Beyond the Mountains

September 15, 2021October 14, 2021 / johnstanlake / 8 Comments

Reflections on my time in Afghanistan

One month ago today (August 15^th, 2021) the Taliban marched into Kabul, Afghanistan unopposed and President Ashraf Ghani fled the country. It triggered a panicked evacuation that filled our news media, and many of us no doubt watched in horror and disbelief. Amazed that after two decades of bold promises and expensive commitments, this vast operation came to an abrupt and shocking end. An embarrassing defeat. Or, “mission accomplished” according to press releases coming out of Washington and London. If you repeat something enough and shut out all evidence to the contrary, perhaps it becomes convincing enough in the end. Perhaps. Many of us are not fooled though. The fallout of the treacherous actions of certain sections of the international community will be felt for decades to come.

I would like to use this post to offer a little glimpse into my recent experiences in Afghanistan through my current job. I haven’t written about it previously, but now feels like an appropriate time. I just wish I was able to write with a more promising and positive tone.

On the desk sat this shiny new mug adorned with a black, red and green flag and three simple words. I had just entered the office that I would share with several other teachers, and one of my Afghan colleagues had placed the mug on my desk as a gift to welcome me to his country. A country that fills him with pride, and a country in which he was born, educated and now works and raises a family. A country that I imagine (until recently) filled him with expectations of a more optimistic outlook for his children.

My colleague hoped too perhaps that I would come to embrace his country. To taste its food, hear its songs, learn from its stories and poetry, understand its history, and all being well work closely with its people and participate in some tiny way to its positive future. And of course, as I spent more time in his country I too would come to do as the mug states, Love Afghanistan.

Each day this same colleague would arrive at the office with a bag full of freshly baked bread bought on the way to work. Knowing that many of us were unable to enjoy this simple pleasure due to our circumstances, he took it upon himself to bring it to us. Day after day, week after week. I never got tired of that bread. It filled the office with the most welcoming and delicious aroma, and it connected some of us to a part of Kabul we were unable to experience. Our colleague’s small but deeply kind gesture a constant reminder of how lucky we were to be there and how people consistently reached out to make us welcome, to help us feel at home, and to share their lives with us.

The morning I found that mug on my desk was August 18^th, 2019, and two days prior to this I had arrived in Kabul to begin my new teaching role at the American University of Afghanistan. It was a beautiful summer day with a bright and bold blue sky illuminating the mountains surrounding the city. I never got bored of gazing out towards those mountains, and the longing to be able to explore beyond their peaks has certainly not diminished, despite having yet to realize that opportunity. One day, I hope.

As the sun set on my first day in Kabul, it brought a warm, balmy evening and the view beyond the campus (and my new home) sparkled with thousands of little lights emanating from homes that stretched as far as the eye could see up into the hills. There was a calm quiet, and as I sat and chatted with new colleagues, I felt invigorated and buoyant about my new location and job. The campus exuding a homely and welcoming atmosphere despite the huge, reinforced walls that encased it. These walls of course a constant reminder of the challenges faced by so many both within and beyond.

Earlier that day I had landed at Hamid Karzai International Airport (Kabul) to be met by security personnel who would take me (and several other newly arrived colleagues) directly to the university campus. There was no stopping en route. I sat somewhat dazed from a long journey and admittedly a little anxious as a number of instructions and updates (that meant very little to me but seemed important due to the earnest and concentrated expressions on the faces of my armed chaperones), bellowed out of two-way radios.

We weaved forcefully and efficiently through traffic, and I stared out of the window, absorbed by the sights and the streets teeming with activity. This was Kabul. A capital city steeped in a proud history and rich culture of which I was (and am) still largely ignorant. Yet also a city that had time and again received attention and come under intense scrutiny from our frequently prejudiced and ill-informed news media for many years now, obscuring and distorting the lens in which we viewed it. I hoped that my new job would help me in deconstructing some of this misinformation and misrepresentation.

As I sit here now, composing this post, I do so regrettably from the UK and not Kabul. A lot has changed since that August evening just over two years ago when I went to sleep nervously contemplating an exciting new chapter. This post is composed with an extremely heavy heart and an indescribable amount of frustration for what has transpired in recent years, months, weeks and days.

We’ve suffered from the unpredictable and (perhaps) unavoidable pandemic that left no corner of the world un-touched, severely inhibiting, but certainly not deterring our university’s drive to educate our students. However, recent political events in Afghanistan were entirely preventable and reflect an extremely uncomfortable betrayal by the international community and abandonment of a generation of Afghans who deserve better, much better.

These events have also immeasurably changed the way in which we can educate our students and cast an uncertain shadow over our future as an institution of liberal arts higher education. For now though (and hopefully in the long-term) we will continue to teach, as far as we possibly can. Education will prevail.

Our students and Afghan colleagues were promised so much by the international community. Assured that if they worked for the positive development and rebirth of their country, the world would stand by them, shoulder to shoulder and support them every step of the way. Economically, politically, militarily and ideologically. Ensuring Afghans could stand tall and forge ahead with a system to be proud of. A nation emerging from a war that had lasted far too long and caused a whole generation of people to endure often incomprehensible loss and suffering through no fault of their own. For twenty years it certainly was not perfect, but there were tangible signs of progress. Our university was a microcosm of that progress.

To avoid any potential jeopardization of security I had previously been unable to share images of the campus in which I lived and worked in Kabul. One heart-breaking outcome of recent events is the beautiful campus falling into the hands of the Taliban who now occupy and control it. Therefore, I would like to share a few images of how it looked in far more positive days before it became blighted by those who do not seek progress and those who are ignorant, intimidated and fearful of reason, global perspectives and critical thinking.

Merely a few weeks ago this small plot of land in Kabul was still brimming with energy and positivity. The university campus brought together an eclectic group of students and teachers, from all corners of Afghanistan and all corners of the world, full of hopes and dreams. Despite being enclosed inside the intimidating concrete walls, the site within offered a peaceful haven filled with green space and crucially the freedom to converse, learn, debate, build friendships and share ideas and cultures. Having lived there and experienced this first-hand, it is still incredibly difficult to accept this evaporated so swiftly.

My stay in Kabul and Afghanistan was far too brief, cut short by a global pandemic and political events beyond our control. However, over the course of my time there, I met some wonderful people, and I will never forget the generosity and kindness they afforded me. There are numerous moments that stick in my mind, but two in particular stand out.

Firstly, on a day celebrating Afghan culture, a group of students presented my colleague and I with a traditional Salwar Kameez. They had it tailored from a shop outside and gifted it to us so that we could join in and feel part of their celebrations.

On another occasion a group of students invited my colleague and I to join them for lunch. Knowing we were unable to leave the campus and visit local restaurants due to security reasons, they ordered and brought onto campus an array of Afghan cuisine to share with us. We ate delicious food and chatted with our students, learning more about their lives beyond the classroom. Once again, a simple but deeply kind gesture that made us incredibly welcome.

Right now, the future for those students and for the many other students and colleagues I met in Kabul looks highly unpredictable, and that thought leaves me with a feeling of emptiness. A lot different to the hope I felt back in August 2019. Predictably, the mainstream media has moved on and Afghan stories are slowly disappearing. However, there are scores of brave and defiant Afghan journalists, academics, civil rights activists, writers, artists, etc, etc all still working to shine a light on the darkness that has enveloped their society. I urge you to listen to them.

10 Years Later…

April 9, 2021April 9, 2021 / johnstanlake / 11 Comments

Reflections on a decade of blogging

It has been three whole years since I last posted on this blog. Three years. From a personal point of view I’m really disappointed with myself for neglecting it for so long. There have been times when it dawned on me that I had dedicated a tiny little corner of the internet to documenting my travel and experiences for several years, yet like an old t-shirt, I tossed it into the back of a cupboard, shut the door and forgot about it.

Perhaps I have been a little intimidated as my last post (in March 2018) documented a wonderful trip to the western part of Bangladesh that incorporated the contrasting intensity of the Lalon Festival and the peaceful tranquility of rural Rajshahi. That was a fairly characteristic post of mine as it presented a predominantly image-based dedication to the charm of a land I have called home for a number of years in the past decade.

Typically I enjoy blogging most about travels and adventures, yet in the past couple of years these have been limited, and totally curtailed for the past year of course. Thus, for too long now my blog has remained frozen in time, categorized as an activity I used to do, rather than a current interest.

Now seems like an appropriate time however to revisit and reopen those thoughts and experiences I had somewhat diligently recorded for a number of years. Not always regularly, but routinely enough to ensure I would at least have a record of where I had been, who I’d met, what I thought, how I felt and generally what life presented.

As I click submit and share this new post, it is April 9th, 2021. Exactly ten years to the day (April 9th, 2011) I sat at an unfamiliar table in Chittagong, Bangladesh and posted for the very first time on this blog. Ten years ago I had little idea of what life had in store and where the proceeding years would take me. I was beardless and perhaps a little aimless, trying to carve out a path based on a variety of somewhat vague goals and aims. I knew I wanted to teach, and I knew I wanted to do so outside of the UK.

Looking back, I can reflect upon a decade of personal and professional growth, driven primarily by travel and adventure that has opened many doors and allowed me the privilege to experience so much. When I arrived in Chittagong ten years ago, I did so on a short-term, three month contract with a limited vision into the immediate future and little beyond.

Chittagong (and Bangladesh) suited me though, and thus the initial three months turned into a distinctly satisfying six and a half years. Bangladesh became a second home, and from there I was able to explore many other beautiful and unique corners of South Asia.

I have written fairly extensively about my time in Bangladesh on this blog and shared countless images. Some of my favorite moments and experiences have come when armed with a camera and a willingness to explore, and this has led me to all corners of the country. From Cox’s Bazar in the south east to Rangpur in the north west, and Barishal in the south west to Sylhet in the north east. All offering something different, and reasons to return.

Over the years I have documented in words and images a wide range of subjects. From the passion of tea drinking and cricket, to chance encounters with UN peacekeepers, and the discovery of a war grave that revealed a connection between Chittagong and home. I have shared my thoughts on change and my experiences as a teacher, documented national days of significance and endeavored to share the stories of some wonderful people I’ve met along the way.

In particular though, I have frequently felt most comfortable when being able to offer a modest glimpse into the places I have visited through images. Photography evolved into a passionate hobby of mine during 2013, some two years after beginning this blog, and it has undoubtedly become my main motivation for blogging.

I must have clicked thousands of images since 2013, and a select few of my favorites have made it onto this blog. Sometimes I spent a week or so exploring different locations across Bangladesh, other times it was a weekend excursion meandering through the countryside that lay just a short cycle outside of Chittagong city. I can’t tell you how much pleasure this simple activity gave me, but I always strive to ensure my blogs do at least provide some sense of that.

During these past ten years I have also been extremely lucky to have had the opportunity to visit Sri Lanka, Bhutan, India, Nepal, Laos, Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, Indonesia, Myanmar and Malaysia.

Between July 2012 and July 2013, I spent a year living and working in Guyana on the north-eastern tip of South America. During those months this blog was dedicated to documenting an episode that once again presented a vast array of fresh encounters. This period in Guyana was definitely a significant learning experience for me personally and professionally and a challenge on many levels. However, I look back and reflect upon it with great fondness now, and with the benefit of a huge amount of hindsight, I believe it may well have been one of the most defining years of my life so far.

I haven’t written about this previously, but in 2019 after leaving Bangladesh, I spent several months teaching in Sulaymaniyah (also known as Slemani, Sulaimani or ‘Suli’ for short) in the Kurdistan region of Iraq. It was a little daunting when I first arrived, but as always things tend to fall into place, and I was soon able to appreciate my surroundings and take time to learn and explore. I’d like to share a few images from my time in Kurdistan and Sulaymaniyah below.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to travel around all that extensively for various reasons, but Kurdistan, and Suli in particular is a beautiful place full of warm and welcoming people. Many hours were spent strolling through the streets of the city, or sat at a small tea stand watching the world go by.

Surrounded by mountains on most sides, Sulaymaniyah presented a diverse climate with freezing temperatures and snow in the winter to a challenging dry heat in the summer. Professional reasons meant I moved on after eight months in Suli, but in that time it was evident that Kurdistan is a fascinating place on many levels, and I am grateful for having the opportunity to experience that.

At present my teaching journey has taken me to Kabul, Afghanistan. I have been there since August 2019, yet a global pandemic has interrupted that for the time being. As you can imagine, Kabul is a whole new type of challenge, but equally another engaging and rewarding experience that allows me to work with some wonderful colleagues and students.

I would love to share some images of my current surroundings and location, but due to security reasons, it is not advisable at this point. However, I can say the view from my apartment looks out onto a stunning mountain range that surrounds Kabul on all sides, and at different times of the year it provides a colourful vibrancy that encases the city below.

Currently, traveling around Afghanistan is prohibited for me personally due to my job, and this is a key reason (or excuse perhaps) for my lack of motivation or inspiration to keep this blog updated. I will share one image though of a sight I pass most days in my place of work that never fails to spark my enthusiasm for my current role.

It feels good to return to this blog and compose a post. I’m hoping that it may inspire me to get back into a regular habit of doing so once again. I’m not sure if anyone is actually reading this post, but it’s okay if not – I’m happy knowing that I have a personal record that I can return to and remind myself of moments that shaped me over the years. If you have happened to stumble upon this blog and this post, thanks for stopping by.

Perhaps in ten years I will still be posting on here. I’d like to think I will be. It will hopefully mean that I have had ten further years of travel, exploration and adventure. Met more people, clicked more photos and lived life.

The Strange Familiar

March 27, 2018February 12, 2021 / johnstanlake / 9 Comments

Kushtia and Rajshahi

There are times when I travel and I find myself wondering how I got there and just how lucky I am to have had the opportunity. Earlier this month was one of those occasions. A week’s travel in Bangladesh was divided in two parts; the first comprising a couple of days in Kushtia and the second some time in Rajshahi.

Both lie in the north west of the country, and my motivation for visiting each was formed from two aspirations. I’ll begin with Kushtia, where each year two festivals take place. The first in March and the second in October, respectfully marking the birth and death of a prominent Bengali figure – Lalon.

I won’t delve into a deep explanation as to who exactly Lalon was as I certainly cannot claim to possess the necessary knowledge. To summarize, however, he was predominantly known for being a philosopher, a mystic, a songwriter and a free and open thinker who inspired many to follow his teachings and wisdom. As such, each year these followers congregate at his shrine in Cheuriya, Kushtia to pay homage and celebrate his life and mark his death.

Here is a link for more information and explanation on Lalon’s life and philosophy –

Lalon

These festivals (known as ‘Lalon Smaran Utshab’ – Lalon Memorial Festival) take place over three days and see people come from all over Bangladesh and West Bengal to connect in song, dance and poetry. Devotees and followers visit Lalon’s shrine and many spend their days and nights enjoying the music, meditating, smoking marijuana and sleeping under the stars.

Here is an example of a traditional Lalon song – Shotto Bol Shupothe Chol

I was lucky enough to attend this year’s festival. It was a fascinating event and one that I certainly won’t forget. The crowds were dense and disorientating, and the time spent there was a unique sensory experience on so many levels. The sounds, the energy, the aroma of the vast varieties of food, and the hospitality from a wide cross-section of people all contributed to an experience that left me exhausted, yet invigorated.

Here is a selection of photos from those two days, which hopefully capture some of the essence of the festival. Part of the festival comprises a ‘Mela,’ which basically means fair and therefore you find a vast array of stalls selling food, clothes, wooden carvings, toys, jewellery, etc, etc.

Rajshahi

The second part of my trip took me just north of Kushtia and to the city of Rajshahi. I had visited previously, but that was back in 2012, so I was eager to return as it’s a beautiful part of the country.

In contrast to the Lalon Festival, the time in Rajshahi was relaxed and a lot calmer! I explored the surrounding countryside and Puthia, a nearby town that is home to some intriguing old temples. Even within the city Rajshahi has a more laid back feel, and the wider roads remove the sometimes claustrophobic nature of Chittagong and Dhaka.

As always, it was full of the joys of tea, peaceful country roads, gorgeous countryside and a life very much in contrast to the frenetic and disorienting nature of the city. I hope you enjoy these images, of which there are many!

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All images © John Stanlake

21/2

February 24, 2018February 26, 2018 / johnstanlake / 6 Comments

International Mother Language Day

In 1999 UNESCO officially declared that International Mother Language Day will be marked on 21st February each year. I have to admit, prior to coming to Bangladesh I was totally unaware of this, but the origins of the annual observance lie very firmly and significantly in the history of this country.

For some, the day perhaps offers an opportunity to celebrate cultural expression, and acknowledge the work of notable writers, poets, playwrights, etc. However, for Bangladeshis this day respectfully marks a period of their history in which lives were sacrificed and foundations put in place for an ultimately successful, but severely painful independence movement.

The partition of India in 1947, resulted in the region of Bengal being split in two with West Bengal remaining part of India and East Bengal becoming a province in the newly created, Pakistan. Some years later East Bengal was renamed East Pakistan.

In 1948 however, the new government of Pakistan, whose administrative center lay in the Urdu speaking, western part of the country (almost 2,000 kilometers from Dhaka in the eastern part of the geographically divided state), declared Urdu the official language of the country to be used in schools and for all official purposes. Forty-four million Bengali speakers in East Bengal now faced the prospect of being denied their basic language rights with the outlawing of their mother tongue.

Prominent Bengali speakers attempted to negotiate this discriminatory language policy, but after four years, and with no sign of a compromise, students and political activists launched protests. This symbolized the beginning of the now famous language movement, and the first protest took place on February 21st, 1952, leading to the loss of life of several students.

Their legacy lives on though, as their actions became the catalyst for a continued, organised campaign, which forced the Pakistan government to relent on its refusal to recognize Bengali as an official language. Those who gave their lives for the cause are referred to as the language martyrs because of their sacrifice in the fight to preserve their mother tongue, and thus each year on 21st February Bangladesh commemorates their memory.

In a poignant show of respect and gratitude for the language martyrs, crowds of people, young and old, fill the streets and march in long lines towards the Shaheed Minars (‘Martyr Monuments’), on which they place flowers.

The language movement became all the more significant for Bangladeshis in the years proceeding 1952, as the population fought to achieve their independence from the West Pakistan government, which (aside from just language) had consistently denied the basic rights of its Bengali speaking people in the east. Having previously suffered years and years of violent and stifling oppression during British rule (prior to 1947), the people of East Bengal were understandably yearning for freedom and the realization of some of the most basic of human rights.

In 1971 the people of East Pakistan declared their autonomy from Pakistan and after a bloody and brutal war (known as the Liberation War), Bangladesh was born. The seeds of this independence movement were sown in 1952 however, with the language martyrs and their actions.

So that is a brief explanation as to why 21st February has been designated globally as International Mother Language Day. In a TED talk by Suzanne Talhouk, she raises the point that the ‘best’ way to kill a nation is to kill its language. The language martyrs knew this, so they were willing to lay down their lives in order to save their language, their culture, and their identity for generations to come. It is somewhat fitting then that their enduring sacrifice is not only marked within Bangladesh, but globally and on an annual basis.

This year I visited the main Shaheed Minar here in Chittagong early in the morning and below are some of the images I captured.

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All images © John Stanlake

চট্টগ্রাম (Chattogram)

October 22, 2017April 9, 2021 / johnstanlake / 4 Comments

A week in Chittagong

It has been another long and inexcusable absence since I last updated this blog, but due to a welcome one week vacation, I finally found time to venture out with my camera and capture some new images that I feel inclined to share.

In a break from other vacations, I decided to remain here in Chittagong and utilize the time to further explore this city and its surrounding area. I did however stick to one vacation tradition and drink an excessive amount of tea! I also slept a lot. Suffice to say it was a pretty enjoyable week.

The title of this post (Chattogram) is the the name of this city in its local Chittagonian dialect (Chatgaya), which differs a little from Bangla and is mainly spoken in the southeast of the country.

Despite being here now for almost 6 years, I still never cease to be enthralled by the sights and sounds around me. I hope you enjoy the following images.

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All images © John Stanlake

Chirodin Tomar Aakash

April 3, 2017January 2, 2022 / johnstanlake / 5 Comments

Images from south west Bangladesh

Back in March I spent a week in the south west corner of Bangladesh. I was in Barisal Division, and enjoyed a wonderful few days exploring Barisal city and the surrounding countryside.

Barisal (pronounced Borishal) is essentially a port city, and during my time there several locals predicted that in some years it will become one of the most important in South Asia. At present though it’s a fairly relaxed port and doesn’t match Chittagong for its activity and freneticism.

The area is also known for its abundance of rivers, which cut through the land and inspired some to crown this area the ‘Venice of Bangladesh.’ As I roamed the countryside, it was easy to see why,.

I also made a trip down to Kuakata, a peaceful and as yet largely underdeveloped seaside town, which sits at one of the southern most points of this country. Known for its long beach that stretches for 18 kilometers along the coast, Kuakata is also an attraction for visitors due to the unobstructed views of both the sunrise and sunset peacefully enjoyed here daily.

As in previous blog posts, I will let my photos tell the story of my week in the south west of this beautiful country. The title of this post is a lyric from Amar Shonar Bangla, the national anthem of Bangladesh, written by Rabrindranath Tagore.

It’s a beautiful song and for the most part celebrates the natural charm of this land. “Chirodin Tomar Aakash” literally translates as, “Forever your skies,” and comes from the full lyric, “Chirodin tomar aakash, tomar baatas, ogo aamar praane baajay bashi.”

This means, “Forever your skies, your air, plays a flute in my heart.” It’s an ode to this region of the world that never fails to delight, and for good reason, instigates immense pride from those who live here and call it home.

I hope you enjoy the following images.

All images © John Stanlake

Shhhooorrroodddiiii

March 23, 2017April 12, 2018 / johnstanlake / 4 Comments

The Search for Charadi (Sho-ro-di)

The name was etched, deep into my mind by the end of the day, and it’s my own fault quite honestly. My chosen method for traveling within Bangladesh more often than not exposes me to a carnage that rears its head when I decide to select a random name on the map and voyage there. This carnage is obviously caused entirely by my own doing rather than the location I would like to point out.

When I began writing this post, I was in Barisal, and as the map below indicates, this is a region in the south west of Bangladesh, which in many ways encapsulates the stereotypical image people hold of this country; one of endless rivers and waterways, of dense, green paddy fields, bustling markets, and incredible hospitality.

mbanglad

Anyway, back to the now infamous (in my mind at least) Sho-ro-di. I made the decision to venture to a place which bore no mention in the Lonely Planet guide for the Barisal region. I’ve adopted this method previously on my travels within this country, and if truth be told, it tends to deliver mixed results.

Today was no different. I scoured the map for a little while and searched names of towns or villages that lay within an hour by bus from my base in Barisal. The reasoning being that one hour is far enough to feel a little adventurous, but close enough to (hopefully) avoid becoming stranded by nightfall. There were three or four contenders, but in the end I settled on Charadi, which in my misinformed mind was pronounced Cha-raaaa-diiii.

Having identified my chosen place for the day, I filled my bag with the essentials for such an escapade. A fully charged camera, water, sufficient taka, and of course sun cream (for the weak, fragile body I possess), and upon leaving my hotel room, I was filled with the familiar sentiments of excitement and trepidation.

The hotel manager kindly told me which bus terminal to head for and thus I confidently requested a waiting rickshaw driver to take me there. He had a broad smile and the stained, red teeth of a man who regularly chews tobacco.

Traffic was congested with early morning commuters, heavy goods vehicles and sporadic roadworks. Nevertheless, undeterred by this and the increasing heat, my driver ploughed on resiliently and with a kind of do or die attitude that whilst admirable, made for an anxious journey…on my part. Anyway, we reached the bus terminal and I bid farewell to the rickshaw driver and part one of the mystery tour was done.

Or so I thought. It became apparent in no time at all that reaching Charadi would not involve the straightforward task of jumping on a bus. Failure to acknowledge the vital component of correct pronunciation was my first mistake, and when I greeted the bus counter chap with Cha-RA-di, a blank look faced me. I then tried CHA-ra-di, which once again drew puzzlement. Cho-ra-di, Cha-ro-di, Chooooo-od-iiii, Chaaa-raaaa-di, Cha-laaa-di, Cho-looo-di, all followed, until finally someone gasped excitedly, “SHO-RO-DI!” and there were knowing nods all round.

Relief and joy soon turned to disappointment however, as it turned out this was not the correct bus terminal at all, and after the small conference involving me, three men from the bus terminal, one man from the adjacent tea shop and approximately seven other interested onlookers, which eventually identified Sho-ro-di as my desired destination, it was concluded that I was to head back in the exact direction I had just come from.

The day was young however, and I was still in relatively high spirits, so this detour in no way hampered my enthusiasm…yet. I made my way to the launch ghat (ferry port), but frustratingly my mastery of the pronunciation was once again below par and this time it took two policemen, one ticket vendor, and three recently disembarked ferry passengers to decipher my ramblings. “Aaaaah, Sho-ro-di!” once again filled the air with a mix of triumph and relief.

A small boy was enlisted to guide me to the correct boat. One minute he was sat minding his own business, and the next he’s leading me through a small market to the water’s edge. He did earn 20 taka for his due diligence and effort though.

After a short journey on a small passenger boat, I arrived on the opposite riverbank and a kind, older gentleman directed me to the bus I needed to reach the now almost mystical town of Charadi. To be honest I don’t think a great many foreigners ride the local bus to this town, so my presence generated a few double takes.

Initial impressions of my destination were not altogether positive. The first part of the bus journey involved a broad and dusty main road, littered with plastic bottles and other trash, and I wondered if the beautiful scenery that I’d set out to capture with my camera lay somewhere faraway from here, perhaps right back in the opposite direction, but as we took a left turn off the main road, my hopes for Charadi picked up.

While the road quality deteriorated, the surrounding countryside did the exact opposite and seemed to be rejuvenated with a surrounding landscape of dense green trees and glistening streams. Small villages bordered the winding, bumpy road, and after about fifteen minutes of this view through the bus window, we came to a halt. I had made it, some two hours after setting out.

Over the course of the subsequent hours, I spent my day drinking tea, wandering through the small town and neighbouring countryside, and even visited a local primary school!

Was it worth it? Well, hopefully the following photos will answer that question better than words can. However, what I will say briefly is that I once again encountered a beautiful corner of this country, and in my next blog post I’ll share a series of photos from a week spent in the south west, which will hopefully demonstrate the incredible joy of travel and adventure.

Charadi was a quiet and peaceful market town, sat on the bank of a river, which I strolled along for a while. My challenge in reaching here was due in main to my sub-standard pronunciation and short term memory loss. To be perfectly honest as I stood, forlorn and desperately trying to communicate the name ‘Charadi’ to a fairly large audience, I couldn’t help thinking of this video from Disney’s Pete’s Dragon…

Passamaquaddy – Pete’s Dragon

Rise of the Tigers

November 20, 2016October 2, 2019 / johnstanlake / 7 Comments

Cricket in Chittagong

My cricket-playing days began ‘properly’ shall we say at the age of 12. This basically means that I ditched the tennis ball and moved up to the real leather cricket ball and in the process soon became acutely aware of why cricketers wear so much padding. If I were to describe my cricket prowess, I would say I’m a moderately fortuitous swing bowler and sporadically stubborn number eleven bat, learning (and unlearning!) all I needed to know about the game in the picturesque English village of Cockington, South Devon. It was during this time as part time scorer, part time bowler, and full time scone eater, that my love of the beautiful game of cricket took root.

Cockington Country Park – Home of Cockington Corinthians Cricket Club

The Devon D Division West (2^nd XI) title winning medal from 1999 that now sits tucked away in a box at home, and a match saving 11 not out with the bat are proud moments in an otherwise unremarkable cricket playing life thus far. Nevertheless, my enthusiasm for the game remains undiminished and my international employment in recent years has led me onto the path of some fairly random cricket encounters, which include cameo appearances for Prague Cricket Club, the National University cricket team in Butare, Rwanda, as well as almost playing against the Suriname national team in Guyana…until rain stopped play.

Here in Bangladesh I spend a great deal of my free time exploring the country armed with a camera, and for the past few weeks I have been photographing (and occasionally joining in!) local cricket matches around the city and surrounding areas. The continued growth and rise of the Bangladesh national team (or ‘The Tigers’ as they are proudly known) has reignited the public’s interest and passion for the game, and recent one day series wins against South Africa, India, and Pakistan is a key reason for this.

No longer viewed as a minor or emerging force on the international cricket stage, Bangladesh now command real respect, and the England team that recently toured here found out exactly why.

The following photos were all captured in and around Chittagong and depict the love of a sport that continues to capture the imagination of many of the 160 million proud Bangladeshis, especially young players who dream of emulating their heroes.

A Quiet Place: An Update

July 19, 2016July 19, 2016 / johnstanlake / 3 Comments

A poignant journey from Torquay to Chittagong

In May 2012 I wrote a blog about a quite unexpected and spookily coincidental discovery in a secluded and quiet corner of Chittagong.

I’ve always been quite proud of that blog post as it (in my humble opinion) revealed how despite the apparent vastness of this world we live in, you never quite know when something will happen to remind you that it is in fact not quite as big as we think.

Below is the link to that original blog post, but just to recap very briefly, back in 2012 I took a visit to the Second World War cemetery in Chittagong. Now, here is the eerie part; the very first headstone I looked at and took the time to read the biography of, was Flight Sergeant W.C.Smith, a fallen pilot from Torquay, which, and this is crucial to the story, is my hometown and place of birth.

A Quiet Place

In November 2012 and a couple of months after I wrote about that unique experience, it was published in the Herald Express (a local newspaper) and that was the end of the matter…or so I thought.

A few days ago however, it came to my attention (thanks very much Brian!) that just a little under fours year since the original publication in the newspaper, a letter had emerged on the Herald’s letters page. A letter from one of Sergeant Smith’s relatives and a person who had grown up with him.

Here is that letter in full:

Memories of Flt Sgt Smith

Regarding your article by Mr Stanlake with reference to Flight Sergeant William Smith RAF (Herald Express November 15, 2012), a cutting from this issue was brought to my attention some time ago.

Having just ‘rediscovered’ it, I would like to give Mr Stanlake more information about his visit to the war graves in Chittagong, Bangladesh.

I am Bill’s cousin and knew him and his brothers well when we were growing up – a visit to Torquay from Gloucestershire was always a great event for me.

During the war (1942 to 1943), Bill was stationed in the Cotswolds for part of his training as a pilot in Bomber Command and he would sometimes stay with us on short leave.

We always enjoyed his company – he had a great sense of humour.

It was his fear that, as pilot, he would be responsible for the death of his crew, but on that fatal day he was acting as co-pilot with another plane and crew.

We were told the plane failed to take off with a full load of bombs and crashed into an irrigation ditch at the end of the runway.

Mike, his brother, also went into the RAF – as a fighter pilot – but the war ended while he was still in training.

Unfortunately, it was never possible for any of the family to visit Bill’s grave, so it was very consoling to read of the peacefulness of the cemetery and how well the graves are still tended after all these years.

MRS GLADYS HEAVEN

Wotton-under-Edge, Gloucestershire, UK

It was fascinating for me to read this letter as it obviously filled in a number of blanks about William Smith’s story and how exactly he came to his final resting place in Chittagong.

There were mixed feelings of course when reading it, as it provided a personal and warm reflection on Sergeant Smith and his life before the war, but also the details of his tragic death at such a young age.

I am happy and relieved in many ways to discover this story did make its way to Sergeant Smith’s family though and they can hopefully take some comfort in knowing that his grave is still immaculately tended to and offered the peace and respect it so deserves.

Once again I think the whole experience demonstrates how sometimes it does not matter how far we travel or wander around this world, there is often a connection to home just around the corner.

Panch Bochhor (পাঁচ বছর)

April 22, 2016April 23, 2016 / johnstanlake / 6 Comments

Marking 5 years

I like milestones. They provide a satisfying sense of accomplishment and achievement whilst ensuring the preservation of a little focus and direction.

This post is a celebration of one such milestone. April 9th, 2016 marked exactly 5 years since I first posted on this blog. It’s a pleasant feeling to know that despite the many twists and turns, the sporadic uprooting, the hellos and the goodbyes, and the often unplanned wanderings, I have still found time to regularly (well, kind of regularly) update and commit part of my energy and heart to this little project.

A project that began with the somewhat vague aim of recording my ramblings has now grown into a means by which to document a multitude of experiences that came along the way.

What this milestone also represents is that it is now a little over five years since I arrived in Bangladesh. When I think back to that time (March 2011), I really had no idea I would remain so long in this country, but I don’t regret it one bit. I arrived on a short term contract with a cautious ambition to perhaps extend that to a year. Five years on I’m still here aside from a one year sabbatical (of sorts) in Guyana.

Bangladesh has been good to me, and I am very grateful for that. I can’t really believe how quickly the five years have flown by, but in that time I’ve been lucky enough to explore this country a little and also travel to Nepal, India, Cambodia, Myanmar, Vietnam, Sri Lanka, Laos, Bhutan, Thailand, and even back to Rwanda a couple of times.

Most importantly though I have been lucky enough to work in a job that has inspired me to grow and learn. I’ve been surrounded by some fantastic colleagues right from the start, and they have been a source of constant knowledge whilst encouraging me to change and develop my outlook on many, many things.

I have of course also been privileged to teach and work with students who have taught me far more than I have them.

As always with these short posts that mark a milestone, I prefer to let images tell the story, so here are a few which I think sum up just why that tentative first few months turned into five years and provided me with so many amazing adventures under this one sun.