106 - New Years Double Take (Sundarbans, Bangladesh)
ONE MORE SHOT AT TIGER ISLAND ABOARD THE COUNTRY BOAT. These small wooden vessels have two advantages. They're small enough to navigate narrow channels and uber quiet without an engine. High tide was ideal, allowing maximum penetration. Early morning marked high tide, so at 7:30 a.m. we were off.
Any sense of isolation was transitory, often disrupted and underscored by the obnoxious chugging of a fisherman's motor or other modern intrusion. Still, there were moments rife with primordial undertones. We floated in silence, holding our collective breath. Waiting. Scanning. Hoping. A haze-obscured sun rose above the trees while a ghostly mist hung over the water. Chirping birds provided the soundtrack to a Sundarbans magical mystery tour.
The boatman's oar lapping at the water was the only constant. Heeeeere, kitty, kitty, kitty. Nice kitty, kitty. We ducked beneath protruding vegetation. The channel narrowed. The tension accrued. Animal tracks decorated the mud banks, especially those of spotted deer and wild boar. Game trails crisscrossed the swamp, weaving between trees and through the underbrush. Every time we rounded a bend, the brush cleared, or the grass parted, I held my breath.
Heeeeere, kitty, kitty, kitty. Nice kitty, kitty. Five tigers were reputed to live on the small island, including a mother and three cubs. Yes, we wanted to see the family, but how close did we want to get? Though mommy had plenty of meal options on hand, four defenseless flesh bags floating on toothpicks might be too tempting to ignore. Easy targets. Lots of camouflage. Heeeeere, kitty, kitty, kitty. Nice kitty, kitty.
One truly haunting aspect of any Sundarbans incursion is the constant swaying and grating of nipa palm leaves. The rigid leaves scrape against one another, producing a sound akin to someone darting through a doorway covered by vertical blinds. No matter how many times I heard it, there was always a split second when I thought some denizen of the forest was crashing through the undergrowth, declaring its presence with defiance.
We continued until the channel became too narrow, the underbrush too thick. We paused often to sit, listen, and wonder. In a word, magnificent. After another fruitless (as far as felines go) search down a different channel, we returned to the boat for breakfast, then set off for the Kochikhali forest station. We went aboard one of Guide Tours' larger boats to mingle with fellow tourists. (Mostly folks in the international development/aid domain). We joined Swiss, Germans, Brits, Russians, Australians, and Dutch for a delicious meal and some New Years’ jubilation. It was time to party like it was 1999… twice.
The festivities began with a game. Two teams. One goal. We all wrote a famous person on a slip of paper and put it into a bowl. Someone pulled a name and described him/her while the team guessed aloud. Each round lasted thirty seconds, wherein the aim was to guess as many as possible. A Russian woman drew Rene Descartes. She yelled, “German philosopher” to which my teammate guessed Adolf Hitler.
Recap: The name was Rene Descartes, a French philosopher/mathematician/scientist. Her clue was German philosopher. The response was Adolf Hitler. The German guy wasn’t amused. I almost pissed my pants with laughter. I suppose, technically, Adolf was a philosopher, just not the one who comes to mind when listing Germany's greatest thinkers.
The party relocated to the beach where at least fifty people gathered around a robust fire, including ex-pat families with children. Kids scavenged the treeline for firewood… alone. Um, tigers anyone? No? Ah, I’m sure it’s fine.
A certain percentage of the ex-pats in Bangladesh are, well, different. Case in point? A gentleman whose nationality I can’t recall swore off food until he saw a tiger. He was two days into the fast with no kitty in sight. I wanted to question him but realized I couldn’t quell the sarcastic asshole within. I assume he’s dead now. Get a grip.
I had the unique pleasure of a New Years’ double take. Bangladesh gave daylight savings a whirl, but it didn't stick. The result was minor chaos in the form of persistent tardiness. It ain’t easy living in the future. Folks refused to conform or couldn’t be bothered to change their clocks. So, the government decided to return to the present, choosing midnight on December 31st for the transition. We raised a glass, welcomed the new year, turned back our watches an hour, and repeated. Déjà vu all over again.
All our effort to acquire an overpriced bottle of whiskey in Dhaka paid off. We got shit-faced and laughed like hyenas. Some Brits contributed to the debauchery with the veritable mini-bar they brought along. The last time I drank that much, the police showed up. Wow. I asked a single female if she was single. She said no. I asked her why. She went to bed alone. Yessir, smoother than baby oil on a newborn's ass. I drowned my shame in whiskey.
We were worthless the next day. Our schedule went as follows: breakfast, nap, tea, nap, bathroom, nap, lunch, nap, nap, nap, passing thought of going somewhere, nap, dinner, nap, bedtime. The intrepid wanderers flatlined by a hangover. Move over, Magellan.
In the morning, we began our return north to Khulna, stopping at a forest station or two along the way. We continued to explore narrow tributaries with our country boat. Except for two crocodiles, a monitor lizard, some birds, two river dolphins, and a few monkeys, we saw very little. We did, however, scare the bejesus out of some fishermen during an evening excursion. They somehow mistook us for pirates, jumping ship and fleeing into the forest before realizing their mistake. Perhaps I missed my calling.
List of animals observed, though not necessarily photographed: 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.
The R.B. Emma had a guestbook with testimonials from previous travelers. We were encouraged to sign and describe our experience. Alex (or should I say Rembrandt) included an artistic representation of Emma’s crew and was kind enough to make an entry on my behalf. Allow me to translate if the picture isn’t clear:
"My name is Rich Poomadore ('Poo' is a direct reference to the flatulent effect of local cuisine). 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."
It was another night in Khulna before a train to Dhaka. What a ride. What a fucking ride.
