However, when we tried to make transportation arrangements, all of our attempts to "bum a ride" fell through. We were left with the options that required we PAY! Oh, dear. We were not keen on the idea of calling the taxi driver again -- since he had to drive both TO and FROM Malumghat to pick us up, that ended up costing around fifty dollars!! So, we decided to brave the Bangladeshi public transportation system... sort of.
Since this was the first time we had decided to travel by bus, I put off the process as long as possible! It ended up that all we had to do to get our tickets was give our names and the dates we wanted to travel to the guys who work in the office. I think they may have had to actually go to the ticketing office of the Green Line Bus company to make the purchase. Whatever the case, our tickets were ready for us to pick up next day. When I mentioned our travel plans to our cook, he was very concerned that all the arrangements were made correctly and that we knew where to go and what to expect. He takes such good care of us!
Today we were packed and ready to go in plenty of time to get to the station. When we got downstairs, we discovered that our cook had not gone home yet and was manning the front gate for a few minutes. He offered to hail a baby-taxi for us, and then loaded our bags and gave our driver detailed instructions regarding where to drop us off. I guess they weren't quite detailed enough, though. When we arrived at the "bus station" part of town, the driver started to glance questioningly at us, where did we want to be dropped off. Thanking God for some signs being in English, we chose the first "Green Line" storefront that we saw. Oops! Inside, the man at the desk glanced at our tickets and told us we needed to go further down the street. I suspect that was the purchasing office or some such. When the poor man saw my bewildered look, he sent an employee with us show us where the other office was.
It was a good thing, too!! A slightly built Bangladeshi young man led the way down the sidewalk (I use that term loosely...), with these two "bideshi" girls following, hefting our small but quickly-growing-heavier suitcases. Rolling them was NOT an option as we shifted from sidewalk to street and back, dodging coffee-table-sized holes in the pavement, rickshaws, baby-taxies, and other pedestrians. It was far enough to the station waiting room that we realized we probably never would have found it on our own. Once we arrived though, the young man glanced at our tickets and told us to take a seat. We were in plenty of time.
The waiting room was spacious and air conditioned, with floor-to-ceiling windows all along the front. We chose a short section of seats along one side, from which we could people-watch and talk without being joined by any... overly-enthusiastic-and-friendly men. After about thirty minutes, an employee made an announcement over the loudspeakers... in Bangla. We were able to catch the bus number and the destination -- it was ours. Following the crowd outside, we dropped off our luggage to be stowed under the bus (I had been assured it was safe on this quality of bus line) and found our seats inside.
Now, let me explain... this was NOT a run-of-the-mill Bangladeshi bus. As with many things in Bangladesh, buses come in shapes, sizes, comfort, and prices to suit everyone. This type of bus is what is widely known here as an "A/C bus", meaning air-conditioned. Since the temps this week have been hovering around 100 every afternoon, and since it was our first time, we opted for this type. As far as we could tell, we were the only foreigners on the bus -- there were a few well-dressed ladies and many businessmen. These are the strata of Bangladeshi's who can afford this mode of travel. Our driver was a quite thin man with a "scraggly" beard, wearing a turban. There were also two young men with him: one seemed to be a "steward" of sorts, able to speak some English and whose job it was to facilitate the needs of the passengers. His white button-down shirt and black jeans looked like he had stepped out of a fashion magazine! His co-hort was a few years younger (probably late teens), and seemed to be an assistant and particularly involved in managing luggage.
As soon as we got underway, the steward began to make the rounds collecting tickets, and asked if we were going to the final destination of this bus-run -- Cox's Bazar. I'm not sure if he suspected we would need to get off early, or if wanted to make sure we were on the right bus. Nevertheless, once we explained that we needed to get off early, he nodded and moved on to take care of the rest of the bus passengers. And that's the last we heard from him for a while...
Our driver was amazing, I have to say. This bus was a normal, comfortable-by-any-standards bus. It had two seats on either side, and an aisle between. There were probably twenty rows. And this man was driving through Chittagong rush-hour traffic!! I know that he maneuvered several times within 3-6 inches of concrete barriers and other vehicles. At one point I saw him stick his head out the window so he could see better whether he had room to squeeze by! In and out he wove, blasting his horn at irregular and mind-grating intervals.
Once we got out of town, we settled into the rhythm of traffic here in Bangladesh. I cannot take time here to try to explain traffic here to you. Suffice it to say that I get motion-sick if I do anything other than watch the road. And that once you experience it, you understand why it takes 3-5 hours to travel the 50 miles from Chittagong to Malumghat. Anyway, we spent our time chatting and laughing, as girls are wont to do. Until about one hour into our trip, the bus pulled off the road and passengers began to get down. Now, we weren't anywhere in particular. There were a few very primitive shops nearby, but nothing that would attract over half of our fellow passengers! We decided to take our cue from the ladies sitting in front of us, until a man asked if we needed help. We told him we were just wondering if we were supposed to get down, to which he replied that they had stopped for the evening Islamic prayers at the nearby mosque. Fifteen minutes or so later, everyone had re-boarded the bus and we were on our way again.
As the time drifted by, we alternated between sipping water and sharing snacks, talking about this-and-that, and fretting that the "steward" had forgotten where we were supposed to get off. Without road-signs stating how many miles it is to a destination, all we had to go on was our memories (foggy at best) and the time. When they made a twenty minute stop at a rest station we had been to before, we knew we were almost there. We climbed down from the frigid bus interior, where they had had the A/C going full-blast, into the still 90-degree-plus and humid night. As we thawed and waited on our fellow passengers, we couldn't help but laugh at the condensation that was streaming down every window around the bus!
Eagerly, we watched every landmark of this last stretch, several times SURE that we had missed our stop. Instead, the bus began to slow and Kathleen could overhear the steward tell the driver something about "bideshis" (foreigners) and "the hospital". As soon as the bus had stopped, he stepped back to tell us this was our stop -- just alongside the road, nothing official about it! -- and then he and his assistant helped us find and extricate our bags. As the bus pulled away, we had only to cross the street and hike up the long drive of the hospital compound -- a welcome task as we thawed and stretched. Yep, we'll be doing that again. This is the way to travel!
** Approximate price of a one-way ticket, fifty miles: $8.50. Bus left slightly late, but even with the stop, made the trip in just over 4 hours. Even if you leave super-early, it takes 2 1/2 to 3 hours in a private car.
*** Pics below we're actually taken on our return trip. The bus was quite modern, though perhaps not in the best repair. I was amused when I noticed that they had rigged the horn similar to an "easy button", but that the speedometer didn't work at all!! Yep, this is Bangladesh.
