Cups of coffee drunk: 12 (approx)
Falaffels eaten: 2, 5
Near-death experiences: 3 (approx)

So you live in a subcontinental backwater, where nothing works and you feel reluctant to go outdoors lest you a) are run over by a rickshaw, b) are followed down the road by a gaggle of beggars screaming 'madam, madam', c) are followed by various people staring and enquiring after 'yar cantry?', or d) are washed away in the monsoon. So you decide to get away from it all, go abroad for a crazy weekend, to live it up a little. And then, for reasons unknown to any man or woman, you decide to go to Kolkata (yes, that's the one, also known as Calcutta). And when you, to top it all off, decide to fly with GMG airlines, the better one of the two Bangladeshi airlines (there's an oxymoron) things take a turn from silly to just plain nasty.

Having left work early, and being Northern American and Scandinavian respectively, we thought it would be a good idea to arrive with the prescribed two hours to spare for international flights. Our timeliness however merely meant that we got to witness a half-hour fight between two of the check-in counter attendants, one other member of staff prancing around barking incomprehensible orders into a walkie talkie, and a fourth perfecting the fine art of ignoring all customers. Together with the other passengers, mainly Indian business men, we went to great lengths to try catch the attention of the GMG staff, most of which failed. Finally, a small victory was won by the passenger community as one lucky Indian man finally managed to check in, giving the rest of us hope. Twenty minutes later, an exasperated Canadian and a bewildered Swede had also managed to get themselves checked in (on the flight that is, not into an asylum, although we did wonder at times.)

So, with an hour to spare (well, we had been first in line to check in, and we didn't have any check-in luggage so no wonder it had been quick) we had just about time for a cup of tea in the farcical upstairs restaurant. At this stage I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Was I really willing to put my life in the hands of a group of people who refused to acknowledge my existence unless I shouted at them? Was it really wise to ask them to (nay, to pay them to) transport me hundreds of miles up in the air at the speed of light (ok, not quite, it's still GMG we're talking about)? The obvious answer was no, but the taka was paid, the hotel booked, and we were not staying in Dhaka for the weekend, goddam it. Two hours later (oh, did I mention the flight was delayed?) we boarded the rickety little propeller plane which, which in a previous incarnation had flown some more fortunate individuals in Germany. (I was however happy to discover that the plane was built in Germany, and not in Bangladesh).

After various proclamations containing a few too many 'inshallah's for my liking ('we will arrive, god willing'? god? I honestly don't think it's fair to get him mixed up in this unfortunate business, but then I AM an atheist), we took off and the heavily made-up, sari-clad cabin crew handed us the traditional GMG in-flight meal box, each containing... well I'm not sure, but allegedly they were food items. Ten minutes into the journey, the pilot suddenly made an announcement over the intercom, which sounded suspiciously like 'cabin crew get ready for landing' to me. I looked over at Amina (who, I was rather jealous to discover, had found an apple in her lunch box which she was happily munching away at) but she did not seem able to shed any light on the situation. We both knew it was a short flight, but ten minutes? It was then I heard the ominous phrase containing the words 'Zia Airport' and 'technical shamosa' (shamosa being the Bengali word for problem and, incidentally often first word foreigners to this country learn, and to many, the only one). Great.

And so it seemed god had overlooked his air traffic control duties this evening and

as of tomorrow, i have two more weeks of life in bangladesh. and i cannot wait to leave. i keep thinking i should be sad, and there must be many things i will miss, but at the moment i can't think of a single one. of course i will miss my friends and all the good times, but none of those things are inherently bangladeshi, that's just part of expat life. and somehow it seems like all of that has already stopped anyway - so many people have left already, and i can't remember the last time i went to a good party. so, time to move on, new things to do, new places to see. but before then, old familiar people to see, and good old familiar things to do. bring it on.

At at least 79 people were killed in Chittagong City as a hill partially collapsed and caused a mudslide into one of the city slums.
BBC: "These are the worst ever rain-triggered landslides in Chittagong," said fire brigade chief Rashedul Islam, the AFP news agency reports.

Dhaka did not fare a lot better, with large parts water logged.
BBC: Many Dhaka residents said the weather was among the worst they could remember.
"I have never seen so much water in my life," one 75-year-old man, Mofizur Rahman, told the Associated Press news agency.

(http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asi...

check out siobhan's dhakablog for what is basically an exact description of my day on Sunday, and some very descriptive photos: http://siobhmc.blogspot.com/