Time
for a second attempt at hiring a boat. I started towards the dock and
‘office’ I had seen by the water the evening before. Surely this
would be the place. On the way I was sidetracked once again by more
strangers wanting to treat me to tea. Impossible to refuse such
hospitality. After a spell I was off and as I walked along folks
snapped pictures of me with their camera phones as I passed by. This
made me giggle. Often I will stop and pose to make their job easier.
It may be unforgivably vain to shamelessly feed the Bangladeshi
paparazzi but no one is perfect.
When
I arrived at the dock I soon discovered that once again I was in for
a trial. There were folks roaming about so I began to make inquires.
We walked onto the dock, pointed at a couple of boats, took pictures,
and accomplished nothing. The language barrier reared its head as
usual. Finally an older gentleman came out of the building and
somehow managed to convey that in order to hire a boat I would need
permission from the Forest Department…….seven kilometers away.
Great. Someone was kind enough to find a man with a motorcycle
to give me a ride. So to the Forest Station I went.
I
walked into the office and was given the 'What the hell do you
want?' look. My driver came along to help translate and foster
even more confusion and miscommunication (to his credit he was trying
his best to assist). First I was asked if I had a copy of my
passport. I did not. This seemed to cause a bit of concern for Forest
Guy One and Forest Guy Two. It appeared I would have to return
to the hotel to retrieve a copy (in truth I should have remembered to
bring one). But then, as if to brush this aside, I was given a
price quote, about $17 for permission, camera fee, and some other
vague tax. Super. This did not include the boat but I was told a
boatman could be hired nearby. Super duper. But then Forest Guy Two
changed his mind and I was told that I had to go to Khulna (a couple
hours away) in order to obtain permission. Come again? I’d
just spent two days getting here and now I was not allowed to go into
the forest? So let us review the process: I need a copy of my
passport. I don’t need a copy of my passport. I have to pay $17 to
cover all the necessary fees. A boat can be hired nearby. Permission
denied. Fiddle-f***ing-sticks!!!!
I
was not pleased. Motorcycle Guy tried to assuage my disappointment a
bit by showing me the area near the office. Out back they had two
spotted deer in a fenced-in enclosure. Riveting.
So
back to Munshiigonj. Along the way Motorcycle Guy brought me for a
ride through the countryside which was extremely peaceful and serene,
in that bucolic sort of away I mentioned before. It put me at easy
and I was happy to pay the exorbitant rate for the ‘tour’.
Back
at the guesthouse I was once again presented with the dilemma of
whether to keep trying or pack it in. And then I had an idea. I
called the owner of Guide
Tours (the company responsible for my previous trip to the
Eastern Sundarbans). Mr. Mansur told me that he would make a call to
the Khulna Forest Office, obtain the required permission, and have
someone drop it off the next day. By a stroke of luck his
daughter-in-law (a Swiss woman named Elizabeth involved in both
tourism and local research) was bringing a group on a cultural tour
of the area the following day. Excellent.
But
not so fast. About an hour later I received a text from Mr. Mansur
saying that the Khulna office had refused me permission on the
grounds that I had no knowledgeable guide to accompany me and the
usual crap about safety. Damn it. He did suggest that I give
Elizabeth a call and that perhaps I could tag along with them. This I
did. She was stupefied that the office near Munshigonj did not give
me permission as she was certain they possessed the power to do so.
Joining her group was not really an option as they were merely
visiting some local villages that had recently celebrated the Bonbibi
Festival. No Sundarbans for them. However, coincidentally the
head of the Forest Department happened to be with her. She told me
she would make some inquires and get back to me in an hour or so. I
thought about just saying ‘F’ it and getting the hell out of
Dodge but I figured I might as well wait and see. So I decided to go
for another stroll west of the village along the river. My progress
was impeded by yet another tea interval. So I sat there conversing in
broken semi-unintelligible English, participating in a short lesson
of Bengali 101, and taking photos of locals trying on my silly hat.
And don’t forget the sipping of tea. As usual all of this was
conducted under the curious gaze of twenty or so villagers.
I
happened to notice, almost out of nowhere, a white woman standing in
the center of the village. I thought this rather queer (as in odd or
strange) since I’d seen only one other whitey since my arrival. My
curiosity piqued I walked over to have a chat. She was French and had
just arrived in the area two days earlier. She is working for an NGO
attempting to establish a waste management and sanitation program.
She was there with her Bengali guide to put up posters seeking local
support for the program.
When
asked what my purpose there was I replied that I was in the midst of
an unsuccessful attempt at entering the Sundarbans. At this point her
guide, a man whose name sounded something like Ooopoo, shared some
interesting tidbits with me. His theory on why I was denied
permission has to do with pirates. Talk of pirates grabbed my
attention as you may remember that I spoke with folks in the east
about the mangrove marauders.
When
I mentioned the name ‘Raju’ he was not only surprised I was privy
to the name but appeared to be a bit concerned about mentioning the
name out loud. He told me people here were scared of the pirates and
that in all likelihood informants were numerous (hence the
consternation at verbalizing the name). He also told me something I
had not heard before, namely that local bandits had a nasty habit of
kidnapping children for ransom. Ransom? What money is there for
ransom? He seemed to interpret my question as ‘Why would children
be targeted?’. His answer: There is no point in stealing woman
because no one would care. Riiiiiiight. Not really what I was getting
at but thanks for that troubling take on the worth of an average
village female. He also seemed to think that given the opportunity a
tourist might be included in their target package. Excellent.
He
did say that if I wanted to hire a boat for an illegal foray into the
forest I should go ‘over there’ (reference previous post).
Apparently, folks are willing to do it as long as it is on the down
low. I suddenly realized that this is the place I was looking for all
along and must be the ‘over there’ that the Nepali tourist spoke
of the day before. My concern was with the ‘down low’
component of the mission as I had just spent a day and a half not
only asking everyone and their mother about hiring a boat but also
had gone to the Forest Station to announce my presence. Way to go
douchebag.
Reason,
logic, and prudence notwithstanding, I went in search of my illicit
tour. However, ‘over there’ again turned out to be just on
the other side of nowhere. Luckily, the walk itself was well worth my
time as it brought me along a path sandwiched between the river on
one side and rice-fields and fish farms on the other. And along the
way I was shadowed by the usual entourage of the curious. Mud
huts, women dressed in colorful scarves and saris, children playing
cricket, old men out for a stroll, chickens, goats, ducks conducting
their endless search for sustenance, men in small wooden boats
screaming for a picture, constant requests for personal information
from the masses, the sun casting its dying glow across the
water-filled fields, boats stranded in the mud, men and woman
carrying all sorts of myriad items on their heads, aerial-mangrove
roots protruding from the riverbank, so on and so forth. I felt like
I was walking through the real Bangladesh, the one everyone should
witness.
As
I strolled along I received the call from Elizabeth. People had
spoken with people and I should be good to go as far as permission
into the Sundarbans. She advised me to go immediately to the Forest
Office to work out the permit for the following day but it was a bit
late to make the journey. I thanked her profusely and crossed my
fingers, toes, eyes, ears, and testicles.
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'Love me or hate me, but spare me your indifference.' -- Libbie Fudim