It
would be inaccurate to emphasize a complete feeling of isolation. The
sad truth is modern intrusions are never far off often underscored by
the obnoxious chugging of a fisherman's motor. Still, as you slowly
enter a narrow channel with a haze obscured sun rising above the
trees, a ghostly mist hovering above the water, and the chirping of
birds piercing momentary silences it is easy to believe you are
entering a magical land.
As
we penetrated deeper along the channel the only real sound
(notwithstanding the periodic encroachments) was the boatman's oar
lapping at the water. Heeeeere,
kitty, kitty, kitty.
At times it was necessary to duck beneath the vegetation protruding
over the water. The mud banks were lined with the tracks of spotted
deer and wild boar as were the trails these animals wore between
trees and through the grass. Every time the brush cleared a bit or
the grass parted enough to have a peak within I held my breath.
I
held my breath in hopes that as a small clearing came into view
perhaps I would spot the object of my dreams but each time I was
disappointed. I know they were there………..somewhere. Why must
you torment me? One of the most haunting aspects of any journey into
the Sundarbans is the constant swaying of nipa palm leaves. As the
wind permeates the crevasses of the mangrove these rigid leaves
scrape against one another producing a sound akin to someone quickly
darting through a doorway covered by vertical blinds. No matter how
many times you hear it there is always a split second when you think
some denizen of the forest has come crashing through the undergrowth
as if to declare its presence with defiance.
We
continued on until the channel either became too narrow or the
underbrush too thick. There were many pauses along the way to just
sit, listen, and wonder. It was magnificent. I mean, its Tiger Island
for the love of God. After another fruitless (at least as far as
felines go) search down a different channel we returned to the boat
for a meal and then set off for the Kochikhali forest station.
We
hopped on our boat and made our way back to Kochikhali. There we went
aboard one of Guide Tours' larger boats to meet up with some other
tourists (mostly folks in the international development/aid field)
for a bit of New Years reverie. We joined some Swiss, Germans, Brits,
Russians, Australians, and Dutch for a delicious meal and some
alcoholic jubilation. The festivities began with a game of…well..
I'm not sure what it is called. Everyone writes down the name of a
famous person on a small slip of paper. The slips are mixed into a
bowl. There are two teams. Turns are taken during which one team
member describes (without using the name) the individual on the paper
while the other team members try to guess. You have thirty seconds to
guess as many as possible. A Russian woman drew the name Rene
Descartes. She yelled out 'German philosopher!' (actually, he is
French) and a member of my team yelled, 'Adolf Hitler'. The German
guy was not amused. I almost pissed my pants with laughter. I suppose
that technically speaking Mr. Hitler was a philosopher just not the
one that pops into mind when attempting to list Germany's greatest
thinkers.
The
festivities moved to the beach near the Kochikhali forest station
where at least fifty people gathered around a rather robust fire. It
included families with children. At one point some of the kids were
scavenging the tree line for firewood…..alone. Ummm..tigers anyone?
I'm sure its fine. There was a guy present (I forget his nationality)
wearing his version of traditional garb. We were told he was not
eating until he saw a tiger (It had been two days). Get a grip. Best
of luck to ya.
For
the first time in my life I had the pleasure of ushering in the new
year twice in one evening. Apparently, Bangladesh gave daylight
savings a whirl. I guess it just didn't take. Some of the folks at
the party told me that the result was minor chaos in the form of
persistent tardiness. Its not easy living in the future. So the
government decided to return to the present and, oddly enough, chose
midnight on December 31st as the moment of truth. So we
raised a glassed, welcomed in the new year, turned back our watches
an hour, and did it all again. I think they should do that every year
but, then again, who the hell am I?
Remember
that bottle of whiskey I acquired in Dhaka? Gone. And just to seal
the deal the Brits we met offered us donations from the mini-bar they
brought with them. The last time I drank that much the police showed
up. Oops. At one point I asked a woman if she was single. Then I
asked her why. Smoother than baby oil on a newborn's ass. She went to
bed alone.
The
next day was rather uninspiring due in no small part to the whiskey.
The schedule went as follows:
breakfast-nap-tea-nap-bathroom-nap-lunch-nap-nap-nap-passing thought
of going somewhere-nap-dinner-nap.
The
remaining days of our journey were spent headed back north stopping
at a forest station or two along the way. We continued to explore
some smaller channels with our country boat but with the exception of
two crocodiles, a monitor lizard, some birds, a couple of river
dolphins, and few monkeys we saw very little. We did, however, manage
to scare the poop out of some local fisherman while on an evening
excursion in the country boat. It seems they thought we were pirates
and had fled their boats in favor of the forest. Perhaps, I've missed
my calling. At least I have a fall back. I am now accepting
applications for buccaneers. E-mail me your resume and a headshot. No
eye patch required. Arrrrrrrgh!!!!
List
of animals spotted but not necessarily photographed on the trip:
Brahminy Kite, Great Egret, Lesser Adjutant, Estuarine Crocodile,
Checkered Keelback Snake, Common Kingfisher, Spotted Deer, Ganges
River Dolphin, Eurasian Wild Boar, Rhesus Macaque, Water Monitor, and
last but certainly not least, Royal Bengal Tiger.
As is
the norm with trips like this we were given a guestbook to sign for
future occupants of the R.B. Emma to read. Alex (or should I say
Picasso) included his artistic representation of the whole gang. He
was also kind enough to make an entry on my behalf. Allow me to
translate if the picture is not clear:
"My
name is Rich Poomadore ('Poo' being a direct reference to the
flatulent effect the food had upon me). I am 34 years old and I like
tigers. My mum says I will have a wife soon but I'd rather have a
tiger. Maybe I can have both. Also, thank you for the trip."
One
more night in Khulna, another all night train outing and I find
myself back in Dhaka planning my next move. Decisions, decisions.
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'Love me or hate me, but spare me your indifference.' -- Libbie Fudim