Biking to Kewkradong
January 3 We got out of the tent a bit late in the morning. We prepared oatmeal and poached eggs for breakfast. Few minutes later, we were on our way to Derjilingpara. We had to cross three streams by forming a line and passing the bicycles from one to another. We climbed up a slope and almost immediately had to go down. We reached Derjilingpara when the sun was exactly above us. We ended our day at Karbari's place. By the time we finished repairing our battered bikes, the sun was descending on the horizon.
We wanted to reach the top of Kewkradong that very night. So after a quick dinner we hit the trail again. It was pretty cold outside. The silent moon shone on the peak from a distance. And after 35 minutes of light trekking and biking we were just a few meters away from the final destination. It was bone-chilling over there. We were all exhausted when we finally reached there. The breeze was so unbearably cold that we pitched our tents and went to sleep with a heart full of joy.
January 4
It was a gorgeous morning on the Kewkradongpeak. We crawled out of the tents and started packing. We had a bus to catch from Bandarbans the next day. We waved goodbye to Kewkradong and rode down to Derjilingpara
It was a gorgeous morning on the Kewkradongpeak. We crawled out of the tents and started packing. We had a bus to catch from Bandarbans the next day. We waved goodbye to Kewkradong and rode down to Derjilingpara
Photo & Story: Saad Bin Hossain
© thedailystar.net
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This was the best part of our entire trip. All the elements necessary for mountain biking were there. We had to ride south-east, through the lush green riverbank. The terrain was really rough. We had to drag our bicycles at times. Ridding the narrow riverbank was hazardous: if you loose control slightly you will end up 10-12 feet down on the rock beds. At one part, the ridge ended without giving us a clue. So we had to grab our cycles, put them on our shoulders and cross the strong water stream. It was a good 60 meters of crossing. But the ridge ended shortly on this side also. This time the water was too deep for us to cross with the cycles. So we boarded an uncomfortably long boat. Holding the cycles tightly, we steadied ourselves with difficulty as the boat rolled violently to our slightest of movements. We had to stand almost like statues for almost an hour. After the excruciating boat trip, we had to ride through the ups and downs of the riverbank. We made the most out of this short run and gained confidence. We reached Ruma bazar shortly after the backup team. We were soon to become the objects of curiosity of the locals. They thought we are some crazy souls trying to do even crazier things with bikes. Disregarding them, we had lunch in the bazaar and prepared ourselves for the next part -- destination Boga Lake.
The usual trekking route to Boga Lake wasn't a good choice for us to ride. So we took the other way there. It was late afternoon and we were on our way to Boga Lake. Both teams started simultaneously, the cycling team a little ahead of the supply team. As time went by, the slopes became steeper. The uneven surface provided no grip. Several times we stopped and took dry food mostly dried dates. We took plenty of water. The day faded away. The moon kept smiling over us providing sufficient light to keep us going. The slopes were now almost 200-220 meters. The deadly downfalls gave us so little chance to control speed. We were simply fighting our way up.
Nine bicycles were stacked close to that boy. David came up with an idea to help out that kid, who is just the same age as his own kid Sheshthoo. This veteran super commercial photographer could sense it before us as he is a father of two kids. He requested us not to capture the child's face, the light and the scene! You might get an award out of your click, but does it really make sense to that pure soul?
Next morning we were riding towards Juri, a new upazila of this territory, as a resting point. The roads were nice. We had to encounter very few vehicles on our way. Drivers waved and provide space for our safety. This is a beauty, beauty of nature as well as the people and certainly it is a bit unorthodox in a city like our beloved Dhaka!
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After breakfast we started our ride at 9am. It was still foggy. We followed the metal road to Chhagolnaiya, mostly calm as it is not a national highway. The start was a bit difficult as a lady rider, Salma, and Francois, an expatriate working with the International School Dhaka, drew a huge curious crowd. But after some time we managed to peddle our way through. We had planned to halt at Ramgor for the first night but unfortunately Salma's bike developed problems and our 'experts' Sagor and Tonmoy failed to fix it. Finding no other alternative we just hooked up the bike to our support car and Salma had to sacrifice her joyful ride.
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He handed us the scuba suits and made us carry the equipment to the beach. Atiq gave us a short lesson in scuba diving -- how to avoid formation of the deadly bubble in your blood by climbing too fast; how to use the in inflatable vest with buoyancy compensator to achieve that weightless state under water; how to breathe through masks; how to use the emergency tools. Then he showed us the signs -- you cannot talk under water and so have to learn the signs to talk to your buddy. Then he told us what to do in case of an emergency. We tried to learn as much as possible and were quite satisfied with our half an hour's lesson.
I put the mask on and then took a dip. I could not have been there for more than three seconds by which time I must not have breathed in more than twice. And then an unknown panic gripped me. It seemed that instead of oxygen from the tank, water would gush into my mouth. It was unreal to be breathing underwater. I can't do it, I thought wildly and popped out of water. I was panting with the effort of being underwater for three seconds!
Atiq signalled to crawl along the seabed. I slowly stretched myself and inflated the vest. I was now floating just a feet above the ground. I remembered the James Bond movie Thunderball where Sean Connery did his outstanding underwater feat. I paddled my flippers and amazingly I was effortlessly moving forward. I looked forward and saw an amazing world unfolding before me. Amid the dead shells was lying an anchor. The chain had run straight up and then vanished as visibility came down to zero.
I could now feel a sharp pain in my ears and signalled Atiq about my discomfort. He held his nose to indicate that I should close my nose and blow in. It worked like magic. I was now growing bit bolder and felt a strange kind of exhilaration. I inflated my best a bit more and wanted do a little bit of climbing. I slowly flipped and kept the air bubble coming out of my mouth just above my head. I had to be very careful now, otherwise I could die from nitrogen bubble developing in bloodstream. I was overcome by this wonderful feeling of weightlessness, as if I was floating in the air. I looked down and saw Atiq coming after me. He looked like a huge shark slowing flapping towards me. I shivered thinking of a shark attack. But then Atiq was no shark.
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A little later the sea started changing colour and St Martin's came into view. The water was now turquoise green. And we could spot the red tiles of the environment department bungalows where we would stay. The coastguard building looked the tallest structure.
Away in the sea floats a huge navy ship, its gun turrets looking like some matchsticks against the blue sky. There were some huge iron poles lying mangled on the resort premise. Later, we came to know that these were windmills that broke down during the Sidr.
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But the beach was not our main target here. We waited until the sun was a bit mild and then headed in the opposite direction, passing the Rohingya camp on the way. About an hour later, there was this signboard -- Damdamia Forest. Our good friend at the forest department had talked about this place many a time before and insisted that we visited it and trekked.
The trail started right after the information centre. It wound around the lush green hills, gradually gaining height. We were suddenly lost in a world of tall trees. We were in bright sunlight a little while ago, but now a strange kind of muffled light engulfed us. The ground was still soggy from last night's dew and the blades of the wild grasses felt wet. But strangely, this forest did not sound of crickets. Only the occasional buzz of the carpenter bees. We crossed a half-broken wooden bridge and climbed higher. As we looked down, it was a strangely beautiful world down below peeking through leaves and branches.
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We spent that afternoon by the sea lying on beach chairs. This time we wanted to see the people -- they came in every shades and hues. Four women clad from head to toe in burkhas walked by, their bare feet ankle-deep in water. The souls inside the burkhas were quiet young as their doe eyes showed, they giggled as they passed by us. The honeymooners were snuggling up against each other on the beach chairs, drowned in their own world. But there were another kind of romantics -- middle-aged men in suits and ties and obese women in bright red sarees and decked with gold ornaments strolled hand in hand. The husbands carrying the vanity bags. Two men in crew cut walked with hands wrapped around each other's waist. It was truly an exhibition of human beings.
The moon was yet to rise and we walked through the sand in complete darkness -- it was that magical time before it becomes a full-moon night. From the distance we could hear drum beats. Kerosene lanterns indicated the way to the restaurant. Once inside the restaurant, we were amazed -- we could not believe our eyes that this was Bangladesh, this was our old quaint Cox's Bazar. If I were brought here blindfolded, I would have vouched that this was Goa. We sat on wooden sofas, put our legs on raw-textured wooden tables, relaxed to the swish of the palm trees and watched the neon-lit window of the kitchen. The aroma from food was simply mouth-watering. There was a hammock tied between two palm trees and somebody was lying in it. A small pool was lit mysteriously.
It wasn't the magic though, that brought a young British Captain to this beautiful beach. Hundreds of years of internecine warring among the peoples of the region had finally ended in victory for the Burmese. They avenged themselves on the defeated Araknese in what todays' world has come to know as ethnic cleansing. The Moguls had given the British East India Company the right to govern Chittagong upto the Naf river. When Burmese king Bodhpaya's purges forced thousands of refugees to flee the land, they crossed the Naf river and sought refuge in Ramu and the southern coastal belt of Chittagong. This area now being the domain of the East India Company, they had little choice but to deal with the refugees. The East India Co appointed a superintendent for the rehabilitation of the Arakanese refugees. 1799 Capt Hiram Cox had arrived. In the land that still bears his name. This too is unique in a world where the fortunes of war or politics determine the name game. Earlier Capt Cox had been the company Resident in Rangoon and therefore familiar with the local cultures and conflicts. He had actually arrived in India in 1779 as a cadet. By 1796 his prowess in the Bengal Frontier Regiment Infantry got him promotion as Battalion Captain. But luck deserted him in Rangoon and he ended up in the malaria infested jungles of Chittagong. Tasked with the rehabilitation of the refugees Capt Cox Formulated a policy whereby the refugees could settle in one place and govern themselves according to their traditional laws. The company had earmarked the northern areas of Chittagong for refugee rehabilitation but Capt Cox allowed them to remain in the southern parts where they had already settled. The reasoning was based on sound ground. First the refugees would be with Arakanese who had settled earlier but most of all because they would clear the malaria infested jungles for cultivation. So the East India Co agreed to settle the refugees along the southern banks of the Bankkahli river. Not so, declared Sher Mustafa Khan, Kalli Charan, Saaduddin, Mir Chand Gouri Shankar and Shibchand Ray. These half a dozen feudal landlords, Zamindars, laid claim to the land. Capt Cox referred the matter to the Board of Revenue, requesting a Commission to determine ownership of the lands. The Company appointed Hiram Cox Superintendent and Commissioner and informed him that none but they had rights to the land. In typical British management fashion the new superintendent sought to create a road from Ramu to Ukhia Ghat ensuring quick access from the center. Obviously the Arakanese refugees would provide the labour, for which 3,500 spades were ordered by the Board of Revenue from the Dhaka Collectorate. Capt Cox had literally made inroads into the hearts and minds of the refugees. He then proceeded to distribute lands and almost a ton of foodgrains to each family of six all to be repaid in three years. The gratitude of the refugees was eternal.
This influence of Arakanese still adds an aura of the exotic orient to Cox's Bazar. The Rakhaines add another colourful hue to the windswept southern shores though they are hugely outnumbered by Bengalis. It is truly remarkable to see how a people so different in culture religion, language and food habits from the dominant local population could survive and retain their ethnicity. That the Rakhaine women do most of the work, is not intended as a another tourism technique but a continuation of a male dominated inequity. Its not a pretty sight to see men lazing around smoking while the women are tilling the lands, tending the babies and toiling over the fire. The colourful scarves and lungees woven and worn by the Rakhaine women are a reflection of their vibrant spirits. Moonlit nights call for merry-making with all it's ingredients, singing, dancing and drinking. The men sing interesting tunes.
We hired a boat for roaming around the shore for selecting a perfect location and established another camp site at the south tip of Bangladesh, “CheraDeep”. Anyone would love to be there as it is the best part of the entire Saint Martin's Island. It is calm and clean. Tourists can easily see the seabed from the boat -- shades of green, dark red, brown and other rioting colors.
It was sunny day which was an added advantage as fishes were looking like glittering gems and colonies of corals were looking like blooming buds! We had seen many brain corals in nonbearing routes. These corals are called 'Sea Flowers' and are found in almost all the oceans with warm water. In a favorable condition, they live for at least 200 years. These corals get their name from the grooves and channels on their surfaces that look like the folds of the human brain.
happens to be an archipelago consisting 12 atolls, three reefs and five submerged banks in the emerald Arabian Sea. It was an ultimate exotic location that enthralled us with its aquamarine water and the coconut grooves. Lakshadweep is a paradise for adventure seekers as they can do snorkeling, scuba diving, banana boat riding and many other water sports.
