Weekend memories

This is what I traveled in yesterday on Mirpur road in Dhaka...it's beening heavily raining for three days. Mymensingh was flooded too, and here the sewers flow on the side of the road in open ditches, so the water is probably not the cleanest. If you want to go anywhere you have to walk through several inches/feet of water!

http://www.thedailystar.net/2007/06/11/d7061101011.htm

In fact the whole weekend was rainy. Thursday night was especially noteable - Cicely and I riding back to the guesthouse in a CNG in a downpour after dinner. We mainly laughed as we got soaked from the water leaking in through the open side doors covered with plastic that attempted and failed to keep the rain out. People were trying all sorts of things to go down the roads that became rivers in the downpour: rolling up their pants, covering their heads with plastic (because if your head is wet you will get sick), biking with an umbrella in one hand in Dhaka traffic, or just walking ignoring the drenching. It was raining so hard that you could shower in it, and we did on the roof of the guesthouse.

On Sunday I did a few things in Dhaka at the office, and then tried to get back to Mymensingh for a 2:00 meeting. Like a typical non-Bangladeshi, I am not very sympathetic to excuses about not going to work or being late due to the rain. However, I will say that the rain did make it very challenging to travel to Mymensingh. The pouring rain made it difficult to find a taxi, the roads were covered in water, and the buses couldn't drive too fast in the downpour.

Alana and Annabel are going back to America and New Zealand respectively. They had a farewell party in DOHS Baridhara, and despite having the incorrect address, we found the apartment in the maze of fancy apartment buildings and made it through the high security zone. We joined in the loud group of foreigners in sharis and panjabis and made some new friends.

Cicely and I spent Friday morning in the parlor for henna, haircuts, and piercings. The parlor is an island of ladies (no men allowed) getting ready for all kinds of occasions. There are always a few brides being decorated.

My one inch haircut turned out to be shorter than Cicely's in places, but I was expecting that. I also had to dodge the stylist trying to tease my freshly blow dryed hair. The stylist are largely tribal and the salon management Bengali which makes communication happen in three languages. (Me: "I would like my hair straightened...a little. Straight. Machine? Soja." Them: You mean Iron?" Me: YES!) My stylist happend to be from Jolchatro where we have a MCC office. Father Homeric is always saying that all the Mandi girls go to Dhaka to work in parlors, and I think he's right.