Dhanbari Palace

November 29, 2010

due south to Gopalpur

It's barely light and it looks quite misty out there from my window this morning, now just gone six. No doubt the washing I hung on the flat rooftop last night is still damp.

After an hour I venture out down the traffic-free street, walking south - the direction my wheels will roll later. No honking of horns yet. Another hour or two I guess.

Armed with my camera looking for something to shoot, it's a nice peaceful stroll; very different from yesterday afternoon and last night's bustle. The only things moving are rickshaws, coasting up and down the dusty street looking for non-existent customers. The riders eye me hopefully. Sorry.

I make it to the temple that caught my attention yesterday and it's now open. The priest invites me in. His English isn't great, but he has a laminated info' sheet which tells me it's old - the front façade and main temple building are a few hundred years old. He leads me to the goddess and more photos are taken.

Breakfast is at a place on the street as I walk back to the hotel. There're only a few open, yet the one I choose doesn't look the most salubrious -it's just that the owner seems like he needs the business and gestures at the eggs in a rack and gives me two fingers, which in England would be rude, and I nod in agreement and get invited to sit at a table, with him using a piece of newspaper to wipe the chair first.

He fries the eggs on the steel plate out front and they get served with a couple of just-fried pantatas. Simple but tasty. Maybe some doy later. It's still too early and sat there in the quiet place I wonder if my washing is going to be dry.

The young man sat behind the desk in the sweet shop is happy to see a returning customer. It's 11 o'clock now and still hazy, but my dry clothes are in my panniers and after a second sweet doy, my wheels are turning and heads likewise along Jamalpur's now busy street.

Not for long, however, as an elderly man waves me down, introducing himself as a journalist. He's 75 and invites me for coffee. Okay.

His office isn't far and it turns out to be a branch of Transparency International - the anti-corruption organization. They have their work cut out in Bangladesh. A chat and a few photos and it's almost noon and I excuse myself and get going south, towards Dhonbari Palace, not really sure what the chat was all about.

The road is a bit wide - I think it's the N4 - and traffic is light, but what it lacks in quantity is balanced out in volume, with loud horns being used by the bus drivers living out their Monte Carlo Rally fantasies right here. I pedal on. It's okay.

The sun stays obscured by haze - not great for photos. It doesn't put me off completely, though and I do stop and a mother appears from wherever with her young son beside her, whose nose is running. She looks in awe for some reason. The boy looks cold in his thin clothes. One of the two oranges I bought back in Jamalpur this morning is retrieved from my bar-bag and I offer it to him. Snatch. It might sound silly and it's hard to explain, but it made my day. It cost about 30 taka - likely a lot of cash to him.

It's rural and boys are playing cricket, excited and passionate, in a field with rough grass. I see people working in the other fields and there are women kicking rice around on a large concrete slab, helping it to dry.

The kilometres are being eaten up; only around thirty to the palace. An easy day.

After about 25 km, I decide to get off this road. A small track takes my fancy - on my left, heading east. A young guy says it'll go to Dhonbari and then a young girl of about six sees me and runs off down the path to her home in a state of shock. 'Who the hell is this' she must have wondered.

It's so peaceful now. Bliss. The dried mud is smooth and it's even more rural, if that makes sense.

I see a green painted trike-trailer - not quite the green you get see in Europe or the States. It's not quite turquoise, but I guess that's what you'd call it. It's my fave colour.

The guys from an adjacent rice factory poke their heads out of the large doorway and I get to look around inside. Brown grains are spouting out from some machine high up, about three metres above us, dropping and forming a conical pyramid in the middle of the smooth floor. They don't speak English and it a bit surreal being here. Then on I go, inching towards the palace, taking it slow, my pedals and wheels going in circles.

Dhonbari Palace is suddenly right in front of me. The man on the steel gate ushers me in and I'm led by a woman of 60 I guess through the grounds to a building where the manager then escorts me to the bungalow where the accommodation is - the room being nice and spotlessly clean, which is something of a contrast from what went before, with the grounds looking like they need money and the palace not so much faded splendor but more like tatty opulence.

Although the room is nice, it's a modern one and I imagined sleeping in a grand bedroom with a high ceiling and painted furniture and gilded mirrors etc. I ask the rate - it's three thousand taka. I ask again. Same reply. Then get him to write it down. Ouch. Last night was 400. You can do the math.

I say it's not for me. No doubt some tourists like the romantic idea, but where's the romance here?

It's three now, so there's an hour or two to find a bed with me 10 kilometres south is Madhupur.

It turns out to be a junction spot more than a proper town, with buses crowding the place. Locals say there's a hotel in Gopalpur, another ten K to ride, turning off this route after just one K and heading west. It's a sizeable dot on my Nelles map, so we'll see.

There's no hotel or guesthouse here in Gopalpur, but I'm in a dak bungalow. It's certainly no palace, but costs - I think - just 100 taka... a quid, or a buck-fifty.

Today's ride: 55 km (34 miles)
Total: 1,181 km (733 miles)

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