2. The Wrong Bus Station
So the night before I had been talking with Kassandra about buses, and reading (and rereading and rereading) the travel guide, and I’d written a few notes. Some of them were for this trip to Birisiri, another was for a trip to Khulna (heading south) which I put the kaibosch on, and of course all notes involved different bus stations. While still talking to Rosario on the morning I told him the station off the top of my head, and I didn’t realize until I’d already been stuck in traffic for 40 minutes after leaving the Embassy that I’d given him the wrong one. So, I figured “oh well!”, and still got let off 5 minutes later at the Green Line bus office in Kalabaggan.
I walked into the office (air conditioning and a place to set my bags down, ooooh-aaaah) and the grandpa told me “please have a seat,” so I did. Normal, right? When the boys behind the counter weren’t busy I stood up and had hardly opened my mouth to ask them about a ticket and they told me again (politely) to sit down and wait. Giggling quietly to myself, I sat down again an pulled out my water bottle.
A few minutes later grandpa came up and asked to see my ticket, and I told him I didn’t have one. He shook his head and walked away. I was very confused.
A few minutes after that I was bored of being polite and said at the counter “Sorry to interrupt, but how am I to buy a ticket for your bus if I sit on the bench over there? I would like to go to Birisiri or Mymensingh today”
“OH, Miss! You have no ticket? Oh, sorry sorry sorry (go k-pop!), much Banglish, and then finally “Oh, sorry miss, we do not have a bus that goes to Mymensingh or Birisiri.”
Oh. Oooooooookay.
Hmmm, she thinks… well, I know I should have gone to Mohakali, maybe they can take me or get me there?? I explain to them that I need to get to Mohakali and ask if they have a shuttle, or can tell me the best way to get there.
The boy behind the counter (after much back and forthing in Bangala between the set of them) gestures to grandpa and tells me to go with his uncle, so while I have no idea where I'm going (or at least how I'm going there) again I do what they say (with a smile even!).
Grandpa picks up my BIG bag (which, incidentally, was the size of him I’m sure) and refusing to give it over heads out all hunched over under the bag into traffic. To climb up the curb/meridian between the street I actually had to lift the bag for him, and he finally gave it back to me when we were out of traffic’s way safe on the other side of the street.
I found myself with grandpa at a city bus stop, boys set up behind a folding card table apparently selling tickets. If I were at home I would be certain it was some kind of scam, but here in Bangladesh it was indeed boys selling tickets for the insanity that some here call a city-bus and they get me in the right line. When my bus pulled up I thanked grandpa for his help (and tipped him of course), and he and 5 young Bangladeshi men made sure to yell to the other zillion passengers on the bus about what stop I was getting off at and told them to make sure I didn’t miss my stop.
They hauled my bags onto the bus (I stopped arguing about doing it myself because they just waved me off anyway, lol) and plunked me into the front seat where I could see all the madness firsthand...
More to come in Part 3!
So the night before I had been talking with Kassandra about buses, and reading (and rereading and rereading) the travel guide, and I’d written a few notes. Some of them were for this trip to Birisiri, another was for a trip to Khulna (heading south) which I put the kaibosch on, and of course all notes involved different bus stations. While still talking to Rosario on the morning I told him the station off the top of my head, and I didn’t realize until I’d already been stuck in traffic for 40 minutes after leaving the Embassy that I’d given him the wrong one. So, I figured “oh well!”, and still got let off 5 minutes later at the Green Line bus office in Kalabaggan.
I walked into the office (air conditioning and a place to set my bags down, ooooh-aaaah) and the grandpa told me “please have a seat,” so I did. Normal, right? When the boys behind the counter weren’t busy I stood up and had hardly opened my mouth to ask them about a ticket and they told me again (politely) to sit down and wait. Giggling quietly to myself, I sat down again an pulled out my water bottle.
A few minutes later grandpa came up and asked to see my ticket, and I told him I didn’t have one. He shook his head and walked away. I was very confused.
A few minutes after that I was bored of being polite and said at the counter “Sorry to interrupt, but how am I to buy a ticket for your bus if I sit on the bench over there? I would like to go to Birisiri or Mymensingh today”
“OH, Miss! You have no ticket? Oh, sorry sorry sorry (go k-pop!), much Banglish, and then finally “Oh, sorry miss, we do not have a bus that goes to Mymensingh or Birisiri.”
Oh. Oooooooookay.
Hmmm, she thinks… well, I know I should have gone to Mohakali, maybe they can take me or get me there?? I explain to them that I need to get to Mohakali and ask if they have a shuttle, or can tell me the best way to get there.
The boy behind the counter (after much back and forthing in Bangala between the set of them) gestures to grandpa and tells me to go with his uncle, so while I have no idea where I'm going (or at least how I'm going there) again I do what they say (with a smile even!).
Grandpa picks up my BIG bag (which, incidentally, was the size of him I’m sure) and refusing to give it over heads out all hunched over under the bag into traffic. To climb up the curb/meridian between the street I actually had to lift the bag for him, and he finally gave it back to me when we were out of traffic’s way safe on the other side of the street.
I found myself with grandpa at a city bus stop, boys set up behind a folding card table apparently selling tickets. If I were at home I would be certain it was some kind of scam, but here in Bangladesh it was indeed boys selling tickets for the insanity that some here call a city-bus and they get me in the right line. When my bus pulled up I thanked grandpa for his help (and tipped him of course), and he and 5 young Bangladeshi men made sure to yell to the other zillion passengers on the bus about what stop I was getting off at and told them to make sure I didn’t miss my stop.
They hauled my bags onto the bus (I stopped arguing about doing it myself because they just waved me off anyway, lol) and plunked me into the front seat where I could see all the madness firsthand...
More to come in Part 3!
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