Goodbye to India

Well I survived India. Against all odds. After breakfast, we hopped into a hotel car and off to the airport. And a very nice airport it is. HUGE. Sarah is enjoying the duty free shops, but our gate is 15 minutes away. Yes. Fifteen minutes! See why?

A painless flight and we are in Dhaka.

Back to the old buses blocking the roads. I wonder if the Delhi traffic was better because they now have a workable rail/subway system, compliments of the Commonwealth Games. If the public transport users have the choice of rail, perhaps the result is fewer busses to clog the arteries.

Remember I said that it is now illegal to travel on the roof of a bus in India? Well, obviously that memo never got to Bangladesh.

I'm sorry but saying it doesn't make it true.
Yeah? Nah!

And yes, they are touching.

There clearly is a difference between the driving in India and in Bangladesh.
Every car will have some kind of a ding in India, that's a given. But nothing like the demolition derby that these buses endure every day.
Sure, there is the train to reduce the traffic, but there is something else.
In India, they create the extra lanes, they duck and dive around without warning, but it works. The traffic moves. It's almost like some kind of a fluid dance. Ever seen a video of blood or any bodily fluid at a microscopic level? The particles wriggle past each other like rush hour at Grand Central Station. Not too many collisions, they each play their part in the dance.

Not so much in Bangladesh. I once said that a Japanese video game designer should come here and put a camera on the bonnet of their car, and just drive through town. Forget guns and explosions in the car chase games. "Driving in Dhaka" would be an adrenalin overload.

Fit in that gap, get past that bus, don't let the baby taxi cut you off, those kids will get out of the way, ignore the rickshaws to your left. Drive up on that footpath. Phew! What a rush.

The drive from the airport to Sarah's mums place takes over an hour. We do it later at midnight, 10 minutes. Yes, ten!



Now for a different subject, this is how you chicken is delivered. Fresh fresh.

But if you want your chicken from the supermarket...



No, that is not quail. That's a chicken in this part of the world. Can you see why "authentic" Indian curry always has the bone in? There would be nothing left for the pot!