A Day At Work, Part III

At some point, after blundering for what seems an eternity through Dhaka traffic, we at last arrive at work.  The guards open the gates, and we enter the grounds of the Central Bank.  The ride takes anywhere from 40 minutes (our best time) to 1 hour 10 minutes (yesterday’s time). It’s six miles.

After a lift ride to the 11th floor, hoping the power doesn’t go out on the ride, I am at the office.  Speaking of the power, it goes out several times a day as the grid overloads, sometimes for just a few seconds, sometimes for an hour or more. (By the way, I just had to retype that sentence, as the internet suddenly dropped out and I lost it.) You learn here to click “save” a lot. We have been assured that backup generators are employed to power the lifts; I hope not to test that assurance.

But at work I’ve arrived, and I’ve even been assigned my own desk, although we spend most of our time in a conference room.  Unlike in my former office in Georgia,  the first order of business is the porter bringing me tea and biscuits.  Then a trip to the loo (restroom) involving an escort, and a key, as I rate the premium (non-squat) model. 

The bank building is, obviously, a high rise, as we’re on the 11th floor, and is in downtown Dhaka.  This is what is next door:

Yes, those are camels.  And this photo is taken from the window of the conference room, at the Central Bank, where I’m working. 

I’ve had my tea, been escorted to the facilities, and checked on the camels, so what exactly is it like to resume working after three years? 

It’s like I never left. 

I guess after nearly thirty years of getting up and going to an office it becomes such an ingrained habit that the familiarity never leaves you.  I feel perfectly natural going to work, just like I’d never been retired.  In fact, it is so natural, I find myself speaking in terms as though I was still working, and have to keep reminding myself, no, this is just temporary, you are still retired; it’s the office in Georgia, not my office in Georgia.

The people I’m working with here, as I’ve found almost without exception all over the world, are terribly gracious, helpful, and anxious to put their best foot forward.  Of course, we’re dealing with the “high society” in the country.  The solicitor working with us, for example, is the daughter of a retired diplomat, who, among his other pre-retirement duties, was the Ambassador to Singapore.  We went over to their home last Saturday to work; it’s a huge 7000 square foot five bathroom “flat” where we were brought tea and snacks by the servants while we worked. 

Meanwhile, back at the office, lunch time rolls around.  We are given a choice of what we’d like for lunch (none of them too appealing) and the porter is sent to purchase it.  When he returns, it is set up for us in the conference room on the bank’s china. 

After lunch, we’re again brought tea, coffee, water and biscuits.  All in all, very civilized, and the work day passes pleasantly. 

But sometimes things go wrong during the day, as the day Cath was here last summer and rioting broke out in the city.  I’ll talk about that next time.

 

 

A Day At Work, Part II

The rickshaws and scooters alone make the morning commute an interesting experience.  But we’ve only scratched the surface.  And remember that reference to scratching, as we’re going to revisit it in a moment.

In an SUV, we are almost in the minority on the road.  The majority of the traffic seems to be rickshaws,  the green scooters, buses,  some commercial trucks, some wagons being pulled by people, pedestrians darting in and out, the list goes on.  Couple with this the fact that there are no lanes.  Oh, on occasion there is a rudimentary stripe here and there (when there is something recognizable as pavement) but these are completely ignored.  Our drill to get to work in the morning is for the Toyota to careen from side to side, horn blasting continuously, around the scooters, around the rickshaws, around other vehicles.  If there is a space wide enough to cram a vehicle, then a vehicle is so crammed.  In traffic the “vehicles” are so close together they’re almost touching.  And sometimes are touching, as when our driver uses the front bumper to bump slow moving rickshaws out of the way.  I’ve been a lot of places at this point in my life and I’ve never seen anything like it. But thus far I’ve only described going straight (well, not straight, more of a zig-zag) down the road. 

Then there are the intersections. 

The drill for intersections is very simple.  You drive right into it, without looking.  I’m not kidding.  It is the job of oncoming traffic, apparently, to avoid you.   As a result, at busy city intersections, there are vehicles going in every direction, all at once, (being on the correct side of the road for the direction you’re going is routinely ignored) horns blaring (well, the rickshaws have bells), inching in whatever direction.  All with teaming masses of people mixed in.

And that brings us to the scratching I said above to remember.  Like horror movies?  You’ll love Dhaka.  In horror movies, people are always sitting quietly in vehicles when suddenly a grotesque figure appears in the window, scaring the living daylights out of them.  That’s reality here.  When the car stops, as it often does,  out of nowhere beggars suddenly appear, many deformed, who scratch, beat on, and wail at the glass, seeking a handout. 

I arrived here wondering most of all what it would be like to work again after three years.  Little did I know that work would almost be anti-climatic after the ride in to the office.  But since I did call this “A Day At Work”  I’ll try to actually get there in Part III.

A Day At Work, Part I

Here in Bangladesh, my days now begin with a working breakfast at my hotel.  I’m at the Lake Castle, which is within the “Diplomatic Compound,” so named because the entire area is able to be, and is, cordoned off and locked down when unrest erupts in the city.  Next door is the American Club, of which I’m now a member.  More about that later.  The American Embassy is just down my street.

Breakfast here is passably decent…I order two eggs cooked to order, accompanied by the odd square bread (which I toast myself) I’m accustomed to seeing throughout Asia.  Fresh fruit, cereals, and juices are available at breakfast as well.  Meat is in short supply, represented at breakfast thus far only by something called a “chicken sausage” the less said about the better.  Remember, this is a Muslim country, which means pork is not available.  There are  decent fried potatoes, liberally laced with onions, and even french toast; which I’ve yet to sample.  I’ll save that as a treat for the weekend.

I’m working here with my New Zealand friend Cath, whom I know from when she was head of the FIU in the Cook Islands.  At breakfast we discuss work issues and plan our work day. 

We are driven to downtown Dhaka to work in the offices of the central bank of Bangladesh.  We alternate between using the Embassy motor pool of the Australian Embassy (Cath is here at the behest of Oz) or the US Embassy.  Regardless of which Embassy, we get a white Toyota SUV.  That is a bit of a nice perk…when I need to go anywhere, I just phone the motor pool and order up a car and a driver. 

Driving into the city is an indescribable experience, but I’ll try.  Let’s start with the mix of traffic…a lot of rickshaws (no they’re not just in movies, the street is teeming with them) which may contain anyone from a man dressed for work talking on a cell phone, a woman in full burka, or an entire family, including their livestock. (the poor guy pedaling really has to stand on the pedals for that one)  Mixed in with these are a bizarre three wheeled semi-enclosed “vehicle” I cannot really describe.   If you’ve a good memory, they’re like the three- wheeled scooters the US Post office used for mail home delivery back in the 50s, before they switched to Jeeps.  When I first spotted these whizzing around everywhere while coming in from the airport I had a sudden disconnected feel, as if we’d inadvertently landed on some other planet. 

Added to the mix of rickshaws and the bizarre green scooters are the buses.  The buses all look about 50 years old, and there isn’t a square inch left on their bodies that is undented.  I mean that literally.  The buses also have no windows, and feature people hanging out the sides. 

Each time I visit some new third world country, I think the traffic couldn’t possibly be any worse.  Somehow, I keep being wrong on this.  I am not really sure I’m capable of describing the traffic on my way into work in Bangladesh, but I’m going to give it a try in Part II.

 

 

 

Man In Pants

A few weeks back, I wrote a post “Pants Day in Florida” lamenting the need to so attire myself, having grown accustomed in retirement to the ease and comfort of wearing shorts.  I made reference even to having been out at a watering hole surrounded by “you know the type: people in pants, people with jobs.”

So where do I find myself this morning?  Pressing my pants.  Going off to work.  Yes, after just shy of three years, I stepped off the plane here in Dhaka yesterday afternoon (in pants I might add) and, in a series of meetings, re-entered the world of work.   

Already some interesting anecdotes to share in that regard, but alas, I’ve no time.  I’m off to a working breakfast.

The Road to Dhaka

Hard to believe, but I’ve been here in Bangkok nearly a week already.  Saturday morning, I depart for Dhaka, then I’ll return here in July. 

Tonight as I write, I’m sitting in a British Pub, the Londoner, having my dinner.  And no, it isn’t Asian food.  I have been eating little and exercising much this week, but beginning yesterday and continuing into today, I was feeling quite lethargic.  Then I realized…I’m being too good.  I need some FOOD.  So I’ve just finished a plate of pork chops, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans, bread on the side, and I now feel great.  Gotta keep my energy up, as I’ll need to pop by Mojos later and dance with Gam. 

This was my first trip overseas that I wasn’t able to use the Diplomatic passport line at immigration, and I was a little concerned about how that would go.  Now I’m just a retired geezer traveling on a “regular” passport. Although there was a long queue in Bangkok it moved quickly and there were no issues.  And no such issue will appear in Dhaka thankfully, as the Embassy has just notified me that I’ll be met at the gate on Saturday by an “expediter” from the Embassy, to be whisked through Immigration and Customs. 

I’ve been snapping more photos, but haven’t had time to upload them yet.  Uploading is a  s l o w process here, so some pictures will just have to wait until I’m back. 

 

 

One Night In Bangkok…wait it’s Three

I’m settling in and starting ever so slowly to get used to having flipped day and night.  As I write this, it is 9 on a Tuesday morning, but it is 10 on Monday night in Florida.  I take breakfast each morning here in the outdoor restaurant, sitting by the pool where I am now writing.  And breakfast has been a pleasant surprise…after complaining about the lack of good bacon on previous Asian trips, I’m enjoying surprisingly good bacon and eggs at breakfast.  And before the snide remarks begin, I generally eat Thai food the remainder of the day…but I gotta have that western breakfast.

I’ve been getting out and about during the day, doing a great deal of walking and eating pretty light.  I do think my pants are a bit less snug this morning.   Today in fact, I walked about 5 miles, interrupted only by an espresso in an air conditioned shop, lunch, and a one hour  massage.  Okay, so it wasn’t continuous.  It was still 5 miles.

I’ve discovered already a new favorite hangout, conveniently located right across the street from the hotel.  It is a nightclub, called Mojos.  I stumbled into it by accident on Saturday night, when I heard pretty good rock and roll music coming from the door.  It features coyote dancers, which is apparently a big rage here in Bangkok at the moment. 

Anyway, I walked in the door and the joint was jumping.  The band features a really good Asian woman lead singer, and the dancers were on the bar, and on the tables dancing up a storm.  I think an Elvis song was being played when I walked in…but there were so many distractions it’s all a blur. 

And unlike the USA, where a coyote dancer for a middle aged overweight guy is made of pure unobtanium…this is Bangkok.  When one of the dancers caught me smiling at her, she beamed back, then jumped down, came over, introduced herself, and bought me a drink.  She didn’t speak much English, but on break the woman lead singer came over and translated.  Hey, working through a translator, just like being back at work again. 

I returned to the same venue on Sunday night, and the same dancer came over and danced with me when not up on the bar.  Then I ran into the author Dean Barrett.  My O Bistro friends have seen me reading one of his novels at the bar.  Anyway, we talked a little bit about why I was in Asia and Dean asked me to meet him when I got back to Bangkok from Dhaka so we could talk further.  He’s presently working on a sequel to Skytrain to Murder.

As I finish this post, I’m sitting in the lounge at my hotel.  Directly in front of me are two beautiful women in their 20s, in black cocktail dresses, who keep smiling at me.  I think we’ll wrap this up now.

Back In Bangkok

Well, I’m back at last.  The trip which has been postponed repeatedly since last August is underway. 

After all the false starts, delays, and issues, the trip itself has been quite smooth.  I left Tampa Thursday morning on a First Class ticket to Detroit, and was pleased to have a complete, hot breakfast on the plane, which tasted not bad and was even served on real china with real silverware.  What a pleasant surprise to have a hot meal on a domestic flight…Delta, for example, doesn’t serve food even in First Class. 

Departing Detroit on a Business class flight, I opened with champagne,  ordered Beef Tenderloin on the dinner menu, and it was accompanied by a decent Cabernet blend wine.  Dessert was an oreo cookie ice cream cake, accompanied by a nice port.  I must confess I watched no movies, but instead put the GPS screen on and dozed until breakfast was served coming into Tokyo. 

It’s been a long time since I was on a flight leaving Detroit that featured announcements in English, Japanese, and Mandarin.  And even more interesting, the Japanese flight attendant, for reasons I’m not quite clear about, came over, called me by name, introduced herself, and then informed me that Northwest was upgrading me to Silver Elite mileage status effective immediately, and gave me a new frequent flier number.  It appears that  means on Northwest, as on Delta, free First class upgrades with no charge to miles on all domestic flights. 

I arrived here last night just before midnight local time, right on time, and was at my hotel, Livingstone’s, at around 1a.m.  Just in time for last call in the bar, where I was a big hit with the all female staff.

I haven’t quite got my Asia sea legs back yet.  I’d forgotten how in Asia floors tend to be at multiple levels, a step here and a step there, all over the place.  The hotel is particularly bad in that regard, with the floor level changing every few feet it seems.  As a result, I’ve had several close calls and one fall, which caused me to scrape my elbow.  Of course, the little Thai girl waiting on me (it was at breakfast) rushed over to fuss over me, brought out ointment to put on it (the scrape that is), and then put a bandaid on it. 

I had the same waitress at lunch, where I wrote most of this, sitting by the pool outside.  She chattered away happily to me; I’ve haven’t a clue what she was saying.  I think she might have wanted to come to my room.  She fancies she speaks English but I’ve no evidence to support that belief. 

The night before I left, at dinner in O Bistro ,  I showed them all photos of Janet and me feeding an elephant on the street during a previous visit to Bangkok.  Having just looked at the photos, I recalled both the appearance of the elephant’s blanket and the appearance of the handler.  Incredibly, I saw the same elephant, wearing the same blanket, at the corner of Asoke and Sukhumvit, on the way in from the airport.  He was in a taxi queue, waiting for the traffic light to change.

Only in Bangkok.

The Road To Bangkok

Well, I said I probably wouldn’t announce my departure on my oft postponed Asian consulting trip until I was actually at the airport, waiting for the plane.  And so it is…as I write this, I am sitting at the airport, waiting for my first flight.  I’m flying first to the familiar environs of Detroit, from there a mid-afternoon flight to Tokyo, and then on to Bangkok after a short layover.  Of course, First and Business Class all the way; as I remain true to my oft stated position:  “I’m old and fat…if you won’t let me sit up front I’m not going.”

The festivities kicked off last night at O Bistro, with the usual suspects, and Chris from Lincoln Land, in attendance.  The combination of last night’s cocktails, together with little sleep last night, means that after dinner later today on the Northwest flight, I should sleep most of the way to Tokyo. 

I’m staying in Bangkok at, and I am not making this up, a place called Livingstone’s Lodge.  I’d supply a link to the hotel website, but I’m too tired and it’s too much trouble.  I suspect the food won’t be as good as the other Livingstons Lodge…Sally and Donny’s place in Darien.  I had an entertaining conversation on my cell phone yesterday, with the Thai girls on the front desk , while they chattered away in broken English and incomprehensible Thai, trying so hard to help me, but managing to accidentally hang up on me in the middle of the conversation.  Ah… Thailand.  Truth be told, the chatter was music to my ears. 

So tonight it’s cocktails and steak on the plane, repeating Friday night on the Tokyo to Bangkok plane, then a nightcap Friday night in downtown Bangkok. 

I’m on my way at last.

Obama Without A Teleprompter

If Bush sounded this stupid and clueless we’d never hear the end of it. 

 

 

Odds and Ends

Yes, I’ve been neglecting the blog lately, and have gotten a couple of complaints to that effect.  I’ve been busy with other issues.  It’s not that there isn’t lots to write about…the media swooning over Obama and throwing Hillary, and even Bill,  under the bus, is alone a field ripe for harvest. 

The Asia consulting trip is at last going to take place.  My passport is, as I write this, at the Embassy in Washington getting my visa issued.  Of course, the passport first went astray in the mail, taking nearly two weeks to arrive via Priority Mail; then the passport photos in the first mailing were ruined and I had to send another set.  The passport is to be overnighted to me next Wednesday, and I’ll be on the first suitable flight thereafter.

In the meantime, I’m off to Georgia for the weekend, as a guest of Janet and Jimmie.  I’m taking a load of things up to my storage there that I don’t want left in the house while I’m gone…it’s hurricane season you know.  In Georgia they’ll be swimming pool, barbecue, and watching “Big Brown” hopefully win. 

Speaking of Janet, we’ll have the opportunity to meet at our favorite Bangkok watering hole the week after next, as our paths will cross there. 

Now, time for me to get that Lincoln packed and head for Georgia.