Land of the Banglas

Three days ago, S and I got on a bus headed towards the Bangladeshi border town of Benapole. On the Indian side, a kind bus operator escorted us through Indian immigration and customs and, when we crossed over into Bangla territory, there were kind men every 5 feet pointing us in the direction of the immigration office. As we walked by with a smile, they all stopped us and asked, "What country?" and when we responded America, they shook our hand, held their hand up to their heart, and said thank you as we walked away. This is representative of the kindness and curiosity that Banglas have been showing to us over the last 3 days. Tourists do not come to Bangladesh and so people are incredibly friendly, curious and eager to ask you or share whatever they know how to say in English, which ranges from a screaming hello as someone passes on a rickshaw to an extended discussion about America, Bangladesh, politics and wealth. If we are stopped for more than 10 seconds on the street, the crowd surrounding us literally multiplies by the second.
As Bangladesh is a country full of rivers and canals, sometimes the most direct or most picturesque route to your next destination is on a boat through the country's waterways. When we first headed to the Bangladesh Inter-Waterway Tranportation Company (BIWTC) yesterday morning to book a 24-hour boat ride from Khulna to Dhaka, our early frustrations with the manager Firoz's poor customer service skills as we waited for 30 mintues in his office quickly fizzled away as he excitedly offered us tea, talked to us about his country and ours and asked us for our mailing address so he could send us letters in America. He repeatedly asked us to confirm that we would write him back and told us he was happy to have new American friends. He also asked about our 'relation' to each other, and if S had 'given me any babies yet', which is the standard set of questions asked after 'what country'. He wrote out a receipt for us and told us to go to another office to pick up our boat tickets the following day. When we arrived at the other BIWTC office this morning, the manager told us that the boat was cancelled due to fog and that we should go back to see Firoz. Our 5 minute, 15 cent rickshaw ride took back to the center of town where we walked to Firoz's office. On the way there, we were creepily followed by a crazy person who, after trying to come with us into the BIWTC office, was shooed away by the office guard. We sat down in Firoz's office, where he told us that he had been thinking about us all morning and was sorry that he could not call us himself with the news about the cancellation. We chatted with him and had some tea as we waited for the crazy person to go away from the front of the building. During this time, which wound up being about an hour, he invited us to visit his hometown with him tomorrow during the day for lunch. He lives in Gopalganj, a small fishing village 2 hours from Khulna that is known for its farmers that fish with river otters. We accepted his invitation and stopped by his office this evening, after our trip to Bagerhat, to confirm all the travel details. As he was away from his office when we arrived, he had stationed a assistant to keep watch for us and to call him when we got there. He quickly came after the call, treating us to more tea, more interesting conversation and fueling greater excitement about the visit to his village tomorrow.
We experienced more of the same during our day trip to Bagerhat, where we were quickly adopted by two Bangdladeshi college students, who insisted on calling us 'auntie' and 'uncle', a sign of respect for elders. They turned out to be excellent tour guides, taking us around to all of the town's historical mosques. They were exceptionally friendly, and extremely persistent about exchanging email addresses, mail addresses, and cell phone numbers, insisting every 10 minutes that we promise to stay in touch with them. Shuvo kindly requested that we write down our day full of 'memories' with them, so that we'd never forget them, because they surely would never forget us. This seemed slightly less weird when we later discovered that we were the first foreigners they had ever met. There are already countless other, shorter stories like these, and the stack of email addresses and mobile numbers is growing by the minute. We've been touched by the friendliness and hospitality of the people we've met here.