Then I went shopping with Mrs. Hawaiian in one of the good local department stores called Aarong where I acquired some excellent clothing. I capped midday with an exquisite meal worth $3 at Best Fried Chicken, which is Dhaka's chain version of KFC. It is the BEST darn chicken I have ever had. Diarrhea be damned! Service was also outstanding--I had a guy stand next to me, holding a stack of paper napkins and handing me one every time I put down a bare chicken bone with the happiest smile I have even seen. In deep contrast, that same night the Diplomat and I went to an spectacularly expensive dinner at the only French restaurant in town. The food was absolutely gourmet and the delights kept coming. I do feel that the surprise effect was a bit marred by the fact that the Maitre 'D came up to the table and in loud whisper, right in front of me, asked the Diplomat what my name was (they apparently knew it was my birthday). Few minutes later, the entire staff showed up with the most ridiculously fabulous cake I have ever eaten and sang enthusiastically, loudly and drastically off-tune "Happy Birthday" to me. I do think they were quite proud of themselves. And as much as I hate being sang to in restaurants, I must admit I loved it. We capped the night with a few drinks at the one of the British clubs and if I remember correctly even went out to a friend's house to toast HIS birthday. Now, THAT is what I call a night on Dhaka town. And my official celebration is not until this week!
Our beloved last HHE arrived this weekend and I have finally recovered the last of my shoes, Son's train table and my fancy glass tupperware (now that I think of it, I think some of it is missing?!?). You cannot believe how deprived one feels without their glass tupperware. So now, we have all of our possessions together. As a result, the house is literally overpowered by Son's myriad of planes, trains and automobiles--since we have moved a few times and stored luggage several times in the past year, plus the visit to grandma, he kept accumulating new possessions everywhere and now everything has been brought together to one monstrous result. I suppose I could open a shop.
Also, my days of breezy, smelly rickshaw rides are over--we are now proud owners of a very exciting Toyota Corolla and have hired a wonderful driver whose patience with traffic and my late night tennis lessons is infinite. I miss the rickshaws, despite the fact that the ride back from the American Club to home passed by a place where they were most certainly either burning trash or collected sewage. Or both. Then again, it might be my spoiled palate since right next to the area there are plenty of street coffee stalls where one can always see men standing and sipping obscenely sweet coffee and tea. Dhaka IS a place of contrasts.