Thanks all!! ((((((hugs))))) It is so good to be home!!! I could have logged on from my brother's laptop while we were away, but he is very computer literate, and I didn't want to leave any kind of history trail that he could later come across by accident. I don't think he would do it maliciously at all, but this place is very private to me, so I decided not to risk it.
Thanks for all your comments. Yes, I think I am glad I went. I am glad I saw what life is like in Bangladesh, and the extremes of rich and poor (of course we counted among the super-rich for 2 weeks.) We saw men, women and children sitting beside the road in 30C heat breaking bricks to be used in roadbuilding, because there is no hardcore. We saw maimed and blind and other disabled people begging for pennies in the streets. We saw women carrying babies (and were told these babies are sometimes hired for the day) and begging in the streets. We saw children offering to wash the windscreen of the car for the equivalent of 1 or 2 pence.
We saw rickshaw drivers who work so hard for so long that no doctor will treat them, and who sleep on the pavements if they cannot afford a dormitory for the night. Everyone treated the rickshaw as an experience that you just have to have if you visit, but I couldn't get into one. Partly because of the agoraphobia, but partly because my dad said that he tried to pedal one once and he couldn't move it, and they are driven miles each day. There may be over 600,000 of them in Dhaka alone. They are hired out to the drivers by masters, who take most of the money, leaving them with a pittance to survive on.
It made me think of them as an instrument of torture rather than of transportation, and I was unwilling to ride in one, even just for a short journey. That is probably stupid, but there you are.
Another day we went to an outdoor pool and saw people bathing fully dressed, in true Moslem fashion, and joined in with them. That counts as the second most bizarre experience.
But strangely enough, I started out much more positive towards Moslems than I ended up after this holiday, to be honest. I am not sure that all this apparent modesty and covering up does anything other than to eroticise the whole female form, and create a barrier towards understanding for both sides. However, that is an outside view, and I don't mean to offend any Moslems here. But one Danish lady who lives out there told me something very revealing during the first reception; she said look at their shoes. And sure enough, the younger ladies, with saris or shalwar kameez clothing which is meant to reflect modesty, wear shoes that would only be worn here by streetwalkers. It was really strange to see, and once I started to look, these 5 inch heel stilletoes were everywhere!!
I am pleased I went, and I am pleased that Charlie has these memories to remember forever, as well as some lovely new clothes and shoes etc. It was not easy, but I used the tranquillisers from my GP to cope with the flights - actually I could have done with enough for the rest of the holiday too,
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Mum and dad are home now as well. The UK reception is on Saturday, so that will be the last of the celebrations for this particular wedding.
Charlie's tutor came today, and she starts school again tomorrow, so I am hoping that will not be too bad. It is awful having to face all that again, after a holiday relatively free from school stresses. Oh well ... Meanwhile her thyroid treatment is going well, and everything is on track there.
Time for counting blessings, I think ...
One more episode from my mum. I had cooked dinner for my parents, while they slept in their air conditioned room. I was very hot and bothered, because the kitchen was very small, and not well equipped. Afterwards mum went straight back to her room again, while dad came to say how much he appreciated the meal (bless him, he tries!!). So I said I would have appreciated some help, and would it be too much for mum to peel just one potato to help, and he said she daren't, because she is frightened of me.
So there you are. Perpetrator stealing victim status, and me cast into villain role for being capable and not letting everyone starve. Twilight zone stuff.
After that day I stopped cooking. I opened tins and let them make sandwiches.
Several days later dad told me that mum had said to him that she had not seen me eat anything since we had arrived. I said to dad I am 44 years old and perfectly capable of making sure I eat what I need to when I need to. And if mum has anything to say, she should say it to me, not to you. Which again got the same response; she daren't, she is afraid of you.
How to twist reality and steal sympathy in one easy lesson. Anathematise your own daughter, in order to play the martyred mother.
(Actually, it isn't funny, but I will laugh anyway.)
