Fine Wines and Blogs Get Better With Age

*This post has absolutely nothing to do with wine.*

I Packed My Sense of Humor and Not Much Else just turned three. I meant to write a dramatic post on its birthday that celebrated the day this blog was born, that detailed how I have persevered through the peaks and valleys of online writing, and that expressed to all 29 readers how much I treasure your input.

Bleeecch. None of that happened, although I DO in fact, treasure your input. (No really, I do. I get so excited when I see I have new comments. It's like a little party in my inbox once or twice every hour week).

Really, the reason that post never happened because I was much too busy surviving things, climbing things, and being horrified at things. I'm sure you understand.

And since I am horrible at being mushy, I figured that I should just skip all of that and just repost my very first entry instead. Some of my early stuff is actually quite entertaining, so you may be seeing more of it over the next few weeks. Side note: As I have been reading through the first year or so, I realize that apparently I thought it was acceptable to fling words out to the world without spell checking or proofreading. I have fixed those mistakes in the reprint, but everything else is the same. Oh, and I added  pictures. Not sure why I wouldn't have just done that the first time around.   No wonder it's taken me three years to find 29 people who willingly and faithfully wade through each post.

I trust that things have improved since 2008. Enjoy.

 

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Fun at the Dhaka Airport

It's my first time in Asia and I have chosen a "doozy" of a country in which to start my journey. I have arrived in the chaotic capital of Bangladesh, Dhaka. Isn't that where all the glossy travel magazines are headquartered? On the top 10 list of honeymoon destinations? NO? Right, well anyway, I am here now and ready to start getting adventurous.


I really had to look no further than the customs line at the airport though. (And by "line" here, I mean that everyone seems to think that pressing closer together and pushing will magically make them next ). I happen to be in front of the only other two white English-speakers in the room and I cannot help but overhear their conversation, as they are discussing the most recent detonated bombs and bouts of violence. I think that they cannot possibly be discussing Bangladesh, the country I just arrived in only twenty minutes ago. My curiosity overwhelms me and I turn and ask them where said bombs are being planted? They assured me that it was taking place right there in Dhaka! Wonderful! I will leave that part out when I call home.
When I finally push my way to the front, the customs officer decides is it not my day to enter Bangladesh. Why? I do not have an address at which I will be staying. He refuses to take pity on me, to feel sorry for the clueless American girl who has clearly not yet become familiarized in the art of bullying a Bangladeshi customs officer.


I am definitely going to start crying in the airport.


This is my where my fellow English speaker friends swoop in, proceed to curse the officer in Bengali (I do not speak Bengali, but I am pretty sure that is what was going on) and before I know it, the nice man shrugs his shoulder, stamps my passport and waves me through. I decided not to stick around in case he changes his mind (he seemed a bit fickle).
When I finally get out of the airport, the scene that awaits me assures me that the little airport drama will only be the beginning of my other side of the world adventure.