Return to Bangladesh

I scribbled notes in my little book when I first arrived back in Bangladesh.  As the newness wore off, I thought maybe they didn't still apply, but I think it does.  So here you go, scribbled out 15 October and making it to a posting 8 November:

So I'm back in Bangladesh and what can I say....  One comfort on my return was that I was to arrive at midnight, to slip back discreetly into the quiet and coolness of night.  The storm in the Pacific Nothwest, the mad dash to catch my flight in San Francisco after a delay from Portland, the taxi to the runway only to sit for 3-1/2 hours watching the fierce winds blow water in sheets along the pavement, the eventual return to the gate accruing ultimately a 13 hour late arrival into Bangladesh... all meant that I was instead thrown immediately into the steamy heat of the early afternoon, the weaving traffic, the skinny boys indicating they want food, the limbless men waving their stubs seeking a donation, a woman vomiting from a bus, a rickshaw wallah straining with a massive load stacked way above his head.  And you may be asking, how does it feel to be back.  And what can I say?  I would love for the warm days of an Oregon summer to linger forever.  To continue spending time with my family, watching my nieces and nephew grow, riding my bike, floating down the river in my kayak.  No amount of relaxation can last long once thrown back to the throbbing mass, the sooty humid air, the constant disparity between the arrogant rich and the desperate poor.  But there's something here that is gritty and real, that will break your heart and heal it up again, that will teach you what hope and love really is.  And I wish I could show you this place because there is something about it that feels like home.