Bangla rash i Kuala Lumpur

A short Easter break took us to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, last week.

The decision of our destination was made very randomly. One of my colleagues  - yes, I'm a working girl now - showed pictures of Kuala Lumpur and I was immediately sold. 

Urban, clean and organized. More sterile than Bangkok, less expensive than Singapore.

The most fascinating was, however, the versatility of the city. 

The streets were full of totally covered women but also tourists wearing next to nothing. It seemed that all colors, races and religions formed a functional mix.

Of course, there are tensions under the surface. Malaysia  is a multiracial society with a good half of the population Malays, almost quarter Chinese and round ten per cent Indians. Muslims, hindus, wealth worshippers, non-believers.

Tourism is the country's third largest source of income. 

I don't know what is happening with me but it seems  that Dhaka is getting under my skin, a serious case of Bangla rash.

Instead of just enjoying a long weekend with delicious food in Kuala Lumpur I was constantly thinking of different solutions for Bangladesh. Could this be possible in Dhaka? Why is this not done in Bangladesh? How can we (did I just say we) solve this?

The attractions in Kuala Lumpur are as versatile as the the city itself.  The Petronas Twin Towers were majestetic night and day. The endless shopping centers were many and busy. The streets were clean, traffic controlled.

Just outside the city center is a paradise for a flower lover: a park full of orchids, hibiscus and floral tranquility. 

We also visited a butterfly park (beautiful but very warm) and a bird park (too many birds are actually scary). 

Dhaka Tea Party

 Tea stalls are the Bangladeshi variant of sidewalk cafees. 

Instead of coffee, the stalls sell tea and insted of sitting on a chair,  customers either squat, sit on wooden benches or stand.

Rest rooms are simply an open sewage always close by.

The menu is quite identical in most places: tea, biscuits, cakes, cigarrettes, bananas and paan (green leaves filled with tobacco and spices). 

From a foreigner's view, the prices are rather low: tea with milk and sugar costs about six taka (seven cents), a cake seven taka. 

The more established tea stalls cook water in large pots and wash tea glasses in small buckets. 

These stalls are covered with a cloth or a roof which gives both shade and protects from rain.

The "mobile" stall  is actually one man carrying hot water in thermos bottles and the rest of the merchandise in his hands or on top of his head. When he finds a suitable location for his business, he simply squats down, and the cafe is open.

Most of the customers are men. They hang around, drink tea, smoke, chew paan and talk. I have been told that tea stalls are the place for gossip and political debates.

Dhaka has a couple of "Western" cafees, too. They are mostly frequented by foreigners (in shabby outfits) and rich dhakaites (all dressed up). 

Out of security reasons, there are no sidewalk cafees where one could sit and do serious people watching. 

The most Western at these places are the prices - a cup of tea can cost as much as a rickshaw puller earns during a successful day.

Flower Power

 

A confession first: I am crazy about flowers. 

I buy flowers when I'm sad, I buy flowers when I'm happy, I buy flowers when it's Monday and when it's not Tuesday.

During years, a remarkable amount of our disposable income has gone to seeds, plants, bouquets, roses, tulips, daffodils.

Thus, it's not a surprise that very soon after our arrival in Dhaka last August I found my flower man.

He usually sells me ten roses for 600 taka, round seven euros. He always adds a couple of "complimentary roses only for Madam" and smiles a lot. 

Now I know why.

This weekend we visited Shadullapur's area, about an hour's drive from Dhaka, to see rose farms. I was told that they cultivate a lot of roses there.

A lot was actually an insult. 

We saw millions and millions of roses. Small fields, bigger fields and very large fields. 

Every night farmers cut flowers and transport them to wholesale markets where they are further sold to retailers and finally to me, for example. 

By my flower guy.

Acoording to the rose farmer we met, the flower business has become much more profitable than vegetable business. 

The "rose index" is a clear sign that the Bangladeshi middle class is growing and people can afford to buy flowers for celebrations and parties. 

The farmer told - through our driver as an interpreter - that the winter time was very lucrative. The flowers were in perfect shape, the demand high because of the wedding season and Valentine's day, and the prices were high.

The warm weather has now had an effect on the posture of the roses. They are less crispy and cheaper.

I bought a large bunch of about hundred roses. The farmer asked for 400 taka, we paid 500 (about six euros). Everybody was smiling.

A celebration of colors

Most female foreigners staying in Bangladesh for a longer period of time buy a saree sooner or later. 

In my case later. 

I would probably have postponed the purchase even longer if my dear friends hadn't invited me to a tour to Narsingdi on Friday. 

Narsingdi is good hour's drive from Dhaka and the place is one of the largest textile markets in Bangladesh.

The whole are is dominated by textile industries. Textile mills, dying and embroidery houses are situated close to Narsingdi. The road sides are decorated with freshly dyed textiles in clothes lines.

The bazaar like market is a visual symphony of silk, cotton and glitter. 

The narrow paths between the thousands of small stores were packed with people carrying piles of textiles in all possible colors, towels, blankets, bedding. 

It was hot, dusty and absolutely fabulous.

The market is for whole sales but the store owners wholeheartedly helped retail customers too. 

Like always, we as Western women were a big attraction and were followed by a crowd of "assistants" giving advice on styles and bargaining.

The huge selection was the problem. How could I find my piece of saree in this place which has textiles to cover the distance to Moon and back, three times?

But miracles happen. In one of the stores, a perfect piece of eight meters of green silk was winking to me, calling my name. 

Love at first sight. 

Now I am just waiting for an invitation from the President, Prime Minister og anybody in order to wear my gorgeous outfit.