Reaching Dhaka, Bangladesh, isn’t straightforward from Japan; there are no direct flights. The usual routes involve layovers via major hubs like Hong Kong (Cathay Pacific), Bangkok (Thai Airways), Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia Airlines), or Singapore (Singapore Airlines). I hear that development aid workers from organizations like JICA and business travelers overwhelmingly favor these legacy carriers. But I’m neither an aid worker nor a businessman. I’m just a cost-conscious traveler who makes a point of flying the national airline of my destination whenever possible. So, for this trip to Dhaka, I unhesitatingly chose Bangladeshi carriers: United Airways (no relation to the U.S. giant) for the flight from Bangkok, and Biman Bangladesh Airlines for the return.
Tucked away at a remote bus gate at Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport stood my ride: a United Airways De Havilland Canada DHC-8-100 that looked like it belonged in an open-air aviation museum exhibit. The faded, peeling paint created an unsettling optical illusion, making the wings seem momentarily dented, triggering a flicker of primal fear. Boarding via the aircraft’s built-in steps, I found the cabin equally retro, reminiscent of a mock-up display of a vintage plane.
I’d picked this supposedly “up-and-coming” Bangladeshi airline because I’d heard its on-time performance was better than Biman’s. True to form, we departed Bangkok right on schedule, a promising start that lifted my spirits. In the air, we were served bottled water and a meal, but the flight attendants were hardly proactive, and in-flight entertainment was non-existent. “Okay,” I told myself, trying to stay positive, “their motto must be ‘simple but solid service’.” Yet, watching passengers stroll down the aisle even after the seatbelt sign illuminated for takeoff, and seeing carry-on bags spilling into the footwells and aisles during liftoff, was, by global airline alliance standards, simply astonishing.
The flight was about three hours. By the time we entered Bangladeshi airspace around 6 PM, dusk was settling. Inside the cabin, however, the lights remained off, leaving us in near darkness. With no reading lights, even seeing my own hands clearly was a challenge. Yet, not a single passenger complained. The attendants, having completed their minimal service, had retreated to the galley. With nothing else to do, I peered out the window. Below, the ground was almost entirely dark, save for distant flashes of lightning illuminating thunderclouds. I tried to convince myself that the unsteady drone of the engines and propellers, seemingly fluctuating with the turbulence, was just my imagination. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I surveyed the cabin again. Roughly 80% of the 70-odd seats were filled, and it appeared I was the only non-South Asian face on board. A distinct feeling of “What have I gotten myself into?” washed over me, but I chalked it up to the thrill of the journey.
Upon arriving at Dhaka’s Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport and heading to immigration, I found myself completely alone at the “FOREIGN PASSPORT” counter. It seemed United was the only international arrival at that hour, confirming I really had been the sole foreigner on the flight.
The airport terminal was surprisingly large – a bit dated, perhaps, but suitably grand for a nation’s capital. It had all the basic facilities of an international airport, yet lacked the high-strung, tense atmosphere common elsewhere. As I often do, I tested the waters by deliberately taking photos near police officers and security staff. In countries with strict security or media regulations, this would usually earn an immediate rebuke, but here? Not a peep. It was amusing to note that my camera itself seemed to draw more attention than the act of photographing.
While waiting for my luggage in the customs hall, a young Bangladeshi man from my flight struck up a conversation with a friendly smile. He was genuinely curious why I, coming from Bangkok, would choose United over Thai Airways. According to him and his friends, foreigners rarely fly Bangladesh’s own carriers. Conversely, for many Bangladeshis, foreign airlines are prohibitively expensive. While neither local airline is known for reliability, United’s low fares apparently make it the “lesser of two evils.” It functions somewhat like a low-cost carrier within Bangladesh, meaning the slightly aged aircraft and basic service aren’t major deterrents. Incidentally, United’s in-flight magazine boldly claimed plans to launch a Dhaka-London route using Airbus A310s. “Really?” I thought, skeptical, but admittedly, it’s a company whose future progress sparks some curiosity.
When I asked the young men about domestic flights, their answer was blunt: “Ordinary people don’t fly.” Trains and buses dominate domestic travel, with airfares costing 10 to 100 times more, making planes an exceptional mode of transport. “They’re for the idle rich and politicians,” one stated flatly. It sounded like気軽に using domestic flights remained a high hurdle for the average foreign tourist.
The taxi ride from the airport to my hotel downtown immediately plunged me into Dhaka’s infamous traffic jams. Covering just a few kilometers took nearly an hour – clearly, there’s massive room for improvement. My driver proudly pointed out a structure along the way. “That’s Dhaka’s first ‘flyover’ (overpass),” he boasted. “They’re building more, it will ease the congestion.” The traffic must truly be severe. While it’s not a problem solvable overnight, the palpable public anticipation for national development was striking.
I’d booked a hotel in a relatively upscale area of central Dhaka. Along the main avenue stood buildings around ten stories high, but just one block behind, low-rise structures dominated, lining unpaved roads sometimes marred by deep depressions. This would be my base for exploring Dhaka and its outskirts over the next few days.
Dhaka, a sprawling metropolis, certainly has its points of interest. There’s Old Dhaka, a dense warren of narrow, winding alleys packed with shops, eateries, and markets; Sadar Ghat, the bustling river port on the Buriganga River, a vital logistics hub; the Jatiya Sangsad Bhaban (National Parliament House); Ahsan Manzil (the Pink Palace), steeped in the history leading up to independence; and Tara Masjid (Star Mosque), an 18th-century Mughal-era gem. I even ventured further afield to Sonargaon, an ancient canal city that flourished in the 12th century.
Each location was captivating for urban exploration, many holding significant historical value within South Asia. However, the prevailing impression was one of near-total neglect in terms of tourism infrastructure development. Economic reports confirm the country has historically placed little emphasis on the tourism industry. Perhaps economic development simply takes precedence, leaving no resources for tourism? Indeed, for the average tourist, Dhaka lacks a definitive “must-see” attraction, and the overall infrastructure, including sanitation, is woefully inadequate.
On the other hand, the sheer number of people everywhere is staggering. It’s hardly surprising, given that this nation, roughly 1.7 times the size of Hokkaido, Japan, is home to 140 million people, with the capital experiencing extreme population concentration. Gazing at the lives of these overwhelming masses, the intense, palpable pulse of daily existence itself begins to feel like a tourist attraction – strangely compelling. This isn’t just a reaction against the overly sanitized, perfectly curated tourist destinations and cities common elsewhere in the world. It’s because, amidst this chaotic, clamorous throng, you feel the raw “power of humanity” more viscerally than perhaps anywhere else.
Getting around the city means relying on “CNGs” – auto-rickshaws resembling turtles – or cycle rickshaws. Buses seem navigable only by locals, and taxis are virtually impossible to hail unless pre-booked. And the city is perpetually gridlocked. Even on the main roads in Old Dhaka, which might offer two lanes in each direction, the space is constantly choked, roughly by 40% rickshaws, 30% CNGs, 5% passenger cars, and 25% pedestrians. Despite vast differences in vehicle width, length, speed, range, and ability to navigate potholes and puddles, drivers seem utterly oblivious to the concepts of “lanes” or “vehicle types.” Every vehicle surges forward desperately, simultaneously, inevitably blocking each other in a never-ending snarl. Here, chaos is simply the norm.
I asked a relatively affluent young man I befriended in Dhaka what he thought were the most critical problems the country needed to solve to escape poverty and achieve economic development. His earnest reply: “Traffic congestion, power outages, and a bureaucratic system rife with bribery and nepotism.”
Having glimpsed Bangladesh’s intense and complex reality, it was time to head home, though not without a sense of reluctance. As planned, I would fly back to Bangkok on Biman Bangladesh Airlines. Having withdrawn from the Japan route, this would be my first encounter with a Biman aircraft in about a decade, since last seeing one at Narita. The fact that nearly half the airport departure lobby was dedicated solely to Biman and its handling agents spoke volumes of its national flag carrier status. Next to the check-in counters, digital signage trumpeted the introduction of Boeing 777s with bright, optimistic slogans. Inside the counter, however, the male staff member exuded a classic bureaucratic air. No greeting, and upon completing the check-in, he simply tossed my passport and boarding pass back in silence. Compared to the service levels of other Asian legacy carriers these days, it wasn’t even in the same league.
Yet, when this top-down attitude seems pervasive throughout the company, it’s surprisingly not that offensive to be on the receiving end. Why? Because all expectations vanish. My goal is simply to get from Point A to Point B on an airplane. It’s strange how easily one thinks, “I don’t have time to get worked up over their every little action.”
Aboard the Boeing 737-800, flight attendants wore uniforms with a traditional flair. They projected an air of baseless haughtiness, yet their confident, condescending smiles somehow imparted a certain sense of reassurance to the passengers. The service, including the meal, was far from extensive, but their approach seemed to declare, “This is our job, this is Biman tradition.” It evoked a nostalgia for flights to remote corners of the world decades ago. The pinnacle of this time-warp experience was the disinfectant sprayed over passengers’ heads after the meal. As the mysterious white powder rained down, I mused, “I remember this on Asian routes out of Narita, probably until the early 90s.” While hygiene is crucial, the method felt like treating passengers as cargo, or perhaps livestock. But, ever the optimist, I chose to interpret it favorably: the dignified stance of a veteran airline that refuses to fawn over its customers.
And then, we landed in Bangkok, right on schedule. Breathing a sigh of relief that the “rare experience” was over, I disembarked. Just then, one of the pilots emerged from the cockpit and deadpanned, “On-time arrivals are rare. You’re lucky.” It was another reminder that flying is fundamentally about transportation; if that goal is achieved, perhaps nothing else truly matters. In the ever-shifting global aviation market, Biman Bangladesh Airlines remains steadfastly itself, marching to its own beat even as newer competitors emerge. For anyone wanting to reconnect with the bare essentials of air travel, Biman is, in its own peculiar way, a recommended experience.
Once away from Bangladesh, the most vivid, enduring impressions are of that roiling human tide – the clamor, the heat – and the smiles. Many people I met in Bangladesh looked at me with eyes utterly devoid of the suspicion or caution often directed at travelers. In their natural smiles, their shining eyes, and the easy way they’d approach asking “Take my picture!” with no expectation of anything in return, I felt a genuine, unmediated human connection.
Bangladesh has a long road ahead in developing its aviation services and broader tourism industry, including cultivating resources to become a popular destination for mainstream travelers. But if the goal is to rediscover the core of travel – meeting people, understanding people – then shedding preconceptions and biases and visiting this country is worthwhile. You might just find something there that makes you reconsider what your own journeys should be about.
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