras) as I walked to work each morning was ego boosting; now, it churns me up that I'm the only woman on the streets, and that's because outside here is the man's domain.

Life in Chittagong is not always easy. The weather is hot and muggy and having my hair touch the back of my neck is often too much! I am constantly reminded of my ethnicity and therefore my wealth and standing in society. As good as it sounds, it can be humiliating to be pushed to the front of a visa queue to be served first simply because of the colour of my skin. I am always being asked for money, and at times I feel lonely even though I'm surrounded my millions of people.

But then something happens, and I'm back and I'm in love again. Like yesterday, a little girl who I didn't know was ridiculously overjoyed to see me when I stood behind her in the line at Khulshi Mart. She giggles and points to her father; "kemon acho" (how are you?) I say, she looses it and can't control her excitement at me as I struck up a simple conversation with her in my very limited Bangla! And suddenly the warmth and openness of the Bengali people flood back into my heart and it gives me tingles.

This land, it's all about the people. And it feels good to be back.