There was something oppressive about Dhaka, negotiating the tempestuous seas of rickshaws and socialising with the millions of inhabitants was a precious experience, even if hard-work. But it was time to leave. I stopped for a night in the town of Jessore, and revelled in the chance to delve into Bangladeshi smalltown life again. And […]
The smell of the river hits you long before you reach it and then finally the banks eroded from garbage encasing an indigo corpse of water emerge. There are people everywhere, busily loading and unloading the boats, some enormous hulks of metal and some little more than dugouts. The stalls are piled high with intensely coloured oranges, fragrant pomegranates and papayas, dusty grapes and mounds of starfruit verging on ripeness.