There are places that test your patience and others that require little effort – and then there is Bangladesh, which somehow manages to do both.
My journey from Dhaka, the wild and relentless capital, to Cox’s Bazar, home to the world’s longest natural beach and more than one million Rohingya refugees from neighbouring Myanmar, has been a ride through contrasts: concrete and coastline, noise and silence, pandemonium and peace.
Dhaka: the city that never sleeps
I begin in Dhaka, a city that is very much alive. In fact, it feels like all the 10 million lives here are on the move, simultaneously. It’s everything at once, this city: colourful, exasperating, loud, almost hypnotising. It doesn’t ease you in; it throws you into the deep end and dares you to swim.
The air hums with rickshaw bells, calls to prayer, and most ear-shattering of all, a non-stop cacophony of car horns. If you are inside one of those cars, in a seemingly forever-lasting traffic jam, headphones will serve you well. But not if you’re out walking in all this madness. Then, you’ll need your wits about you.
It is overwhelming at first. But as so often in life, if you stop trying to control it and just go with the flow, the rhythm of the city begins to make sense. And there’s something defiant about this place. It’s interesting.
Dhaka University
First stop is Dhaka University, the intellectual soul of Bangladesh, with a sprawling campus, all leafy and serene. A striking contrast to the rest of the city. The university has been closed down several times as a reaction to student protests.
The Red Fort and the ghosts of Mughal days
Built in the 17th century by the Mughal prince Muhammad Azam, Lalbagh Fort, better known as the Red Fort, is a stunning reminder of Dhaka’s past.
Long red-brick walls surround the landscaped grounds, with modern-day Dhaka as a contrasting backdrop. In the middle of the property, is the melancholic mausoleum of Pari Bibi, whose tragic death left the fort unfinished.
Pari Bibi was the favourite daughter of Shaista Khan, governor of the province back in the 17th century. When she died unexpectedly, her father was heart-broken and built this mausoleum in her honour: 8 rooms, with the tomb in the middle – all marble, glossy tiles, and a copper dome. A pink Taj Mahal.
It’s quiet here this morning. A few families have picnics in the grass. Kids are chasing pigeons. Ambling slowly through, I imagine I’ve time-travelled back 300 years, passing Mughal nobles along the paths.
Wandering through Old Dhaka
My time-travel continues outside the fort, in Old Dhaka, the historic core. It is a labyrinth of narrow lanes, crowded and full of life, a maze of spice shops and faded century-old buildings with peeling shutters, that seem to lean in to listen.
The place is buzzing: the sound of fruit carts pushed along the asphalt, hawkers shouting prices in rapid-fire Bangla, the smell of freshly fried water chestnuts. Rowdy, and atmospheric.
I stop by Shankhari Bazaar, all jewellery shops and Hindu temples hidden between houses. From hand-carved doors to intricate bangles, the artistry here tells centuries-old stories.
The Pink Palace by the river
Moving right along, my next stop is Ahsan Manzil, the Pink Palace. Faded grandeur at its finest. The rosy façade glows beautifully in the afternoon light.
Now a museum, this oh-so-photogenic landmark along the Buriganga River was once home to, and official seat of, the Nawabs, Dhaka’s royal family.
Inside are opulent rooms, filled with chandeliers, antique furniture, and old portraits that seem to look right back at you, always a bit disconcerting. Out on the balcony, I hear the low whir of boats and ferries on the river. Dhaka in motion.
Life along the Buriganga
It is a country of waterways, this – with more than 700 rivers. In Bangladesh, it is as natural to get out on the water, as it is getting on a train in India. An integral part of the experience.
Boatmen steer small wooden sampans along, traders load goods, commuters crowd on the ferries, children play along the banks. Like the Ganges River, the Buriganga is sacred to Bangladesh’s Hindu population.
At Sadarghat, the port, ferries, cargo boats, and tiny sampans compete for space with movement, always movement. It is oddly mesmerising. The ferries and old steamers bring people – tourists and locals alike – on journeys along the river to the Sundarbans National Park and other locations around the country.
I’m reminded of the ships along the Nile, docked one next to another, so you have to go through other boats to go ashore.
Sadly, the Buriganga is not as idyllic as it looks. It used to be drinking water, now it is massively polluted. Rubbish of every kind: chemical waste from factories, household refuse, medical waste, dead animals, sewage, and not least, the forever-present menace that is plastic… most of it ends up in this river.
I try not to think about that, as I watch the water glisten under the fading light.
It is getting late. Rush hour. A distance that should normally take about 20 minutes, takes nearly 2 hours. Give me strength!
Cox’s Bazar: the calm after the storm
After a few days in the whirlwind that is Dhaka, it is time to head south. A one-hour flight later, and I’m on the southern edge of Bangladesh, by the Bay of Bengal. In Cox’s Bazar, everything slows down, and the land gives way to the sea. Salt is in the air. The horizon stretches forever. City madness fades into waves and wind.
Rickshaws waiting for customers at Cox’s Bazar airport
After the frenzy of Bangladesh’s capital, the rhythm of the ocean feels like exhaling after holding your breath for a while. Long, slow exhales.
For the days here in Cox’s Bazar, I have traded solo travel for company. We’re a small NomadMania group, about to explore this part of the country. Part of our journey here – and my main reason for travelling to Bangladesh in the first place – is to visit a Rohingya refugee camp.
The camps are sensitive, protected environments, and visits are highly restricted. Unauthorised entry puts us and the refugees at risk, so no one can just waltz in on their own.
Map of the many Rohingya refugee camps that stretch over the hills near Ukhiya and Kutupalong.
We must go through the proper legal, ethical, and humanitarian channels, and obtain the necessary permit from the Office of Refugee Relief and Repatriation Commissioner in Cox’s Bazar. Journalists and influencers are not allowed to visit the camps. Good thing I’m neither…
As it turns out, we get a limited permit for the next day, allowing us to visit one of the camps and market only. Any closer contact is off limits. Better than nothing, I suppose.
Dinner is at Ocean Dine, across the street from our hotel. Tastes like Indian food to me, but then I don’t claim to be a foodie. Peculiarly, food is served as it is cooked, so everyone at the table is served at different times. Patience is required.
Good night, Cox’s Bazar
The Reclining Buddha
Next morning, we start the day easy, with a stop in Ramu, a small Buddhist village about 10 kilometres inland from Cox’s Bazar, filled with pagodas and monasteries. It’s Friday afternoon, and the atmosphere here is tranquil and reverent, but also lively.
The highlight is Buddha, all 30 metres of him. One of the largest reclining Buddha statues in the world, this giant golden figure is lazing amidst lush greenery, gleaming in the sunlight.
Monks walk quietly along the temple paths, saffron robes vivid against the forest backdrop. The smell of incense pervades the air.
A glimpse into the Rohingya refugee camps
It’s time to travel to the refugee camp. I feel a need to see and understand, mixed with an ever so slight apprehension. I have worked in the field before, and know this will probably be both interesting and uncomfortable.
These refugee camps exist because more than a million Rohingya people have been forced to flee their homes in Rakhine State in Myanmar, after decades of persecution, discrimination, and repeated waves of violence. They are a Muslim minority, denied Myanmar citizenship, the right to move, and any kind of basic protection.
In 2017, Myanmar’s military launched a large-scale crackdown, described by the UN as having genocidal intent. As a result, more than 700,000 Rohingya fled across the border to Bangladesh, where they are sheltered in large, densely populated camps, primarily here in Cox’s Bazar.
Home in Myanmar, the political and security situation for the Rohingya remain unresolved, so here they are, and here they will stay for the foreseeable future, stateless and homeless.
You can imagine what that does to people. Hundreds of thousands living in extremely dense conditions, with very limited clean water, food, sanitation and healthcare. Frequent outbreaks of various diseases, malnutrition, especially amongst children. Few, if any, opportunities to work and be self-sufficient. Hardly any schooling for the kids. High risk of domestic violence and human trafficking, as well as environmental risks, including landslides and flooding. And most pervasive of all: uncertainty. No prospect of a stable future.
Being aware
We, just passing through, need to be aware that these camps are home to traumatised people. No interviewing refugees, no photos of people. No handing out money or gifts, or enter anyone’s shelters.
As expected, it is a challenging visit: tens of thousands of makeshift shelters, children playing in the dust, women carrying water under the blazing sun… bearing witness to this is overwhelming enough. My imagination does not stretch far enough to picture being in their shoes.
Yet, amidst all the hardship, there is resilience and creativity. From experience, I know donated clothes abound, so much, it’s sometimes necessary to put a stop to receiving.
When I spot donated clothes and backpacks re-sold at the market here, I have to smile.
Couldn’t help myself
As we leave the camp, I need a minute to clear my head. I close my eyes and disengage from the conversation in the van.
South to Teknaf
Continuing further south, we head to Teknaf, the last tip of mainland Bangladesh where the Naf River marks the border between Bangladesh and Myanmar. Along the winding coastal roads, we pass green hills, and glimpses of fishing villages.
At Teknaf, small wooden boats cross the grey-green river, water shimmering under the sun. There’s a quiet melancholy here, a sense of standing at the edge of something vast and uncertain. What would it be like, fleeing from the other side of the river here, not knowing when, or even if, you will ever be able to return to your home, your country…
The longest beach in the world
Back on the sightseeing circuit, Cox’s Bazar has the longest natural sea beach in the world, a 120km stretch of golden sand. It seems to go on forever, merging into mist where the sky meets the water. The sound of waves mingles with that of seabirds, the aroma of grilled fish is in the salty air.
At night, it is a different story. As the sun sets, the whole beach glows amber, and families stroll along the surf. Lots of laughter and photo snapping. Our pale faces are coveted motifs.
Sunset over the world’s longest beach
We end the day on the hotel rooftop.
Birthday cake. And Sprite. It’s Friday.
Final day
Earlier in the post, I said getting out on the water is an integral part of experiencing Bangladesh. Better follow up on that, then. The last morning in Cox’s Bazar, we visit the fish market –
– and take a boat –
– across to Moheshkali Island, home of 400,000 people and a Hindu Temple, dedicated to the god Shiva.
Adinath Temple
Back in town, we have a final lunch together, and yet another birthday cake for me.
Pedro, organiser extraordinaire
Reflections: Two Sides of the Same Country
From Dhaka’s dizzying chaos to Cox’s Bazar’s gentle waves, this trip across Bangladesh has been a journey of striking differences: turbulence and tranquility, struggle and grace, modern ambition and ancient calm. It doesn’t try to charm you, this country. It just is, raw and real.
Dhaka is dense, noisy, and alive any which way you turn. Cox’s Bazar is wide open, and meditative. Between the two lies a story of resilience, humanity, and heart, and I am reminded travel isn’t always about being on the move. Sometimes, it’s about presence: watching, listening, and letting a place reveal itself at its own pace.
If you ever find yourself wanting an authentic and unfiltered experience, start in Dhaka, end in Cox’s Bazar, and let Bangladesh surprise you.
A few Bangladesh practicals
Getting there and getting around:
Daily one-hour flights from Dhaka to Cox’s Bazar with US-Bangla, Biman Bangladesh and Novoair, or
10–12 hours by bus or private car: scenic but tiring
CNGs (rickshaws on compressed natural gas) are inexpensive and easy to flag down, both in Dhaka and Cox’s Bazar
Where to stay:
In Dhaka, I checked out The Way and Grand Palace, both good, though I’d recommend the latter, it’s int he midst of the food and fun scene.
In Cox’s Bazar, we stayed at Ocean Paradise hotel, also good – and on the beach.
Best Time to Visit:
November – March is sunny and pleasant.
June – September is monsoon season.
Bangladesh: From the chaos of Dhaka to the calm of Cox’s Bazar is a post from Sophie’s World