Crabs (Get your mind out of the gutter)

I am exhausted from a great weekend. Not that I really did that much, but in this heat and humidity even the shortest trips down the street can feel like a trek across a sweltering desert. The weekend here consists of Friday and Saturday (leaving the work week as Sunday-Thursday). Friday is a religious day for devout Muslims, hence the day off. In the early 2000s, the Bangladeshi government made Friday and Saturday the official weekend and changed the work week office hours to 9am-5pm (extended an hour from 4pm). This was in an effort to reduce pressure on the economy from increased oil prices. So after work on Thursday I went home happy to have a few days to do some exploring. Mr. Hu prepared some freshly caught crab that night for dinner.

Crabs-not realizing the futility of their efforts

As Mr. Hu prepared dinner, I noticed the other tenants beginning to gather around the kitchen table, anxiously awaiting dinner. Now I have had crab many times before, but never this type of crab, or whole for that matter. When dinner was finally ready, Mr. Hu showed me how to crack the shell open. Despite my best efforts, my crab shared very little in common with the nice clean break Mt. Hu had formed on his; but, it was delicious all the same.

They were spicy

Slathered (one of my mom's most hated words) in buttery goodness, the meal was right up my ally. After picking my way through the first, I was on to another. When cracked open, this one revealed tiny orange orbs, which I quickly ate (to enjoy their savory goodness before my mind had the time to tell itself that these delights were crab roe). Noodles and soup topped off the meal leaving me (and the rest of my companions) in a warm and happy stupor.

I was asleep early Thursday and up early Friday. Sabrina participates in church service every Friday morning with a group called DICC (Dhaka International Christian Church...yes really). She invited me to come a long and meet a few people in her group. The services are held at the American Club in Gulshan-2 (the district to the east of Banani where I live). The American Club is a private club for American expats. It is located in a large walled off block in Gulshan. As we approached I noticed a high volume of guards and barbed wire. The structure itself stood 15 menacing feet high, topped in savage looking defenses of wire and glass shards. What was I getting myself into? Was this some sort of military base? When we entered the front guard house, my belongings were searched and I was ushered through a metal detector. Then I signed in to gain entrance through a barred security door. Things were not looking good....but then...

The American Club

...and oasis. The park-like interior of the club was packed with people, white people, white people who spoke English! Don't get me wrong, not having to talk to anyone for the past week has been great, but holding a conversation including slang and western references was wonderful. I didn't have to repeat myself or stare unknowingly as someone spoke to me. There were people from all over the states and the U.K. And then I saw something that almost made a tear fall down my cheek: an 8 foot tall poster of a frosty cold beer. Being that we were at a church meeting (and not a Catholic one for that matter) I thought better than to sit down for a brew before the service, despite my burning desire to do so.

The American Club

The service was nice. We did some singing and some praying, but what I was most happy with was the sermon. The pastor of the church was leaving the country that night so one of the men from the congregation gave the sermon. He was British (with a Richard Hammond, West Midlands kind of accent). The talk was poignant, with a message that hit home. He spoke of transitions. We all go through them at one point or another and must adapt to the change, by accepting our lack of control. I felt very relieved sitting a room full of people in the same situation as me. We all were experiencing new things and trying our hardest to keep up.  After church it began to rain, so we headed back to Sabrina's for a lazy afternoon. 

This morning I woke up and decided to head in to Gulshan again to see what was around. I took a cng right into the heart of the district and began to walk. I came upon a small boutique called Artisan. Sabrina had told me that Artisan was a good place to get dress shirts and western style clothing. I went in to have a look around and she was pretty accurate. The store smelled like cologne and there was dub step blasting in the background. The clothes, however, were a bit to flashy for my tastes. I bought a belt and decided I would check out Aarong (a fair trade clothing store operated by BRAC) on another day. 

Gulshan-2

Gulshan is a very nice part of Dhaka city. Lots of business mean lots of people. Around noon the streets were at a standstill, but the horns were not. The cars, bikes and cngs slammed their horns to get in front of each other, only causing more horns to join the cacophony. As I walked down the street I felt a smile creep across my mouth before I even had time to realize what I was looking at. 

A&W Root Beer

That's right ladies and gents an A&W root beer. What have I been doing all week!?! I had other lunch ideas so I decided to take a rain check on burgers and fries. On my way back to Sabrina's I stopped at Dhaba cafe, a quaint little roadside hangout. It was full of people my age, hanging out having a coke and a bite to eat. I ordered the chicken kebab with garlic naan. The food was wonderful in the sense that it was simple,well done and really hit the spot. I knew I'd be coming back to this place.

Dhaba for a kebab

I came home to rest a bit. It was nearly 100 degrees F today. I was dirty and tired. After a short nap and shower, Mr. Hu woke me up for a delightful dinner. It was tuna, rice and chicken masala. So far on my trip I have had a lot of wonderful things to eat, none of them intricately designed or slaved over for hours, just simple fresh ingredients handled with care by a practiced hand. Mr. Hu is the master of his kitchen and all that is in it. It seems to come down to that: a chef who is comfortable in his kitchen will make great food. It is my hope that through my observations (and some practice) I can learn to be a bit more comfortable in my kitchen.