Found out one of the bad sides of Dhaka last night. Went to an incredibly swanky cafe for a cup of coffee and kebab, called Mango Rooms, with interior design so good it would shame Paris or New York or London. Everything going quality and then hit by yet another power-cut (big problem at the moment). So we paid and left, and then walking back, in the darkness, I got caught in mud. To avoid it I stepped on some straw that people had placed on the road. Except the straw was covering a well of sewage.
Only when my foot had gone through the crusty layer in to the warm wet excrement did I realise what had happened and managed to extract my leg. It. Was. Rank. Had to walk all the way back to the flat with Dhaka’s dirtiest squelching in my toes, with Tom and Georgia laughing until the stench started to hit them. My foot smelt so bad it would have paralysed a race horse. And then our bloody keys wouldn’t work in the door (because it was pitch black) and we were hot and stressed. Must have sweated out a pint just faffing at our three locks, in the 30 degree heat and high humidity.
Absolutely rank. Learnt a valuable lesson of never place your foot where you can’t see solid ground beneath it. Bloomin… &^&SY*S*!”$%^!!!!!
