My life in Dhaka has changed forever.

So I am afraid I have thrown over my once-beloved Nagasaki for greener Japanese pastures here in Dhaka--Izumi is new, and beautiful, and stylish, and has some freakin' incredible sushi--IN DHAKA. Are we processing this?

I have heard various rumors about how they get the fish, the most common being something along the line of seafood commandos flying coolers of sashimi-grade fish from Bangkok thrice weekly since they don't trust local import companies. While the service was somewhat lackluster compared to The 8's frightening efficiency, the food hit it out of the park. Plus, it didn't hurt that the building and decor were gorgeous.

Plus, sushi is healthy enough that I totally don't feel guilty about my decision to eat there at least twice a week until I leave. Did I mention that sushi makes me very, very happy?

Garrett, my delightful successor who arrived three months before my departure date, went with us. I kept shaking my fist at him and muttering something about the new people being spoiled and taking all this fabulousness in Dhaka for granted. I'm not bitter though.

The Man in the Lion Mask

The other night I went to my first theater performance in Bangladesh. Considering I've been here as Cultural Affairs Officer for almost two years, this may seem somewhat odd. But given my limited Bangla skills, I figured any theater excursion would involve a few hours of having no clue what was being said. I figured right.

However, the performance I saw used masks to tell a story from the Ramayana, so at least the costumes were neat. More on this form of theater, called jatra, on Wikipedia. We especially liked the lion:


Here are some fun masks that had hinges so the mouths moved:


That being said, we left about halfway through because there was only so much excitement we could get out of it. But this wasn't odd like it would be in the U.S.--witness the guy in the foreground of the photo above walking around the theater playing with his cell phone. Also, photography seemed to be very much allowed, which is why you can see these photos at all.

Whatever, I felt cultured for that hour :)

You oughta be in (making?) pictures

And finally, our masterpiece is unveiled. I always thought it took artsy, talented people to use video editing software, but apparently the basics aren't as unattainable as I thought, because here I am, your resident Luddite, making a video.

And it's fabulous, if I do say so myself. Bangladesh as you've never seen it before, folks! This was created in honor of my Aunt Anna's (not really my aunt, but really wonderful) 60th birthday. Enjoy!

Aunt Anna Bangladesh Birthday from James Hallock on Vimeo.

Reading, watching, eating

Just finished Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies. I really think she is a masterful writer of short fiction--I was biased against her because I read her only novel, The Namesake, first and didn't think that much of it. But her stories are so luminous and yet so concrete.

In other news, we are watching The West Wing starting with season one. We have a lot of free time in Bangladesh... I was a huge fan of Sports Night, Aaron Sorkin's previous outing in television, but somehow having it actually be political types talking about politics instead of sportscasters just makes the whole thing a hair too earnest for me.

Dinner last night: spaghetti with kalamata olives and sun-dried tomatoes. Mmm...

Launching... Poetic Sundays

Today I hosted a poetry reading for high school students in honor of National Poetry Month. It was great fun--participants read a poem they liked or had written themselves.

I was thinking of ways to say something about American culture through the poems I read. At first, I thought maybe I should read Allen Ginsberg just because there is now no reason I can't--unlike during the period when the Reagan Administration had Ginsberg on a U.S. Information Agency list of people deemed unsuitable for U.S. Government-paid speaking trips abroad. But I wasn't sure the Bangladeshi audience would really get it.

That being said, I still love the line from his poem "America": "When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?" So good.

Anyway, I decided first to read Walt Whitman's "I Hear America Singing," and then play off the idealized picture of America he gives by reading Langston Hughes's "Harlem" and Frank O'Hara's "Poem (Lana Turner has Collapsed)."

And then I realized that I love poetry, and that few things make me more excited, and that I want to have a weekly reason to think about it. So here we go--Poetic Sundays. Each week I will post a poem. I hope you enjoy it. If not, I know I will.

To start off, how about one of the ones I read today? It MUST be read aloud for proper effect. I am not usually a stickler for that, but this poem requires it.

Poem
By Frank O'Hara

Lana Turner has collapsed!
I was trotting along and suddenly
it started raining and snowing
and you said it was hailing
but hailing hits you on the head
hard so it was really snowing and
raining and I was in such a hurry
to meet you but the traffic
was acting exactly like the sky
and suddenly I see a headline
LANA TURNER HAS COLLAPSED!
there is no snow in Hollywood
there is no rain in California
I have been to lots of parties
and acted perfectly disgraceful
but I never actually collapsed
oh Lana Turner we love you get up

p.s. If you, too, get tremendously excited by poetry, check out the Favorite Poem Project--an excellent endeavor begun by fellow New Jerseyan and former U.S. poet laureate Robert Pinsky.

A Dhaka miracle indeed

Update on the Scotch Egg Situation: Despite those first few Scotch eggs being apparently an accident, I came home to find an entire tray of them the next day! That in addition to the deviled eggs I had actually asked for. So basically, my party is going to look like some sort of conspiracy theory designed to kill everyone with massive amounts of eggy cholesterol. Great.

In much superior culinary news, last night we tried a new restaurant, The 8. And, wow, it was amazing to see a restaurant actually trying in Dhaka. Attention to detail what? The inside was truly lovely. We felt like we were in Kuala Lumpur, which is perhaps not coincidental, since the chef is Malaysian. The service was incredibly efficient--so efficient that anywhere else, it would have been too much (the second you chew your last bite of entree, they are there to clear the plates; you can't get up to go to the bathroom without someone appearing to mess with your chair; etc.), but in Dhaka, you're all, what? My food didn't take 1 hour+ to come out? A Dhaka miracle!

And the food was good. Very good. Not amazing good by, say, NYC standards, but it fit the setting and did not disgrace it. I especially liked the crab dim sum starter.

So for once, a date in Dhaka really felt like a date. Did I mention they figured out the whole dim lighting and candles thing? And they actually had champagne flutes to serve our cava?

Trust me, after almost two years here, this all feels like a revelation.

Hmm

We are having some people over soon, and I asked my housekeeper to make deviled eggs (which I deeply enjoy, incidentally). She got started today and accidentally made Scotch eggs instead. Have you ever heard of this? Because I hadn't.

It is a hard-boiled eggs, with a layer of meat wrapped around it, DEEP-FRIED.

Yeah, there is nothing not gross about this. Apparently it's British picnic food? And that is why they make the jokes about British cuisine...

Big pink foreigners

I am toying with reading Paul Theroux's A Dead Hand: A Crime in Calcutta for, you know, the Bengal connection. I enjoyed The Mosquito Coast, though it was a bit intense for me. Anyway, I am not sure if I think the opening of his new book is brilliant or idiotic. Thoughts?

"The envelope had no stamp and only my name underlined on the front; it had somehow found me in Calcutta. But this was India, where big pink foreigners were so obvious we didn't need addresses. Indians saw us even if we didn't see them. People talked grandly of the huge cities and the complexity, but India in its sprawl seemed to be less a country than a bloated village, a village of a billion, with village pieties, village pleasures, village peculiarities, and village crimes."

TMI

Ew, they are emptying the septic tank now. Apparently here it is traditionally done at night... we were told the work would go from 10pm to 5am. Awesome. And in case you might not have suspected, let me tell you: IT STINKS.

Other things that stink, slightly more figuratively: all of the State Department's online HR systems. Don't even get me started.

On a more positive note, I made a fruit cobbler tonight. Yum! Since our internet was down for a while (another figurative stinker in Bangladesh), I couldn't get to the online recipe I like, so I used the one from the Pioneer Woman cookbook. Which means, of course, that a stick of butter gave its life in the name of making fruit--a tasty, healthy snack--into a very tasty, totally unhealthy snack.

Watching: The West Wing (starting at season one); An Education (I felt like half the movie was in the trailer! On the other hand, we got exactly what we expected: a vaguely high-minded excuse to watch attractive people with accents.)

Nearing the end

My replacement arrived this morning. Doesn't that mean I get to go home???

In all seriousness, a huge welcome to Garrett, and I am glad we'll have almost three whole months to do this crazy busy exhilarating job together.

Plus, silly Katie, you can't leave... still no TM2. Maybe ever. Please, HR gods, let my home leave change be approved already.

I am hungry. Time to make dinner--we have more pizza dough left so we'll be having pizza with artichokes and maybe capers? Yummy. I finally found capers on the local market, so fear not--we are not having to live a deprived life lacking in delicious little flower buds any longer.

Happy Blogiversary to Me

I realized just now that today is the two year anniversary of my first post on this blog. Seriously? It doesn't feel like two years. That is the amazing thing about the Foreign Service--life never feels slow. On the other hand, it feels like I've done so much since getting here and seen so many places... but then it's like, oh right, you had two years, not that impressive.

I suppose I should take stock of something on this occasion. I am not sure if my writing has gotten better or worse. I suppose that if for you, my readers, to judge. I also have no idea who you are (except for the kind few who leave comments) or how many of you exist. I have never attempted to use any sort of applications to count you, and so we will remain a mystery to one another (okay, fine, I guess the mystery is pretty one-sided).

And blogger: you make me feel inadequate at time, with your suggested labels for posts: "e.g. scooters, vacation, fall." I live in a place with no real fall (Bangladeshis claim they have an autumn. This is nonsense.) and no scooters. I do write about vacation a lot, so perhaps that can make up for my inadequacies in other arenas. Speaking of which, my upcoming trip is totally imploding. I wish Thailand would organize its civil unrest around my vacation plans a bit more. Sheesh.

I have already reached two years at the State Department, and I will not reach two years in Dhaka (inshallah I'll be out of here eight days before that milestone). Perhaps this meager blogiversary is the only chance I have for some serious reflection.

But that may have to wait. I am sort of sleepy so I think I'll go back to bed. To read, of course. I would not dream of sleeping any more. Nonsense.

Shubo Nobo Borsho!

Everyone wears red and white for Bangla new year--I donned a sari for the occasion. Which meant it was a loooooong workday of trying not to step on the hem of it and only sort of succeeding. Here is my office all decked out for the occasion--I am somewhere in the middle:


It's fun to wear a sari because even though expats here do it all the time for special occasions, the people I know always get so excited and act like this is the first time ever in the universe a white person has ever been so special and so wonderful and so delighted by Bengali culture as to wear local clothing. And then I get all warm and fuzzy feeling inside for being so amazingly wonderful. Hooray for me.

Ugh ugh complain

The internet is SOOOOOOOO slow... some cable got cut in the Mediterranean or something like that. Same story as last year, in fact. At this point, it is unclear if we will ever get our video uploaded onto the internets. I am looking at Fedexing it to the States if we don't figure this out shortly.

Also, unclear if I will ever get to leave because I still haven't been able to do my TM2, which is State Department-speak for my formal announcement I am leaving, with my itinerary, training schedule, etc. all on there. There is a long story behind this, but it centers on me still waiting for approval of my home leave change (from NYC to New Jersey), and things going horribly awry in the process of getting that form approved (at some point, the spiral of misunderstanding had gotten so out of control that my HR person asked me to fax or email a copy of my divorce decree. Um?).

So there it is. Maybe I will never get travel orders to leave and I'll remain in limbo forever. In Dhaka. With no decent internet. Awesome.

Getting down to work, I swear

Things that are not easy: video editing. Especially on your first try. The fruits of our labor will eventually be displayed here, I promise.

Things that are delicious: chocolate chip pancakes. Yum. We made way too many, which means we've got a few more mornings of chocolatey goodness coming up.

Things that are laughable: my intention of going to the gym today.

Shubo Nobo Borsho! That means happy new year in Bangla (which, in turn, means we get a day off). My Bangla is totally improving to the point that people laughing at it on the street can at least now understand what I was trying to say. Most of the time. This will all be evidenced in the aforementioned video.

Hugs, my friends.

"A rich, demanding place"

I am having a delightful time reading Linda Colley's The Ordeal of Elizabeth Marsh: A Woman in World History, especially its descriptions of 18th-century Dhaka. In some ways, it sounds rather different--it was once a very rich city, its wealth fueled by the cotton industry. Dhaka muslin was famous for its quality. But at the same time, "Dhaka could strike newly arrived and uninformed Westerners as a place in decline" with its decaying infrastructure.

Unlike Calcutta, Dhaka had few foreigners--only 48 white males in 1778 (women weren't counted). But life wasn't bad for them--as Colley writes, "It helped that living stylishly in Dhaka was relatively cheap." Still true, but with a bit less grandeur--um, hello, where's my palanquin?

But my very favorite part of the chapter: "For ambitious, energetic and greedy white males, Dhaka could be a rich, demanding place, a frontier environment, replete with opportunities... And Dhaka's relative cheapness and isolation made it a haven for male loners and eccentrics of various kinds." Well, hello, Dhaka's expat scene...

Just kidding. But not about the palanquin.

Anyway, a fantastic history--would definitely recommend it, and I am not the most voracious reader of non-fiction. But if you have any interest in British history, especially in Britain's interactions with the world, it's fabulous.

Tragedy

The Polish President is reported dead in a plane crash in Russia. His political positions were a bit conservative for the tastes of many (certainly my intellectual Varsovian cousins didn't think much of him)--for instance, he banned the gay pride parade in Warsaw when he was mayor. But I met him at the Embassy's 4th of July reception when I was an intern, and he was nice to me and kissed my hand twice and asked where I learned to speak Polish so well. So that is sad.

But more than just his life, it is a huge blow for Poland, since so many from the highest levels of government were on board as well. Tens of thousands of Poland's best and brightest were massacred in Katyn during World War II; now another generation of the Polish elite has met its end in that same forest. The tragic irony has made the day all the more shocking in a country that has long had a difficult history.

Sometimes I ache when I think about the tortured past of my grandparents' home. Poland is a country of survivors and fighters. And this is just another sad moment to survive.

This wasn't supposed to be about food when I started writing.

I have been working on my dining with friends this week, since it's so crucial to happiness. And you know what? It was definitely a happy, nice thing to do. My housekeeper, who I feel blessed to have (though I simultaneously entertain vague fears that I have forgotten how to do basic tasks like washing dishes), is great in the kitchen when it comes to baking, but I am starting to learn, after nearly two years of her cooking, that pretty much everything she makes tastes the same, no matter what culture it was supposed to come out of and what ingredients it is supposed to contain.

I love to cook and have been doing more of it, but it's also fun to just eat out, with good friends for company since at most places the food may not be enough of an inducement on its own. Though there are some that are quite good.

For all those coming to Dhaka, my best-of-the-best Dhaka restaurants list: Ideas Manzil, Bamboo Shoot, Nagasaki, Le Saigon (on the nights when the rats aren't out to play... oh no, I just scared people away), and lovers of Korean food (which, sadly, I am not) could likely add a few more to this list- Sura is probably the best. And Dhaba for street snacks! Don't mind the roaches.

Restaurants that can become good or even great if you know what to order and they're having a good night: Khazana (butter chicken, the special dal), Sajna (if you look past the place's general shabbiness), Bukhara (if their kitchen is working), Heritage (if their kitchen isn't sucking), Samdado (their sushi is improving... their other Japanese food is still tasteless), Santoor (if you're willing to drive to Dhanmondi - sorry, this list is totally and unapologetically Gulshan-centric), Bella Italia (though I still haven't tried the new location).

Places to avoid if you care about food at all and don't want to watch your standards dip unacceptably (don't believe other expats if they say they're good!): Spaghetti Jazz, Casa Greek, El Toro (Mexican.... blech), Spitfire.

Places I still need to try: Royal Thai (just opened, signs CLAIM that they have a real Thai chef), Wasabitei (new Japanese in Banani), Bella Italia's new location, King's Kitchen (rumored to have excellent Chinese, but I am always so satisfied with Bamboo Shoot that it's hard to branch out).

History buff?

So I started a new book that, totally coincidentally, has sections about Dhaka. I received The Ordeal of Elizabeth Marsh by Linda Colley for Christmas a couple years back from James's parents. It's a biography of an 18th-century woman whose life took her all over the world; in fact, her life only serves as a lens for Colley to consider wider events and trends in global history. Now, Linda Colley authored Britons, one of my favorite books I read when I was majoring in British history and literature. But still, I definitely read it as part of my academic trajectory, not for fun.

So I kind of mentioned to James that I wasn't sure why his parents would get me such a boring-sounding book. And then he got all hurt-looking and explained that no, they didn't just get spontaneously inspired to gift me with the work of one of my favorite historians, but this was, in fact, his idea. So he was sad.

But now he's happier about it because I finally started reading it. The reason, in fact, that I did so is that it is hardcover, and I plan to pack all the books I haven't yet read in my air freight (very limited weight) to keep with me in Washington next year, and I figured hardcovers would take up too much weight. I am nothing if not practical.

However, I am glad I started reading it because not only is it eminently readable, but one of the many places Elizabeth Marsh lived was Dhaka. More on Colley's description of 18th-century Dhaka once I get to that chapter, but it's certainly appropriate reading while I'm still here. And plus, I can make James happy. Although he is pretty much obligated to say I make him happy no matter what, right?

Hilarity

And this is why I studied Britain in college. Because much as I love America, it just isn't as funny.

Sooooooo llaaaaaaaazzzyyyy

I was just struck my this crazy sense of guilt that I haven't read more William Faulkner. I am running out of time! I think this sudden feeling may have something to do with having spent most of the day in bed rereading the vampire series that shall not be named.

'Tis not my fault. I wanted to get out of town this weekend, but I am the duty officer for the week, which means I have to stay close by so I can continue not getting calls on the duty phone, I guess.

Anyway, I just needed to get it out there that I have definitely hit the laziness guilt threshold. Sigh. I am being so lazy that I am not helping James as he makes these chocolate truffles with sea salt. But don't worry, I will help him eat them!

Just in case you're the last one in the universe to jump on this bandwagon, my current favorite blog: Unhappy Hipsters.

Time time time

I found this quote online today:

A good holiday is one spent among people whose notions of time are vaguer than yours.
-John B. Priestly

Perhaps that makes for a good vacation but poor daily life. While I no longer sweat things starting 10-20 minutes late, the tendency for things often enough to start 20-60 minutes late (Bangladesh time!) gets extremely irritating. Though to be fair, I am rather punctilious about time, even by our uptight American standards.