The tree in the photo above holds a special place in the jungle lore of Bangladesh. It’s known locally in Lawachara National Park as the “senseless tree.”  Rumor has it, that a single sniff of the bark is enough to render a grown adult unconscious and the giant tree has been featured on Bangladeshi news-stations and attracted local conspiracy theorists.  Sound intriguing?  Well, the true story is somewhat less dramatic but remarkable nonetheless. 

The origins of the tree are actually an authentic mystery.  It is not native to Bangladesh; in fact, it’s not even native to Asia. The only place on earth where this glorious chunk of foliage is found naturally is in Africa.  No one knows who planted it, why it was planted or how a seed of a gargantuan African tree found its way to the Indian sub-continent.  What is known for certain is that this tree is the only example of its species in Eurasia, it’s been growing for well over a hundred years and it doesn’t render anyone unconscious at the sniff of its bark.

The legend of the faint-inducing-bark arrived with the stroke of an elderly Bangladeshi woman at the foot of this tree a few years back.  At the start of the stroke, she leaned on the tree in a sudden moment of panic prior to collapsing unconscious at the roots.  Numerous casual observers witnessed the woman “sniff” the tree before fainting and, upon noticing that the weathered plaque affixed on the trunk read: chlorophora excelsa,  the rumour quickly spread that the bark possessed dangerous chloroform powers that could knock a person “senseless”.  The legend of the “senseless tree” was born!   

I sniffed and inhaled as much of the bark as I could and, to date, have not experienced any obvious side effects.  I guess the chloroform didn't work on me. 

Our trip to Srimongol began with a train ride.  It was…an adventure. 

Let me preface this by stating that I’ve taken multiple trains in Thailand and rode the third class carriage in Sri Lanka, so I’m not entirely new to the Asian train-travel experience.  However, as we often say living here, this is Bangladesh!  No country on the planet can outstrip Bangladesh for eccentricity, inefficiency and overcrowding.  Our train experience was no lent even more credibility to this assertion.   

We arrived at the airport station platform approximately ten minutes before the train was scheduled to depart.  Bangladesh is not known for its punctuality and, as a result, the train was more than an hour late.  In the meantime, we were swarmed by literally hundreds of curious, gawking, camera-phone wielding Bangladeshi men all wanting to watch the ever-exciting and delightfully entertaining spectacle of a large group of white people waiting for a train. 

On a related side-note, if you ever wish to experience life as a celebrity, come to Bangladesh.  You will have intrusive photos taken paparazzi style almost every day, especially if you happen to be a member of the female species.  You will be quizzed over and over and over again with an assortment of the following questions:

1)     What is your country?
2)     What is your job?
3)     How long have you been in Bangladesh?
4)     Do you like Bangladesh?
5)     Are you married?
6)     Do you have children?
7)     Can you get me a job?
8)     Can you get me a visa?

At first these conversations are not inherently annoying but after the fiftieth cross-examination in broken English over the span of a half an hour, it does become rather tedious.  We all had dozens of these conversations while waiting for our train.    

As the train finally arrived at the station, all hell broke loose.  I haven’t played a full contact sport like that since my American football days in high school but I was well prepared!  I literally served as a fullback, elbowing, shoving, tripping and biting (well…not actually biting) my way through the aggressive, screaming, pressing crowd with all my strength.  Danielle’s shoulder almost dislocated in the process and we, to my great chagrin, lost the bag containing our supper in the frantic scramble. 

Once on the train, despite the fact that we had purchased seats in second class, we found our seats occupied by angry Bangladeshis unwilling to move, almost leading to a physical altercation.  Ah, the joys of living in Bangladesh! 

After the seating issues were sorted and our group was settled comfortably in our carriage, the remainder of the both train trips was, for the most part, enjoyable.  With the exception of the frequent cockroaches scuttling around the floors, ceilings and walls and a rather large old crone who wordlessly decided to rest her ample right butt-cheek squarely on my lap for a half an hour, the train was a positive experience. 

Taking the train in Bangladesh proved to be the very essence of an adventure.  It pushed me and Dani to the limits of our patience and traveling endurance, but in the end, we are glad for the experience.  We would do it again in a heartbeat.

More to come tomorrow!   

Pardon the corny pun of a title.  I couldn’t resist.  There is really nothing remotely risqué about the Bangladeshi tea town of Srimongol.  There are, however, numerous tints of verdant awesomeness that I was privileged to explore over the course of the past action-packed weekend with my friends and coworkers.   

Essentially, we boarded a train on Thursday and bustled non-stop through the lush tea-gardens, reed-filed marshes, idyllic country villages and unbelievably green rice paddies of Syhlet for two days.  Dani and I arrived home late Saturday night, exhausted but stoked that we managed to see such a beautiful portion of the country in such a small amount of time. 

Rather than writing a single massive post about the highlights of the weekend and boring you all with oodles of details in one sitting, I plan on writing a short blog post each night for the rest of the week.  Coming up in the near future: my discovery that pineapples do NOT grow on trees, train travel in Bangladesh, a mystical variant of tree that will knock you senseless and much more!  

Stay tuned!  

Bangladesh may be famous for Bengal tigers, Asian elephants, and monkeys but the wildlife I most frequently encounter in Dhaka is the ragingly carnivorous mosquito.

Mosquitoes in Bangladesh are different than those back home in Canada.  They look identical but behave differently.  Mozzies back home will buzz your ears and generally you can find the offending insect, squash it with a decisive clap of the hands and proudly wipe the guck (or, God forbid, someone else’s blood) from your skilled palms.  Bangladeshi mosquitoes however, are ninjas.  You don’t hear them approaching, barely feel the attack and by the time you’ve realized you’ve been bitten, it’s far too late; the offending insect has silently escaped.  I can occasionally be seen jumping around my apartment in an angry frenzy, muttering invented curses and occasionally screaming “die spawn of Satan” at the mosquitoes I cannot find.

 To combat the relentless blood-sucking pursuit of the moshas, two primary tools are required. 

#1. Mosquito Net.

Our trust, baby-blue mosquito net has been keeping us safe from dengue, malaria and Japanese encephalitis for the past two years.  Although it gets dusty fairly quickly and possesses numerous small holes from my random, dream-stoked panics where I believe I’m being chased by a giant octopus or something, it keeps us safe from the mosquito-ninja menace.  Without the net, Dani and I would look like small-pox victims.    

#2. Mosquito Racquet

This is, while perhaps not essential, by far the most enjoyable component of the campaign to rid our apartment of mosquitoes.  Our electric tennis racquet certainly adds a certain degree of entertainment to the hunt.  The snap, crackle and pop of the racquet as it abruptly roasts a stray mosquito is one of the most satisfying sounds (and smells coincidentally… roasted mosquito flesh toasting on an electric grill…MMMMM) I’ve ever encountered.

Anyways, that’s all of the gory details on our effort to stay Dengue-free!  Four months to go. Hopefully these measures will be adequate! 

I am not a huge hockey fan.  I haven’t avidly followed the NHL since late high school and, until a few nights ago, I hadn’t watched a full game of hockey since moving to Bangladesh.  I seem to be a poor excuse for a Canadian. 

However, it seems that every time the Olympics roll around, I suddenly take a keen interest in the welfare of the Canadian team.  One of the proudest, most patriotic moments of my life occurred during the 2010 Vancouver Olympics while watching the gold medal game that pitted the United States against Canada.  When Sydney Crosby scored the game-winning goal in overtime, I broke down into an exuberant, gleeful, blubbering, patriotic mess.  I have never cried such quantities of happy tears in my entire life.  The whole country went nuts with and I was so proud to be Canadian!

Fast-forward to last Sunday, when I watched (with the most welcome company of my little sister Kayla and droves of other Canucks) Canada beat Sweden 3-0 in the comfort of the Canadian Embassy recreational club here in Dhaka.  While the game wasn’t even close, the first period was a little dicey and the communal excitement at each of Canada’s three points was heartwarming.  I haven’t been that stoked in a long time.

Watching the gold medal game in Bangladesh, where cricket is king, reminded me just how much ice hockey serves to unify the diverse country of Canada into a single identity.  The fact that almost half of all Canadians watched the game against Sweden speaks to the massive importance that hockey plays in the lives of Canadians…even those living in Dhaka.  I can’t wait to see where I'll the next Winter Olympics!

Go Canada Go!