General Wanderings

Colors.  Its the colors here that distinguish.  Rubbish springles the dusty roads, curious eyes glistin the periphery, burning trash, dirty rickshaws and immaculate smells (some putrid, some alluring) entertain my senses along the streets – these are commonalities among many impoverished landscapes.  Its the colors I will remember.  Among the billowing grays and browns of camoflauging poverty in the city bursts a multitude of oranges and reds, sea greens and sky blues, golden sparkles and silver twinkles.  Its all the Christmas i could ever have.

I looked out a window for 4 hours today.  I keep getting booted to the back of the van for lack of ability to speak my mind that we should all take turns in the rollercoaster ride along this terrible infrastructure.  The potholes and chutes too narrow don’t allow for anything but looking out the window.  To be honest, the rural landscape is a bit too enthralling to pass up for mindless crocheting or wordy Foreign Affairs magazines anyway.

Have you ever wondered what people think when they gaze out the window during a long road trip?  I wondered about all the grains of sand scattering the roadsides, and where does it come from?  I wondered what it felt like to work in the rice paddies, spreading seeds and praying for water.  I wondered when exactly the transformation in the West happened that defined prosperity and well-being with austere, colorless concrete shapes like rectangles and circles;  what happened to obnoxious pinks and greens and diamonds and sparkles that decorate the rickshaws and billboards here?  I wondered about my future.  I wondered about how much money could be made building more efficient bicycles with local materials for the rickshaw drivers here.  I wondered about this old man Rick I met in Denver and if he slept well last night.

I finally made it out of of Dhaka.  In the city, an incomparable pollution lingers; so heavy I can taste it, so thick I hadn’t yet seen the sun.  Now, gratefully, I enter the beauty of the rural landscapes of Bangladesh.  The shades of green blanketing the landscape in the squares and squares of rice patties.  The bursting brightness of saris draped over bushes and trees edging the cucumber plots.  The browns that bustle in and out of shops.  The neon green color that inhabits all the freshwater sources, intoxicated by pesticides and fertilizers and human waste.  The colors of roses red and violets blue painted all over the rickshaws and taxis.