Dhaka Carnival

February 23, 2013

dk290I was thinking of Herbert Money this evening as I picked my way through the smokey warm dark evening of a boisterous Dhaka street. He wrote home in 1927 from Peru recounting his delight at being witness to a revolution in the streets as a President was told he was no longer needed. Actually I think in that case El Presidente was shot. Tonight this place is in an uproar and I know Herbert would love being out here with me.  However by the time I was heading home the police were standing down, taking their grenade launchers, shotguns and assault rifles home. Along with small packets of dinner of course. No point in being out here if you have to go home to cook I guess.

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Listening to the Rice Grow

February 6, 2013

v290Apparently the French had a saying that went something like “the Vietnamese sow rice, the Cambodians watch it grow, the Laotians listen to it grow.” I think they were onto something there. This place is nothing like any other Asian city I have been to. It’s actually not a city in that sense and long may it stay that way. More like a big country town. And very atypical if you have any familiarity with Asian infrastructure. The “cable index” is off the chart here – fibre optic and phone cables nicely hung and untangled (mostly).  It’s a clean town and the pace is well, one of listening rather than planting. Read more