Turning into a cultural Muslim while still being extremely foreign in Dhaka....

So far I am fitting into the culture pretty well here I would say. My day of Ramadan fasting was a success, well I managed it I can't say it was an experience I would repeat. It is doable until about 2pm then you get hungry and for the last hour before 6.45pm is it basically torture as not only are you hungry but so thirsty. It was someone's birthday and the Pizza Hut in Dhaka was having an Iftar all you can eat special so I broke fast there. The food is all plated up in advance so everyone can eat at exactly the point it hits 6.45pm so for about 15 minutes the temptation is incredible. Then when you can break fast you eat so much food that you feel as ill as you did befor! So basically the whole experience is sort of pointless. I have thus decided not to fast any more but just have the Iftar feast instead. A cultural Muslim some might say!

In the same way though that not all Christians go to church every Sunday not all Muslims fast so those who don't want to keep their identity secret so cannot eat openly on the street. So instead all these little market stalls open up covered by material so people can sit behind them and eat in secret. An advantage of being a foreigner for me is that I can just crack upon the coke on the street, very cruel I know.
For one Iftar I was able to go with one of my friend's to a political event as her Mum is a politician here. Which meant dressing up like a Bengali and being the only white person in a very Muslim room. My Bengali attire however confused the mainly male room quite a lot and I was asked several times if I was now Muslim, the fact I am not even Christian is a pretty shocking admission here! But I was introduced, thanks to Mariam's Mum, to the former Prime Minister of Bangladesh and very likely next Prime Minister. I am mingling with the Bengali elite it would seem!

The other amusing thing about living in Dhaka is that its illegal for residents to drink and buy alcohol but again not for foreigners. Restaurants here even have signs on the menu saying locals will not be served. So if you want alcohol you either pay ridiculous prices in hotels, buy it from certain ex-pat shops, or do a dodgy deal with a friend of a friend that involves brown bags, dark alleys, and very shifty old bearded guys. And all you get after all that effort is very cheap over-priced whiskey that has a very suspiciously sounding Scottish name! All the cool kids therefore hang out in Shisha bars that look just like UK bars but close at 11pm and everyone is drinking Red Bull... Some of them are even marketed as 'juice bars' serving an array of fruit juice - can't see this concept of late night juice drinking catching on back home somehow. As ex-pats we are also able to take part in the Bi-Annual H & M clothing sale of faulty pieces from the Bangladeshi factories. Which means an absolute riot as everyone foreign in Dhaka turns out to fight for very cheap clothing: the shock of seeing so many non-bengalis in one places causes everyone in the room to have very unsubtle staring contests with one another as you fight for the good non-holey pieces.

I also decided, after the success of my 50p Bosnian fringe cut, to make use of the equally low beauty prices here (a personal favourite is the 3 pound facial) and get a 90p fringe cut. Huge mistake as I swear they just found this woman off the street as she had no clue what scissors even were and stood in front of me hacking off my hair until I was left with a very squint, very straight, and very short fringe. Responses to it so far have been:
'Oh'
'You had your fringe cut!'
And
'No HONESTLY I like it!'
An utter failure, I even grabbed the scissors of her in an attempt to fix the mess. Photos will not follow.

So now I am escaping Dhaka with 4 other interns for the bright lights of Bangkok where I have been promised a Topshop, Starbucks, McDonalds, and a plethora of Thai delicacies. For the boys this also involves the lure of the infamous Ping Ping Shows (google it if you have a strong disposition), lady boys, and strip shows. We have even watched the Hangover II for inspiration... Just getting away from Dhaka's traffic, pollution, and absolute mayhem will be something of a delight...

Returning to Dhaka and Ramadan...

After another week in rural Bangladesh this time in Dinajpur (google map it ;-)) meant the idea of Dhaka was something of an oasis. The BRAC facilities we were staying at in Dinajpur turned out to be something of an 'experience' (the word used here to mean somewhere I would never return to) with bugs a major issue. Now as a group we considered ourselves able to cope with anything but the bug situation here would challenge most; ants swarmed everywhere amongst half cock-roaches half frogs (froaches naturally), and bugs the size of your hand that I were not aware existed. Even entering the bathroom was an absolute mission while a sighting of a mouse in my room one day was the final straw for my mental state and resulting in screaming the place down and hiding until eventually someone killed it with a broom! Realising we were quite the opposite of hard core and incredibly high maintenance we had the fortunate luck of two girls gaining an AC room that we were told did not exist and also came with a bug free ensuite bathroom. While the Bengalis also staying braved through the bugs (I say this like it even bothered them) and seemed oblivious to rats, we all stayed holed up in the AC room watching TV and complaining (like the good foreigners we are). TV here is something of a cultural mix pot, you get HBO and WB showing a weird selection of Western movies; while Star Movies shows Western movies for Indian audiences (so certain words are omitted such as SHIT); then Arabic chat shows feature a guy in a David Letterman style studio but dressed up in a tea towel; while the only UK channel is BBC Entertainment that shows programmes that the BBC has pulled from the 'never show again pile'. My other impressive feat is that I have managed to eat street food from a Bengali market and not get sick, which is honestly worth praising here! Even a Bengali got sick from it, I realise I am jinxing things though...

Surviving street food and singing in the Monsoon rain..

When we did leave our AC luxury the area was very green and beautiful and we got to ride in a whole array of transport including a very packed public bus that drives suicidally and make shift carts that are basically a plank of wood with a scooter on the front. Very uncomfortable but a novelty factor! When we got to the field the projects were amazing though, we visited two schools with some of the most well behaved children I have ever seen. We taught them the macarena and sang Back Street Boys for the hundredth time (they all just looked very confused while their teacher despaired). It was when we got to the adolescent club though that we met some mad teenagers! The girls were so excited to see us that one of them basically jump hugged Shutong, the Chinese girl in our group, to our great amusement. While they all got their camera phones out to eagerly snap away at us as literally mobbing us. My hair was being stroked from all angles in curiosity while one girl took my earring out my ear to have a look before jabbing it back in my ear! We all agreed that we think this was the BRAC dating service as it was described to us a way for boys and girls to meet and socialise together. One of the interns with us was 15, he had family BRAC connection obv, so we tried to offer him up as a American offering to a bunch of giggling girls. His way of responding was by showing them all a dance called 'the hump' which started by him saying 'you hold your girl like this and...' we are all really hoping they didn't understand or we have mentally scarred a lot of Bangladeshi teenagers...

One of the schools we visited and a photo of a wee boy called Meem (he reminds me of Gus from Cinderella)!

So leaving the field was with mixed emotions as rural Bangladesh is lovely but does definitely take its toll, especially when sharing accommodation with half of its wildlife. Returning to Dhaka confirmed us as high maintenance, the first thing we all did was go to KFC (there is only one in Dhaka and its pretty swish) where eating non-Bengali stodgy food was amazing (despite it being crap stodgy American food) but the change was welcome. Next on our list was a trip to a beauty parlour where between us we had 2 facials, 2 back massages, 4 eyebrow waxing, a manicure, and a pedicure. Damn was it good. To finish up our welcome to civilisation pack we went to Coffee World then a trip to a Shisha place named MYNT (cool innit), as its illegal to drink here Shisha places are where its at it would seem...

The other exciting thing about being in Bangladesh right now is that its Ramadan, which is obviously a fairly big deal. So basically from the hours of 4.30am to 6.45pm (ish) you don't let anything pass your lips; water, food, coffee, cigarettes. Which in this heat is pretty tough. But from the hours 6.45pm to 4.30am they bloody well eat. At 3.30am you have Sehri which turns out to be an actual meal of everything from curry, bread, rice, dahl etc etc which everyone gets up for and then goes back to sleep after. Then at 6.45pm everyone sits down for snacks called Iftar, which are not snacks at all but a full buffet meal of the most amazing selection of curry, samosas, rice pudding stuff, rice crispy things, lentils, sweet desserts, and so much more. THEN they eat their actual meal at 11pm (ish).

I am currently living with one of the interns, Mariam, which is a dream come true as I get to stay in an actual apartment with a kitchen, air conditioning, and her driver. So I got to go round to her house for Iftar, therefore getting the best of both words, not fasting but still getting the enjoyment of breaking fast and sampling Bengali food! Which is amazing btw; because restaurants etc here are not serving lunch they are make Iftar 'snacks' for you to buy so a delicious spread is easy to get hold off... So last night I was able to go to her house and have amazing food when breaking fast and effectively I have my own adopted Bengali family! Since I had experienced Iftar it seemed logical to see then have Sehri, so with Mariam's family at 2.30am we travelled to visit her relatives for a middle of the night feast. A crazy concept, the nearest to this back home is having food after a night out. So in the middle of the night I had a full on curry, rice, dahl, mango extravaganza...

Since having Sehri I decided that it would make sense to actually fast one day, believe me after food at 4am you do not wake up that hungry and feeling a bit ill if anything. So today is my first (and most likely only) day of fasting... Currently I am only 9 hours in and wow is this tough...

leaving Dhaka and hitting rural Bangladesh...

Travelling to the projects the charity I am interning for was the next part of the trip and involved escaping Dhaka and visiting some of rural Bangladesh. The absolute smelly, busy chaos of Dhaka is definitely not a sight I or anyone else would be too sad to leave; not having to escape lethal rickshaw drivers and the constant fear of mugging was welcomed! The four hour potential car ride to the field studies centre was deemed too easy by BRAC (the charity I am interning for) so instead we were shoved on an eight hour bus journey in a local bus to give us a more authentic experience (luckily air conditioning was an allowed luxury - how kind). Like everything in Bangladesh, even if you really try and prepare yourself mentally for something the reality is still a complete shock. The bus station (bearing in mind we are talking about a capital city) is little more than a few huts, a waiting room, and a small area for some buses to turn. The buses of course run on Bangladeshi time (whatever time they want to) so to keep you going there are plenty of people walking about selling everything from popcorn, curby grips, cake, to mango juice. Even at 7am my desire for a bargain ensured a bartering attempt from me.

Man: 10 taka for one...

Me: 10 taka for two...

Man: No

Me: Oh

Keith (to me with a wink): But that is all the money you have isn't it...

Me (confused): Em no...

Keith (to me): I am trying to help you out! Is that you bartering?!

I ended up paying 10 taka for one obviously and loosing all my street credibility (I have tons obv). Once on the bus though the real Bangladeshi experience began. Firstly, buses start driving whether everyone is on or not so you have the hilarity of watching people run on the bus (apparently local buses just never stop to let you off either). People also sit on top of buses (and trains) for a free or majorly reduced ride. A bargain option I may consider in the future ;-). The first thing the bus driver said (translated by one of the Bengali speaking interns) to the bus conductor was that he hadn't slept last night (a hilarious prospect). Luckily the roads were bad enough that there was no possible way he could have fallen asleep, people have clearly never been shown what their mirrors are for, while there are just far too many vehicles on the road (mostly scooters, rickshaws, or auto-rickshaws which can't even go above 10 mph). Therefore instead of looking in the mirrors, here an ingenious system has been set up that involves just beeping your horn constantly to get people to move our your way and bully your way through traffic. Consequently horns just beep continuously, and when you are in a fairly large bus it is a loud noise that after five minutes is more than slightly annoying.

And these are just issues that occur on a daily basis; our first emergency was a flat tyre (although making a loud noise this didn't worry the driver for another fifteen minutes or so). The solution was flagging another bus down and nicking their spare tyre, I can't imagine this working in the UK. Our second emergency was when we realised the AC had stopped working, the driver fiddled around in the back and emerged holding a very broken AC pipe. This was eight hours into our eight hour bus journey and we were not 0 minutes away so a debate was held as to whether we continue without AC (a luxury we had paid bloody extra for!) or wait for another bus to come. We continued but opened all the doors and fire exits to produce a draft, Bangla style.

Getting to the field studies centre then you can imagine was something of a huge relief. We were staying at facilities that were run by our charity so basic but safe. They are a training facility for community leaders and teachers so mainly Bangladeshis staying meaning more stares and lots of questions such as 'what's your religion', 'what do your parents do?' and 'where are you from'. Alright but you constantly feel you are trying to pass some sort of test and these questions are definitely more interregational than friendly. The experience at the field studies centre was one of those where initially it seems really nice with comfortable twin rooms that are ensuite (bucket showers of course mind ;-) ) and 3 good meals provided a day but after a day problems start to show.

FIRST ISSUE: The food - the 3 set meals a day are the same every day and I mean the same. For breakfast it is fried egg, chapatti, and potato stew. Lunch: potato and meat stew, chips, dahl, lots of rice, and cucumber. The dinner the same as lunch. So basically you are intaking pretty bland food that consists almost purely of carbs. Absolute chaos for the digestive system and incredibly boring on the palate. The amount of rice the Bangladeshis eat is absolutely insane! We constantly request pineapples and apples, consequently receiving stares as if we are fruit fiends or something.

Complaining over, rural Bangladesh is amazing! Visiting their projects means going to the village communities in the area. So we have visited a very poor (or ultra-poor as BRAC calls them) village, whereby BRAC gives them all some animals then a weekly allowance for food so they can start a small farm and eat better diets. Then also microfinance programmes where villagers can borrow loans and then use them to either improve their homes or start small enterprises such as shops. Most of the villages we have been to have never seen white people before so we are something of a novelty and everyone comes out to look at the foreigners. They like us to introduce ourselves (my Bangla accent is particularly amusing for them) so I say Amar nam Olivia then ami Scotland. Blank looks always respond to Scotland as clearly it is not a country then know, even Britain gets blank looks whereby London receives a combined 'ooooh'. I am not impressed by their travel aspirations.

This is when everything starts to turn a little gap yar, it is hard not too make it so, as we refrain from using such phrases as 'culturally aware'. As I take photos of the village children, Russell Kane's comedy sketches of gap year students saying 'oh look a brown person, take a photo' do spring to mind! At times political correctness can be taken too seriously and just goes out the window here.  I held a baby who instantly starting crying, apparently he prefers brown people they matter of factly stated! We also commentated ( in english) on a very white baby, our guide/translator instantly asked why to our horror, apparently she has a very white husband. Luckily children here do seem to genuinely love having their photo taken and then seeing the results but more amusing is that people like to take photos of us, you stand on the street and Bengalis are all getting their camera phones out and snapping us. One man even approached me and asked if he could take a photo of me with his daughter! The babies are particularly cute with their little pudgy arms. I did accidentally make fun of a toddler with rickets though (I thought he was just trying to walk like a sumo wrestler)! On the whole I have managed not to insult the Bangladeshi population too much mind.

Getting to the villages is one problem though as the auto-rickshaws (scooters with a seating cabin out the back) drive manically, we have already been in one crash, as they just literally drive out side roads without even considering looking. To solve the terrible transportation problems we decided to hire a car that would of course be much safer than an auto-rickshaw. Entering the luxury of an air conditioned car (after our air conditioned rooms!) plunged us straight back into a wonderful sense of security. Two minutes out the gates of our centre and wham we crashed into a bus, you see our driver (in typically Bangladeshi style) just swung out without even glancing into a very full bus that didn't even have mirrors. The damage was minor but the fear was there. This was unfortunately not a one off and our driver turned out to be an absolute maniac, as we drove down the country roads that are full of vehicles but less disciplined than the city streets, his driving was honestly like something out of Grand Theft Auto or some other video game where you move fast dodging in and out of obstacles. He just kept moving at a ridiculous fast pace beeping his horn while weaving around cars, rickshaws, bicycles, and people. Needless to say there was lots of screaming, so to calm us down we decided to sing. BAD IDEA - the guy just went faster in an effort to drop us off faster and escape our singing.

For our last night here some local entertainment was organised at one of the villages, BRAC helps run theatre performances which are fun to watch but also educational to the local community. So we went to watch a performance that taught the villagers about their legal rights and domestic abuse through the medium of live theatre. Sitting with the local children on mats at the front was pretty special as they were so happy to see us there and it was a treat for them getting to see some dancing and singing. We brought biscuits which of course went down a treat but did mean we were mobbed by huge swarms of children who seemed to come from nowhere. In typically Bangladeshi style just as the performance started the heavens literally opened spitting out heavy but hot rain, the type that really soaks you. Just like a Bollywood movie though it was great fun for a while as everyone danced in the rain and the children loved jumping around with us - it was very memorable! Leaving in our warm cars was quite sad but since the theatre was cut short we decided to maybe have a different dinner and sample a Chinese restaurant in town. One of the interns is Chinese and was so excited about having some Chinese food here as apparently British and American chinese restaurants are rubbish and greasy! Turns out rural Bangladesh is not the place to go to sample culinary excellence as we got the greasiest, gloopiest meal you could imagine. Shutong deemed it 'fake Chinese' noting that there weren't even any Chinese people in the restaurant!

So our first week in the North-West (check out a map!) corner of Bangladesh has certainly been interesting, entertaining, and memorable, but also terrifying, and very bizarre!

The first four days in Dhaka

DAY 1

Arriving in Dhaka was definitely throwing myself in the deep end of the East Asian swimming pool! No gentle easing in with a trip to Tokyo, Singapore, Beijing, or even Bangkok; bang slam straight into Dhaka. Whatever you see or hear will still leave you unprepared...

You arrive into humidity levels nearing 100% (I didn't even know that was possible but the pilot happily divulged) meaning your clothes instantly stick to you, while monsoon rains hit off tin roofs and a mass of taxi drivers in various contraptions wait to whisk you away. I opted for the exclusive limousine service (Bangladeshi style this just means a weathered taxi). The journey was enough excitment for the year; no one follows rules here, everyone drives all manner of things forward blindly and beeps their horns. Creating a very noisy, but thanks to the rickshaws, very colourful duel carriageway. After mega swerving and life threatening moments we ended up nearish my accomodation; the problem here is that the streets are so random no one knows where anything is so every journey involves about 10 stops to ask for directions.

Finally arriving, I found my single room containing a double and single bed despite requesting just a single. This confused me greatly as I was sure I had a private room so spent the afternoon expecting others to turn up, my jet lagged state also made me presume I was then sharing a bathroom so went down to reception to ask where it was. I was then taken back to my room where they opened the obvious door to the ensuite, giving me very confused looks as to where I had come from that ensuite bathrooms were not normal. So apparently the extra beds are all for me, meaning a whole plethra of places to watch TV from. Therefore first things first I made an inventory of all the English TV channels. Before settling down for my first Bangladeshi meal cooked by the hotel 'cook' from a slightly suspicious looking kitchen (you just eat what he gives you). Luckily my Bangla stretches to niramish (vegetarian) ;-). Dinner comprised of spiced vegetables, an oily soup, and enough rice to sink a ship with a little mango on the side for good measure. Good, especially the mango which I threw caution to the wind and ate (raw fruit and vegetable is bad news apparently).

DAY 2

Ok this day was virtually a write off. I woke up, looked at my watch read 5 and presumed this was am and I had woken up early so attempted to get back to sleep. Failed, got up, then realised it was 5pm! Felt I should probably leave the hotel, but the guidebook (in its infinte wisdom) advised against going out after dark, so I selected its nearest recommended eatery (luckily just down the road). Here everything on the outside looks a bit dodgy but inside I was relieved to see I had found one of Dhaka's nicer eating experiences serving 'authentic' Indian cusine at a fraction of home's prices.
VERDICT: Tasted just like a curry from back home. The Naan was good mind.

DAY 3

Since the fail of yesterday I had failed even further in then not getting to sleep until 5am and despite needing to be up for the first day of my internship at 7am. Not to worry, the first day of my internship involved getting across town to the offices of the NGO I was working for, and as far as I am concerned the only way to travel here is by one of the literally (correct use of the term here) thousands of rickshaws scattered across the city! You can't walk anywhere without someone trying to get you to take a ride in their rickshaw ;-)     . They are amazing though, brightly coloured, and most importantly dirt cheap. Problem is I have not quite got my bartering right yet and seem to go either horrendously too low (at like 10p) or let them rip me off (I say this like its expensive we are still talking no more than a pound). My first journey across the city was definitely eye opening as we have to go through one of the slums which is dirty, smelly, but an experience. You certainly feel  'Western' here as you walk down the street as I feel like the new circus attraction in town. It leaves you feeling very self conscious that you are offending the local population with something you are doing but I am assured it happens to everyone! After meeting the other interns with me, we looked for something to do in the evening, unfortunately despite Dhaka being a huge city there is surprisingly little! This must be the only capital city in the world not showing Harry Potter to my huge disappointment! However, the one cinema in the city is showing Twilight right now (the first not even second or third mind) so I that can take up a few evenings I reckon ;-). Resulting in us ending up in an internet cafe that must be one of the more western options the city has to offer with a coffee menu featuring syrups and waffles and sandwiches on offer (plenty of time for eating curries another day)  . Sitting in its air conditioned splendour I could have been in Glasgow, even the internet connection is dodgy here, reminds me of Virgin! Thankfully they understand the English for 'can you switch it off and on again' - works a treat!

Dhaka from the BRAC roof

DAY 4

Today I was back on a rickshaw to the offices of the NGO, BRAC http://www.brac.net/ I was interning with. Where we learnt about all the work the charity does in Bangladesh and further afield, largely in the area of microfinance, whereby BRAC gives small loans to the poor so they can invest the money and start a business or better their lifes which they then pay back at a fair interest rate. At the weekend we will be travelling to their projects in rural areas (I am already looking forward to escaping the crazyness of Dhaka). I decide that I probably should buy some more Bangla looking clothing attire (disguise is the key I reckon), Topshop has yet to reach here sadly so my attempts at style are not particularly appreciated. Walking about though is impossible, if you do manage to read a map nothing is where it is meant to be, there are no pavements, and rickshaws repeatly try to take your life! Even on a rickshaw your life is in danger and the major issue is that rickshaws cannot cross duel carriageways so whenever you hit one, you have to get out the rickshaw cross the road (praying for your life) then got on one at the other side. One shortish journey took 3 rickshaws today (which means being ripped off three times as well). Back to the comfort of my hotel, the Bangladeshi gods were shining on me, as none other than R-Patz's face was on my TV in the form of Cedric Diggory (this is the nearest to the final Harry Potter movie I will get here I feel).

Tonight though, I was leaving the seclusion of the Viator Guest House for a night out Dhaka style. It was one of the boys in the group's birthdays you see, unfortunately alcohol is not readily availiable here, so some sneaky dealings were involved to buy some which was then had at the flats of one of the interns. The boy in question was staying with an American expat host family here and since it was his birthday they let us join them at a party they were going to. Now when you live in a city such as Dhaka with very few Westerners and strict laws you have to make your own entertainment it would seem. The party we ended up at was thus hosted by a rich Western garment guru who turns his flat into a night club every now and then to stop himself going mad apparently. With a balcony view, marble floors, and a free bar we could have been anywhere but I would never have thought this sort of thing would be in Dhaka. It was like finding an Oasis in the Desert - crazy but amazing. Plenty of mum dancing and the most international group of people I have ever met in my life, being Scottish here makes me feel quite exotic (oh the irony)!

Living it up at Casa Loca!

The journey's the hardest bit when attempting to get to Dhaka...

Before leaving there were several things I was particularly nervous about. Firstly whether I had actually booked a flight or not, you see in my endeavour to find the cheapest deal I had booked my flight off an online phone company from a man who spoke bad english and refused to send me a confirmation letter. Secondly I was scared that if my flight was real what kind of airline I had found, again I had been looking up reviews online the night before and they were not good to say the least; I was convinced I was going to end up in a battered old aeroplane with no leg room, broken toilets, and food that would make me very sick. And finally I was terrified of spending the night in Mumbai airport which I imagined to be similar to a Brazilian slum.

So as to quell my nerves and ease me into a new culture I had spent the last two days before at a hippy music festival with my dad and brother. My dad revels at the change to show off his new bracelets, ever growing hair, and share his plans to couch surf around the world. While my brother likes to believe he is way too cool for this hippy malark stubbornly wearing skinny jeans and sitting with his IPod touch out the whole time. One thing we do all agree on is the comedy stage where this year particular highlights included a very naked man, a very lewd guitar player, and a female comedienne who told us of her brilliant new invention whereby if girls wear their pants inside out they have a handy minge pocket. GENIUS. Even news of this couldn't quite quell those nerves though...

Practising for his hippy days...

My mother clearly just as worried told me to text her as soon as I arrived in Mumbai Airport, I reminded her that this was also the earliest I could possibly phone her. 'Well you could text me on the plane...'. 'No I couldn't.' To which SHE (Miss Worryer of the Century) replied: 'oh don't be silly it doesn't matter anymore. ' Even going as far as to take it as personal insult that I wasn't prepared to do this.

Luckily I did value my life so my phone was switched off as soon as I boarded the plane and bloody hell was I relieved that A) I was on a flight and B) the aeroplane did not look like it was on its last legs (just yet) so now I could just enjoy the flight. I don't quite understand why people don't like flying - for 8 hours you get a lovely little seat with a blanket, pillow, and your own TV. Then, to make life even easier, air hostesses walk down the the aisles serving you food and drink. In fact, thanks to the fasten seat belt sign and general lack of space, you are dis-couraged from moving - I reckon in another year or two they will have built in toilets to your seats. I imagine this in a similar style to Eastern European trains whereby it just falls on to the platform - I do see the difficulty of emulating this on a plane obviously.

What I have described would of course not occur on your average Easyjet flight but believe me those pointless wet flannels they hand out at the start of the flight add some extra excitement and make you feel all posh (who knew it was so simple). And as for the food - since I was flying with an Indian airline it was all of course, well Indian. Which meant vegetable curry for breakfast, a curried veg wrap for lunch, then more curry and a weird potato thing for dinner ( throwing my digestive system in the deep end). Lovely as the curries were, I would argue it is a bad plane food selection for a group of people in an enclosed space with poor ventilation and only 8 toilets...

Although I did get funny looks for taking these, you can now play the which one is breakfast, lunch and dinner game!

Swiftly changing topics the plane also proved amazing for people watching. One Chinese girl (I say girl she was mid twenties) had invested in the full Hello Kitty sleeping range so roamed about in huge slippers and a neck rest potentially to show off her purchases - I wasn't impressed. While some very hippy Londoners with broad cockney accents were a random addition to the mainly Asian passengers.

Escaping the plane at 11pm local time only meant a 9 hour wait until my flight to Dhaka. Unfortunately the 'Slumper Lounge' provided was already full of the we-sleep-anywhere Chines contingency. Hours of playing scrabble on my IPod were inevitable, I had been playing with my brother before and so it was set up for 'pass and play' - a mode I initially couldn't get out of resulting in me playing several games against myself (advantage being I can't lose). And when I eventually did the first word the virtual player came up with was vodka - conveniently duty free were also giving out free samples.

Another highlight of endless travel is of course getting to test out whether 48 hour deodorant really lives up to its claim, don't worry I won't spoil the surprise! The toilets in the airport also confusingly have a conventional one and a squat one - this seems madness why would you choose to squat?! It is like being offered a free air conditioned taxi ride and going nah I will take the hot, over crowded bus instead!

Escaping Mumbai Airport meant my final flight to Dhaka, more curry, and a little more sleep (word of warning Bangladeshi men don't like you falling asleep on them in aeroplanes). My first glimpse of Dhaka was pretty exciting though, it is definitely a cultural change with grey high rise buildings and huge shanty slums.