Naming our overnight paddle boat The Rocket was more a case of wishful thinking than anything else.  Built almost 90 years ago, it had carried passengers through the waterways of Bangladesh during the aristocratic days of British colonial rule, through the country’s fragile existence as East Pakistan and then during its tumultuous war for independence.  The Rocket, with its huge slow turning paddle wheels, rusty body and tired interior, had seen it all and now carried us south of Dhaka through the night and into the next day along the endless intertwined waterways that make up southern Bangladesh.

 

The Rocket’s days of glamour and glory were long past but in a Deluxe cabin we spent a comfortable night and woke to the amazing scenes along the river banks of whatever river we were on.  Fishermen were out in their little dugouts throwing nets for their daily catch as women toiled, children played and water buffalo grazed on the muddy banks.  It could be 2012 or 1812 or probably before that, such was the timeless scene.

With great reluctance we left the Rocket at a village called Halur Hat, one of many stops on the Rocket’s itinerary but the best place to get connecting transport to our eventual destination of Mongla.  Unfortunately the day was marked by some political protests which included strikes by all forms of public transport so there were no buses or other viable options for the next leg of our journey.  In the end we teamed up with an American grandfather and a British writer who were both travelling independently on the Rocket also, and the four of us crammed into a tiny auto-rickshaw for the 100 km slow journey to Mongla.

The sardine treatment in the auto-rickshaw was not the best and progress was very slow but the views of the Bengali countryside along the way more than made up for it.  The roads were usually a single lane, some in quite poor condition, and they weaved amongst the beautiful rice fields and fish farms and through tiny villages.  As we passed through people would stare in amazement at the sight of three large foreigners (plus Julie, not so large) and all their bags crammed into this auto-rickshaw.

The traffic in rural Bangladesh was completely different to Dhaka.  Most people travelled by foot, just walking along the road, sometimes with their animals.  Others pedaled their bicycle and of course there were the ubiquitous rickshaws carrying people as well.  There might have been a couple other auto-rickshaws and many large trucks but we could remember seeing only one privately owned car the whole journey.  The locals live a fairly basic life and transport options are very limited and rarely used.

Mongla is a small fishing port on the fringes of the Sundarbans National Park which protects the largest wetlands and mangrove area in the world and is one of Bangladesh’s four UNESCO world heritage locations.  It is also home to the Bengali tiger, a species famous for having quite a taste for humans and happy to indulge their cravings if an unsuspecting fisherman or villager let their guard down.  They are hard to find if they’re not hungry but we were hoping we could spot them without becoming lunch.

That night in the restaurant of our government run hotel we asked the unlikely question about whether they served beer, knowing almost certainly that they would not.  But our waiter leaned over and whispered to us that they could serve us beer as room service for a special price.  So for a very high special price we later had delivered to our room warm Fosters beer – criminal in more ways than one!

 Our team had grown to four as Ray, the American who was the perfect Santa Claus, and Greg, the Brit who was writing and photographing Bangladesh, joined Julie and I on our small boat for a full day excursion into the Sundarbans to hunt for tigers and explore this fascinating eco-system.  It was a fascinating day on the brown muddy water, stopping a few times to walk amongst the mangroves, exploring some narrow channels and generally enjoying the waterways of the region.  Realistically we probably saw a fraction of a fraction of the Sundarbans but we got a taste for it and came to appreciate life on the water. 

We also stopped at a village on the banks of the main channel and walked amongst its very simple huts.  The villagers were incredibly friendly and invited us to sit down for a chat as we tried to imagine what life would be like here in the rainy season when all this dirt would turn to mud.  A number of the ladies were taken by my dashing good looks and made offers to Julie to take me on.  The rare flattery was all going to my head until our local guide told us the village acted as a brothel for the town of Mongla.

 

 

So did we see tigers?  Well….almost, sort of.  During one of our mangrove walks, in which we were accompanied by an armed guard to protect us from large hungry felines, we did see fresh tiger prints in the mud, clear evidence they had been there very recently.  Good enough.

 

 

The next day we said good bye to our new friends Ray and Greg and left the town of Mongla after exploring its main street, dining in its finest eatery and buying delicious sweets from its bakery.  This is a rugged frontier town, a place existing on the fringe of the country for the sole purpose of supporting the port.  It was a busy and fascinating place to explore, made more so by the crowds of locals who wanted to talk to us and follow us everywhere we went.  Brad and Angelina do Mongla!

 

We had organised a proper car (well, a clapped-out old minivan) and driver for the day, first stop the ancient city of Bagerhat, famous for its 15^th century mosques and another of Bangladesh’s UNESCO world heritage locations.  The minivan showed some early mechanical problems as we passed through some villages and there was no certainty we would get to Bagerhat.  But what a place! 

But Bagerhat had more surprises.  We also visited the impressive tomb of Khan Jahan, the Sufi Muslim mystic who built the Shait Gumbad mosque in the 15^th century and three other ancient mosques.  Amongst them was the Nine-Domed Mosque which involved some hunting on our part as it was hidden amongst modest village homes and shady trees, and the Ronvijoypur Mosque with the largest dome in Bangladesh spanning 11 metres.  Very cool.

We drove another two plus hours through open fields and idyllic rural scenes to the large over-crowded western town of Jessore where tourism is not even a distant dream of town planners.  Along the way our driver was stopped at a police check point and despite having done nothing wrong was ‘fined’ by the local policeman – and the money quietly slipped straight into his pocket. 

Despite the grimness of Jessore we enjoyed the afternoon roaming its back streets and dark covered markets, talking to locals and being amazed by the fabric shops with all their bright colours.  Most of the women had their faces covered here but that didn’t stop them staring at us or giggling behind our backs.  It seems we’re famous everywhere we go.

Our transport experiences over the last few days – first the Rocket, then the crowded auto-rickshaw, then the boat trip through the mangroves and finally the failing minivan – all gave us a unique experience in southern Bangladesh and helped us gain a better understanding of how the people live in this amazing place.  But enough of this rural stuff, next stop was the famous Bengali beaches!