Buses, cars, motorcycles, rickshaws, and baby taxis swerve every which way while jockeying for position. Negative space is anathema. Fill it all. Gratuitous horn use is mandatory. Buses resemble recent contestants in a demolition derby—dents, chips, scratches, and missing parts provide ornamentation. I’ve read the accident rate is the statistical equivalent of “not if, but when.”

The taxi dropped me off at the Swiss Park Hotel, which would’ve been perfect if that was my intended destination. A friend recommended the Sky Park Guesthouse. I considered the possibility of a clerical error, so I went inside to investigate, only to discover…

Don’t forget. Remember, remember, and remember. I lamented often my failure to keep a diary on the road to adulthood. (Not sure I ever arrived, but that’s a rabbit for another hole.) What a treasure trove that would’ve yielded years later, much like this blog has done. And it’s not just about nostalgia. A record would contain wisdom only your former self can impart. What have I missed? What have I forgotten? What lessons have I had to learn and relearn? What’s the point of a journey if there’s no documentation, no after-action review? It pains me to consider all the lost memories from trips abroad before this ultimate fandango. I was determined not to make that mistake again…

I discovered a second GMG office in the terminal. Trust but verify, no? I inquired within and was told the decision was made the night before. Of course, it had. I asked if it were possible to check-in, so I could enter the gate area and enjoy the luxury of internet. They agreed. I then paid to access the executive lounge (I'm worth it) where I watched television and surfed the web with impunity. You haven’t lived until you’ve spent eight hours in the executive lounge at Dhaka International Airport.

A final punch in the balls came when the flight was delayed an additional half-hour, which in Bengali translates as two hours. This time it was a VIP departure. All runways were shut down until liftoff…