Iftar at Pizza Hut: A Cultural Experience

I'm generally not a fan of hitting up foreign restaurant chains such as McDonalds when abroad. In my experience you usually pay for more than what you get meaning prices are at least as high as in the States and much higher than other local joints. Still, a while ago on a weekend stay in Dhaka I found myself wanting a taste of Pizza Hut. Combine that with Pizza Hut's all you can eat Iftar (sundown meal during Ramadan) special and the fact that it happened to be my friend's birthday
We roll in on the rickshaw just as the sun officially sets which, much to our dismay, is much too late to get seats. Putting our names on the wait list we take a seat. The first thing that strikes me as strange is the classification on Pizza Hut goers. Unlike back home this is a place for upper middle to upper class. For Iftar some come decked out in their finest panjabi, shari or Western style. It is a trendy, upscale place frequented by families, friends and young lovers.
Half an hour later the host calls us in and seats us at the only free table the bustling room. Neatly dressed waiters run back and forth calling out "cheese", "grilled chicken" and "beef lover's". It's music to hungry ears. We hail one of the waiters, have our plates stacked with steaming hot pizza and dig in. It's definately not the Cadillac of pizzas, but it's a welcome change from the steady diet of curries with rice however delicious they may be. How long has it been since I've tasted cheese?
The table of 12 next to us finishes their meal and gets up, leaving plates and dozens of pizza crusts strewn across the table. Apparently Bangladeshis don't realize that the crust edible. Round two comes along and we each down another plateful. Soon after a waiter comes by pushing thirds. We're beginning to slow down but won't be out eaten by the table next to us. Pointing to the piles of crusts on all the other tables we remind the waiter that we have eaten over 10 whole pieces and wasted not a crumb. He concedes we're right and gives us three more. After killing those we call it quits. "Pet bhore giyeche" or stomach's full we say. We pay the bill of about $7 each and on the way ring the "Food Was Good" bell and waddle out the door. If in the future I find myself in Dhaka during Ramadan I might just have to hit this place up again.

Bangladeshi Barbers

“Koto katbo?” (how much should I cut) asked the man behind the barber’s chair, scissors in hand. After over two months in-country my hair had become a bit shaggy. Somewhat tired of hearing “Your long hair looks very bad. Cut it.”, I broke down and heeded the frank advice. I went with my coworker, Ripon, to a barber shop in the nearby bazaar. No sooner had I told the man, Sobuj, how much to cut than he got to work with the scissors. No clippers could be seen or heard in this place. Bangladeshi barbers are masters in the art of scissor wielding and can cut any head of hair – no matter how short – perfectly without them. When it came to trimming around the edges he whipped out a straight razor, also used for their 10 Taka shaves, and with a few fell swoops was done. Finally, he asked if I wanted the optional 10 Taka neck massage. Having experienced it once, I’m a believer. From now on it’s a required part of barber shop visits. Between Ripon’s shave and my haircut with massage the total came to 70 Taka or one USD. When will this make it to the States?