Mark and I had a smooth trip to Dhaka; getting through customs proved another matter. His visa was marked ‘Date of Expiry: 28-01-2006’, not 2007 as it should have been. The custom’s official was the first person to spot the mistake. He took a deep look at Mark, cogitated for a while and called for a more experienced colleague. 

I hoped to see an avuncular official with a kind smile and gentle eyes. Instead a stern faced man, about 5’8” with orderly demeanour and penetrating eyes, came across from the other side of the hall. Peering over his gold rimmed glasses he barked a few questions at Mark. Barely waiting for an answer he barked again, this time in Bengali into his walkie-talkie. After a nervous wait of 5 minutes a response came back over the radio. He fixed us with his glare: 

‘This is clearly ridiculous, very ridiculous.’

‘Ah, yes… Well, you see… this is what happened’ replied Mark.

‘They have made a stupid mistake. Welcome to Bangladesh. Please have your visa corrected when you return to England.’ 

With that he waved us through customs to collect and bags and on into the heat and dust of Dhaka. 

Stepping out of the air-conditioned comfort of Dhaka’s Zia Airport a wall of air, at once dense, hot, humid and thick with pollution, hits you. It rather like being smacked in the face with a wet jock strap –  or so Mark tells me. After this initial blow the sights and sounds of Dhaka begin to assert themselves. You find yourself in what appears to be a large holding cell fenced off on 3 sides with mesh and walls, with the fourth side being provided by the airport itself. Policemen guard the exits as crowds throng about pushing onto the fences. Some are begging, others are hustling, all are shouting and reaching out to you. The mass of activity numbs the brain. As an observer there is no way to absorb it all that doesn’t end in paralysis. The best option is join the great flow of life. Get moving!