Chittagong Dhaka Highway

I arrived in Bangladesh with the notion that I would be able to get to Dhaka once a month for church. We're closing in on the end of the month here and, I have to be honest, we might not make it back. There are a lot of factors that we learned to take into consideration on our anti-vacation about a month ago. One that we hadn't considered before is the treacherous nature of the Chittagong Dhaka Highway.

The other day I heard the story of an near miss involving some friends of ours on this harrowing stretch of road. I heard the story second hand but have no trouble believing that they spun 180 in the middle of the road, miraculously missing other traffic and also avoiding going over the steep embankment onto the nearby rice field.

On our trip along the Chittagong Dhaka highway we had our own accident of sorts. We rented a van and it came with a driver. Sharif (sp?) was ever so patient with the noise level in the van (I suspect it was partly to impress Summer. Once, he cleverly brought up the subject of marriage and immigration to the states in a conversation where they had previously been talking about oranges).

Sharif was a fair driver as far as I could tell. He seemed to honk at all the appropriate times, he stopped slamming on the brakes when he noticed how it made Enzo and Lena shoot forward off the bench, and he exuded a confidence behind the wheel that was impressive and comforting. He managed to lull us into such security that we could observe the overturned and flattened buses mired in filthy paddies with curiosity instead of dread.

So it was as Sharif was passing a bus that was passing a bus that we became trapped in between said bus and an oncoming truck. There was a sickening crunch as the truck scraped down the side of the van, taking out the rear light and twisting the door as it went. The colorful metal sides of the bigger vehicles were all that could be seen through the windows. It seemed certain that we were going to be crushed then left as prey to oncoming traffic. But, seconds later, the van was left alone, scarred but safe, in the middle of the highway.

That is when Sharif pulled a u-ey and chased down the offending truck. He forced the truck to pull off at a gas station where the drivers (and about 10 gas station guys) alternately yelled at each other and slapped the damaged van while we sat inside (wide eyed and unsure whether or not we should get out). About forty-five minutes later we were back on the road. It turned out it was the truck driver's fault.

I'm not so sure, in light of these blessed near misses, whether or not we should chance the Chittagong Dhaka Highway again. Maybe the train?