Hm.
Suddenly, and somewhat surprisingly, I'm back in the land of yaks.
I'm in Bhutan for a last taste of the high Himalaya.
Bhutan is a tiny pebble squeezed between the great rocks of China and India.
Mostly mountain and forest, it has few roads,
so I'm walking up to Chomolhari, which borders on Tibet.
My guide Dorji wears national costume - as men are expected to in this country.
I favour the international dishevelled look.
There's room to move here.
Bhutan is the size of Switzerland with a population of little more than a million.
It has one of the strictest environmental policies in the world.
A quarter of the country is national park
and not even fallen wood can be gathered without permission.
It's a country jealous of its independence,
ruled by a much-loved king whose policy is "Gross National Happiness"
before "Gross National Product".
The influence of Buddhism is everywhere, like this cliff-top hermitage.
Holy spots seem to crop up all over Bhutan. What's special about here?
Legend claims it was founded by a saint - Guru Rinpoche -
who rode here on a tigress 1,200 years ago and turned himself into something so nasty
that the evil spirits fled and left the valley to Buddhism.
Wow! Fantastic.
That looks like a black rat on the wall there, painted. What is it?
- It's a weasel. - A weasel?
You see the thing that's falling off? It's a precious stone.
It symbolises wealth, prosperity for the house.
Coming out of the mouth of a weasel. Is the weasel considered a lucky creature?
(DORJl) Not the weasel but the actual god of the north holds a weasel in his hand
that spits out precious stones.
(PALIN) It's so complicated. I see.
Gods of the north and regurgitating weasels
are a reminder that religious symbolism is at the heart of Bhutanese life.
If you want a safe journey, don't pass a prayer wheel without spinning it.
(DORJl) I'll leave one for you.
There we go.
Bhutan has taken deliberate steps to keep tourist numbers manageable.
Visitors have to pay a minimum of $200 a day - even if you're staying in a tent.
It's amazing how many people you need to enjoy the outdoor life.
In order to travel through Bhutan as we are now
and kind of see..."off piste" Bhutan...
There are no roads, so you need stuff to be carried -
hence all the horses.
We've got about 20 ponies here
and they have to carry all the gear, really.
All the tents, the kitchen tent down there, chairs, bags, food.
There's a catering cavalry taking all the stuff we'll need for lunch
and another camp this evening.
There's six of us - the crew -
but the rest are the people who help us live and move and see this wonderful country.
All I have to do is fill my water bottle.
I don't even have to do that, actually.
But I drink it.
As you can see, rather nimbly.
Next morning, nothing happens until platefuls of red rice flavoured with chillies -
the magic ingredient of Bhutanese cooking - are devoured for breakfast.
After a few days on the trail, we're out of the woods and into the high country,
where one creature dominates.
(DORJl) All depend on the yak for everything.
(PALIN) And every bit of the yak is used, including its droppings.
- Yeah. The dung. - That's for fire, cooking.
- Eating? - No.
We're in amongst the big peaks again. That's really spectacular.
And the glacier. Is that one of the highest in Bhutan?
No. It must be fourth or fifth highest.
It amazes me that people live here.
This house is at 14,500 feet - higher than the top of the Eiger.
It's the home of a man Dorji very much wants me to meet,
a poet who wrote one of Bhutan's hit songs.
Pleased to meet you. Nice of you to let us drop in.
We just walked in, didn't we, really!
Sorry. I don't know his name.
- Jumi Doji. - Jumi Doji. I'm Michael.
Very nice to meet you. How old are you, sir?
(TRANSLATES)
- 82. - 82? Oh. He looks very good.
Very good for 82. A long life.
So he's saying it's like the sun now is fading...
his life is also... it's fading.
Still, he looks...
He's the one who composed this song.
- If you want to hear him sing, he can. - Yeah.
He's saying that he's old and his voice is not as good as it used to be.
I would just love to hear. If he would like to sing, that would be wonderful.
(PROLONGED NOTE)
Thank you. That was really good.
I could sing you a song about a lumberjack, but you won't want to hear that!
You want to hear it? Well, it's very silly.
- No, but... - OK.
♪ I cut down trees, I eat my lunch, I go to the lavatory
♪ On Wednesdays I go shopping and have buttered scones for tea
♪ I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK, I cut down... ♪
I sleep all night and I work all day. I can't even remember it!
It's not as nice as your yak... song.
We could go on tour together. Let's go on tour.
You sing your song and I'll do mine.
Thank you.
Tonight we'll be staying at Chomolhari base camp,
the highest point on our trek,
where the mountain trails lead into Tibet.
A beautiful place for a site. It's quite enclosed.
- This is one of the best camps. - And this is permanent? Obviously.
Hi.
How many days before we? We start to go down now, really.
How many days before we get to Paro?
- Three days from now we'll be in Paro. - Three days? Right.
- For the festival. - Yeah.
- So it's pretty much downhill from here? - Yes. Downhill all the way.
That's not so bad. It's very nice up here, kind of enclosed.
In the morning, the sight of the mountain passes behind us
makes me feel a kinship for those who, for centuries, have kept trade routes open.
It must be in the blood.
Men of the mountains doggedly shifting food, clothes, animals and... God knows what.
For me, unfortunately, it's one-way traffic.
This is a bit of a sad moment because up there
is probably the last of the great Himalayan peaks I shall see - Chomolhari.
About 24,000 feet, just over 7,000 metres.
I'll miss the big mountains. Nowadays I think those are the only mountains.
Anything less than 20,000 feet is just tiny.
So farewell, the big monumental Himalayan peaks. Farewell, Chomolhari.
Oh-ah!
This is just the great joyful moment of trekking.
Getting to the end of a trail and then finding you're by a river.
And... a bath for the feet.
Wow. It's icy cold.
Glacier water. It looks a bit muddy but it actually is probably pure.
And it is such a relief.
It's the joy of trekking by the river, really.
If it was warmer, I'd have a swim.
Oh, that's just lovely. Those rocks...
We did about 15, maybe 20, kilometres today, 18 kilometres yesterday.
It's a lot of wear for feet only used to going up and down stairs.
Trekking is a great leveller.
The river is everyone's bath and the horses are our indispensable companions.
Dawn beside the Paro River.
Another day, another of the world's great campsites,
another early-morning call with another cup of "bed" tea.
Oh. One of the advantages of trekking
is that you are absolutely knocked out by the time night comes.
I've slept better here than I probably ever do in London.
The only disadvantage is bodily hygiene.
I haven't seen my body for several days,
so when I get back to Paro later there'll be a bit of sandblasting needed.
Otherwise, it's not a bad life - I say, reluctantly.
What more could we want?
The horses get ready to carry our bags, there's dried yak buttock for breakfast,
no queue for the bathroom and time for leisurely discussion.
The intention is to go to this festival. What is the festival?
The festival is very important to the people.
It's got very religious significance.
At the same time, it's a time for the people to wear their best dress and mess around.
It's like a holiday, but it's got a lot of religious significance.
The Buddhists of Bhutan are different from those in Tibet.
Their spiritual leader is the Je Khenpo.
The Dalai Lama has no authority and has never even been here.
Dorji boasts of Bhutanese victories over the Tibetans,
whose armies made repeated attempts to invade his country down these very trails.
- Wish us luck on the journey. - Safe journey.
Another day's slogging brings us to the outskirts of Paro.
- (PALIN) Ooh. - Tired?
So this is what we've been aiming for. Yes, I am tired.
I'm very tired. Well, my legs are tired.
My brain kind of switched off long ago.
Oh, wow. It's nice to see a village. This place is rather beautiful.
- The start of the route. - Is that Paro there?
The great castle or "dzong" at Paro dominates the valley.
It's where the Tsechu festival will begin tomorrow.
Is it considered essential to go to the Tsechu?
It's not essential, but it's... er...
of very religious significance and it's very important.
- So if you go, you get a bit of merit? - Yes.
Tsechu means "tenth",
the day of the month when Guru Rinpoche's great deeds took place.
- It's an opportunity to buy, sell... - Make some money.
(SLOW CHANTING)
The way to the castle is lined with monks offering blessings for money,
and packs of stray dogs.
In a Buddhist country, all life is sacred, so they're free to be a nuisance.
The dogs, I mean, not the monks.
How many people do they expect for the opening day?
- Maybe about 2,000. - Really? Yeah.
(PALIN) Mostly... um... Bhutanese?
Yes. Mostly local.
As the opening dances begin,
everyone tries to grab the best vantage point.
You can't reserve seats because there are no seats,
except for senior monks and their families.
(DRUMS, BELLS AND CHANTING)
It's a long dance. What are they doing in the dance?
There's a lot of hand gestures symbolising a lot of things.
(PALIN) But they're basically purifying the area.
Dorji tells me that the long-sleeved tunics were once cover for an assassination.
One... saint who was doing a dance, and there was an anti-Buddhist king in Tibet,
so he hid his bow and arrow in the sleeves and shot the king.
- So it's symbolic, these long sleeves. - I see.
In a country with few theatres or cinemas, which has only had TVfor five years,
this festival is, apart from any religious significance, riveting entertainment.
Monarchy and religion - the twin pillars of Bhutanese society -
come together in the Queen Mother's Chapel,
to which I've been invited to watch evening prayers.
Music is played and candles are lit to warn off harmful spirits.
I have plenty of time to study the sumptuous decorations
and contemplate my own impermanence and the awful fragility of human life.
(LOW CHANTING)
Next day, the atmosphere is anything but reflective,
as Dorji and I join the crowds for the second day of the festival.
- Everything seems to be uphill in Buddhism! - In Bhutan.
It's a steep religion. And Bhutan, yes.
I suppose because Buddhism is very much a Himalayan religion anyway,
so anywhere you go temples will be built high up on the hill.
Oh, wow. Look at this.
It's amazing. There are so few people in the country and they're all here!
It's like Wembley Cup Final.
It's a small place, all crammed, but on the whole it's a very small population.
And nice to see everybody dressed up. It's wonderful.
- Brocade... - Everyone's got their best stuff on.
It's quite tempting, all that. What do you recommend?
- Have a dumpling. - Momos?
Yeah. OK. Lovely. How much are they?
- 35. - 35.
- That's 100. - OK. Thank you.
Some chilli.
The chilli looks dangerous. You love chilli here, don't you?
Mmm. Thank you.
The highlight of today's festivities is the dance of the Judgement of the Dead.
(LOW WAILING)
The God of the Dead, with his attendants,
listens to mortals, weighs up their actions and judges them accordingly.
The dances are a test of stamina for audience and participants alike.
Away from the arena, there are reassuringly familiar things.
A car park, portable cinemas showing the local blockbusters,
even Bhutanese bingo.
(CALLER) Four and nine. 49.
Eight and five. 85.
Anyone? OK, no one. Unlucky, unlucky.
The star attraction is archery,
which I watch with the King's cousin, Ashi Khendum.
- Almost. That was quite close. - How can you see?
You can tell. You sort of get used to it.
(PALIN) You can tell from just the movements of the people.
Archery is the national sport of Bhutan.
Players are allowed, even encouraged, to put off their opponents.
He's a baby.
Take it easy, man.
♪ Don't let me down!
♪ Don't let me down! ♪
The sport is played at the highest level.
This team of Bhutan's elite contains bankers and cabinet ministers
not afraid to let whatever hair they have down.
(SING IN DZONGKHA)
(SHOUTS)
0n the last day of Tsechu, crowds gather at the dzong before dawn
to witness the most important event,
a rare chance to see one of the great treasures of Himalayan Buddhism -
a tapestry the height of a five-storey building.
(SOFT CHANTING)
To avoid damage by sunlight,
the tapestry - called a "thongdrel" - is unveiled before daybreak.
By the light of butter lamps, one can make out a throng of monks and pilgrims.
For such a devotional people, this is a hugely significant event,
attended by the abbot and senior monks in full panoply.
"Thondrel" means "liberation by sight"
and just to be in its presence earns enormous merit.
As sunrise approaches, the crowd surges forward to be blessed.
Anywhere but Bhutan the crush would be frightening.
But this is not a crush of triumphant winners or angry losers,
but a crowd united in a Buddhist way in looking for a better life -
either this time or next time around.
Thimphu is the capital of Bhutan.
With traffic police doing T'ai Chi,
women wearing national dress and monks out shopping,
this is not quite like any other capital I've known.
But behind the facade of metropolitan Buddhism,
there are places where confused Westerners won't feel out of place.
At this downtown snooker club,
there's chance of a decent drink and a gossip at the bar.
Benji Dorji - sometime Chief Justice, Minister of Health and of Education -
is introduced to me by his cousin Khendum who I met at the archery.
This is a rather nice lifestyle.
I'm not sure I expected it in Bhutan.
Here we are having a drink, playing pool
and it's a very tolerant bar-type atmosphere.
Is this compatible with the principles of Buddhism?
- Yes, of course. Tolerance. Happiness. - Is that what it's about?
- Everybody knows everybody. - Yeah. That's interesting to hear.
And also everybody should do what makes them happy.
- Really? - Do their own thing.
We're not very judgemental or very conservative.
Are you a practising Buddhist? Do you go to temple and all that?
- Yes, yes, I do. Very much so. - So you?
For us Buddhism is a way of life more than a religion. It's more a part of everyday life.
It's not something that you think about and do. It just comes naturally.
- And do you think about it? - Now and then I think about it.
Because we're from the West. We're riddled with guilt, basically.
- We don't have that. - No guilt?
I'm multi-denominational so I only think about God when I'm in trouble!
- So you think about him quite a lot! - Not all of us are like that.
It's just easy. It's easy.
Do you believe in reincarnation - that you'll be something else in another life?
- Me personally? - Yes.
I'm not sure. I have this little problem with reincarnation.
I think some people definitely are reincarnated
and have had other lives and are aware and they're very spiritual and holy.
I don't think all of us are destined for greatness
and I don't think all of us will be reincarnated
or that we had another life or that we'll ever know about it if we did.
- I thought that was a basic... - It is. Of course it is.
But I personally don't... I can't reconcile my belief,
my practising of Buddhism, with that aspect of it.
- That's an unusual thought. - It is unusual.
I know what I'd like to be reborn as.
A black, seven-foot-six basketball player who earns a lot of money.
I think you're going to have to work hard! You might be a little...
- He'll be a cockroach in his next life! - I'm sure he won't be.
- A nine-foot-tall, basketball-playing cockroach! - Thank you very much!
Benji's passion has always been the environment
and he's taking me to a remote valley to show me his favourite project.
The road runs east from Thimphu towards Popshika in the Black Mountains.
Beyond that, to the south and east, lies my final destination - Bangladesh.
- It's quite a good road. - Yes.
You know, until about 30 years ago there wasn't a road here and you had to...
How did you get across?
You'd take pack ponies, riding horses,
and it would take you days on the old trail...
to get to wherever you wanted to go.
(PALIN) Because this is a main link through the centre?
Yes, this is the main link through Bhutan, linking east to west.
Bhutan is conditioned, mentally and physically, by the Himalaya.
Mountain ranges split the country into a series of valleys,
each with their own character and, often, climate.
0n the other side of this 10,000-foot pass, we leave the snow behind.
This is the Popshika Valley,
winter home of one of the world's rarest birds - the black-necked crane.
Most elegant of all Himalayan birds, they fly here from the north,
attracted by the marshy wetland of the valley.
Benji has fought to preserve their habitat from being drained by local farmers.
- They look quite grand, the houses. - Yes.
Are they quite prosperous farmers here?
Not necessarily.
Houses are built by communities.
- They all build houses for each other. - I see.
So if I'm building a house, they'll all come and help me build my house.
- So the people share the cost? - They share the cost.
In Bhutan, every farmhouse looks like a small manor.
By law, all must be built to a traditional design.
Wood? Mainly wood and what?
Wood, acra, mud. The lower part is all mud. They build first the foundation.
They don't have a foundation as such, as a Western house.
They put the stones down, then they compact mud down - a thick wall.
A very thick wall of mud and then on top it's wood and acra.
It's all hand-made... the wooden...
And most houses in western Bhutan have the phallic symbol.
That's a really wonderfully drawn phallus.
It's to ward off evil and for prosperity and protection.
So that's actually a fertility symbol with the sperm coming out and all that?
There are half a dozen painted penises in this village.
They were inspired by a 16th-century religious hero called Drukpa Kunley,
the Divine Madman,
who walked the country preaching and practising
his fervent brand of phallocentricity.
And no one here bats an eyelid.
So, Michael, this is a typical Bhutanese stair.
- As you can see, it's very steep. - Yup.
There's an art to going up it.
The staircase is really a tree trunk with a few notches in it.
They didn't bother to finish the steps.
You're about to enter a typical Bhutanese village house.
Very rough hewn.
A family of five shares the house.
Dawa Zangmar, the youngest of three sisters,
is about to go to boarding school in a town.
She helps the family income by weaving.
She can make a kira - the long skirt with complex textures and colours - in a week.
- No knives and forks. - No knives and forks traditionally.
What we do is we take the rice and we fold it into a ball...
We make it into a ball and then clean our hands with it
and you can also use it to clean your dress - it takes off the dust.
So you wash yourself with the rice? Then you eat it?
- No, you don't eat that! - A nice, rich texture!
Michael, there's an art to going down these stairs.
You have to sort of lean back a little bit and don't slide down.
- I'll show you how it's done. - I'll follow your advice.
Keep your feet a little back. And there we go.
- Obviously don't drink much in Bhutan. - How are you doing?
Obviously don't drink much or they wouldn't make stairs like that! Very nice.
Next morning the weather's perfect
and we have a clear view of the elusive black-necks.
Despite the Buddhist's love of all creatures,
Benjigot a cool response when he tried to have them protected.
The government refused to stop draining the marsh for a mere 20 birds.
Benji went out and counted 80 of them. This changed their minds.
A reserve was set up and now some 300 come here every year.
- (BENJl) There are 19 of them there. - 19, yes.
- Then I can spot about three young ones. - How do you tell the young ones?
They're a little smaller and grey in colour. Greyish in colour.
Yeah.
They're handsome. You can see the black head and neck. Totally black.
Why are they so important, Benji? This particular bird.
You know, these birds are sort of...
When they arrive at the end of October, early November when they all get here...
- Arrive from where? - Tibet. They come from Tibet.
They circle this monastery, so people think it's auspicious,
that there's a linkage between the monastery and the birds.
(PALIN) Because there's a lot of religious symbols here. The prayer flags.
- So they think they're somehow sacred? - Sacred.
You seem to have the balance... It feels much better here than elsewhere.
- Buddhist philosophy. Holistic approach. - Yeah.
- That all life is interconnected. - Yeah.
The cynic in me says, "Tell that to the farmers who are trying to make a living",
but cynicism doesn't work in Bhutan.
It seems out of place in this small, well-ordered kingdom.
While Gross National Product remains less important than Gross National Happiness,
the future looks pretty good.
From Bhutan, there's only a narrow bit of India to cross before my last frontier.
I'm now in Bangladesh -
a vast alluvial plain created by the Himalayan rivers.
I shall go from Syhlet through Dhaka, the capital,
and out onto the Bay of Bengal.
I've come from a kingdom to a republic, from an old nation to one of the newest,
from a million people to 135 million.
Good afternoon. There's my Bangladeshi passport in there.
My Bangladeshi visa, I should say, and British passport.
Bangladesh has had a hard life.
It won independence from Pakistan in 1971 amidst war, massacre and famine
which few in the West even noticed.
George Harrison was an exception.
(MUSIC: "BANGLADESH" BY GEORGE HARRISON)
♪ Bangla Desh
♪ Where so many people
♪ Are dying fast
♪ And it sure looks like a mess
♪ I've never seen such distress... ♪
From the air you can see the cause of so many of the country's problems.
This is the dry season, but even now most of the land is barely above water.
♪ Bangla Desh
♪ Bangla Desh... ♪
Huge rivers and torrential monsoons keep Bangladesh both fertile and fragile.
♪ It looks like a mess
♪ I've never known such distress... ♪
Not far from the border, rivers are being farmed -
providing a livelihood for those who scour their waters,
not for metals or minerals, but just for stones.
Whoa. Boulders like these are Bangladesh's bounty from the Himalaya.
They're washed down from the foothills and gather here on the plain.
In a country that has no stone quarries, these offerings are extremely valuable.
There's money in them thar rocks.
But not for those who gather them.
For a day's hard labour, unskilled workers earn the equivalent of 70 pence.
But thousands of people are desperate enough to work this river, day in and day out,
to serve a building boom that they have no share in.
But money has poured in to the town of Syhlet
from a group known as the Londonies -
Bangladeshis who've made small fortunes from running restaurants in London.
Brick Lane has become marble and stone.
- So this is your newest house? - Yes.
Abdul Rahman made his money selling chickens in Birmingham
and this is what the chickens bought.
15 state-of-the-art apartments for his family.
Should his family want to relinquish them, he wouldn't be short of a buyer.
So much money is coming back to Syhlet that land, he claims,
is more expensive than London or New York.
My ambition is to tell you...
I start from two chicken.
- Yes. - Business.
Then fast, big amount I sell 300... chicken.
In the end, 12,000 chicken I sell. Finish.
Abdul Rahman paved the way for many fortunes
when he obtained Britain's first halal butcher's licence.
- That I have got first licence. - The first licence in?
Licence halal.
And I have been explain what the halal,
why is the halal, what is the quality?
English way of... Have you killed any chicken, English way? Have you?
I haven't killed a chicken, no. They wring their necks, don't they?
- English way is squeeze and... pull. - Yeah.
- We think this is cruelty way. - You think that's cruel.
We think Muslim way... Not only myself, it's Muslim way of life.
We say this is a very, very cruelty because...
Now, the very sharp knife - very sharp - this is our religion way.
You cut like this, not sharp - no, no.
Very sharp. And have a quick... throat and let the blood out.
And she's very nicely asleep... finished. This is halal way.
There are 135 million Bangladeshis.
The building trade that thrives on mansion mania
is not the only industry to benefit from a pool of cheap labour.
Construction and destruction are both big business.
This has to be the most extraordinary knacker's yard in the world.
Here in Chittagong, great ships come to die,
and they're destroyed not by machinery
but by thousands of individuals picking them apart like an army of ants.
Next for the knackers is the "0cean Breeze".
She was launched by the Queen 50 years ago,
but in under six months she will be reduced to a pile of scrap on a Bangladeshi beach.
In the dog-eat-dog world of cheap labour,
these privately owned Bangladeshiyards are feeling the pinch.
Many are closing down, their profits eaten away by state-run Chinese competition.
The vast majority of Bangladeshis are poor and live off the land,
helped by people like Naila Chowdury, who works for Grameen Phone.
- Are they planting at the moment? - Right now they're planting.
After three months it's going to be OK before the rains.
"Grameen" means "village" and most are built on man-made embankments
to keep them above the flood.
- Hello. - You've got a welcoming party, Naila.
The idea of the Grameen scheme is to offer loans to villagers
to help them help themselves.
We're meeting a lady who's used her loan to buy a mobile phone
which she'll charge with solar energy.
Sultana. And among the ten villages she's the only one holding a village phone.
How did you choose her?
She came up on her own to take the loan and she really started doing well.
Everybody coming to her.
- She's an important woman. Hello. - Michael Palin.
Nice to meet you.
The scheme has had an impact.
Mrs Sultana can now afford to send her daughter to university.
You were saying it's very important that you've given these loans largely to women.
- Can you explain that? - The loan is for the women.
We feel that women are always staying in a permanent position
and the return is far safer also.
This is how you empower the nation because you're building up the family.
She'll ensure that the children study and come up in life.
She said that a lot of the income comes from people ringing their families
who are workers in the Gulf,
but also do the people ring now within the villages?
- Has it made a difference to village life? - To the farmers.
They get connected to other villages to find out the rates
of the seeds, fertiliser and machinery for farming.
Now nobody can hoodwink them. They're far more clever.
They can get the prices from other villages and bargain for the right price.
So that's a remarkable improvement.
Can you see in this village... You've been here before. Can you see it's changed?
I can see pumps around. I can see wealth creeping in. I can see the difference.
Creating wealth may not be easy,
but a small loan to buy a cow or install a pump has been so successful
that it's being copied all over the Third World.
But is it too little too late?
(TRAFFIC ROARS)
Bangladeshis are leaving the countryside in such numbers
that the population in the capital, Dhaka, is spiralling out of control.
30 years ago this was a city of one million.
Today the population has risen to 15 million and shows no sign of stopping.
0ften the only way to get anywhere is to hire a rickshaw.
The good news is we're in the rickshaw capital of the world.
There are 600,000 to choose from.
The waterways are no more restful.
This is the Sadarghat - centre of river life in the capital.
You have to watch your back here as well.
Here's something I don't understand.
The water's filthy, but the laundry's spotless.
It's from here that boats leave for the south.
Later tonight, with a bit of luck, I shall be on one - a bit bigger than this, I hope.
The paddle steamer 0strich is the name I've been given,
but it's only one of dozens of ferries in what looks like a permanent rush hour.
With so many comings and goings, I have to ask around before I find her.
OK? Yes.
The 0strich is a venerable old bird, built in 1929.
She carries 700 in steerage and 24 in first class.
I'm afraid I've opted for comfort.
The Sadarghat is wonderfully manic,
galvanised by almost permanent hysteria, like Venice on speed.
Six o'clock sharp, we pull away,
leaving a swarm of other ferries fighting for our place at the dockside.
Things are no quieter out on the river
where the combined waters of the Ganges and the Brahmaputra slurp away beneath us.
Ferries have no radar. Collisions are avoided only by careful use of the searchlight -
or occasionally not avoided at all.
Next morning we pass our sister ship heading to Dhaka.
(HORN BEEPS)
We're part of the Rocket Service, which has plied the river since the days of the British Raj.
Bangladesh has 250 rivers -
5,000 miles of navigable waterways.
Down here in the delta they're the only way to get about.
Places like Barisal, Jhalakharti, Charkali and Moralgunj depend on the boats,
and the 0strich is both local bus and cargo truck.
There's little to do but enjoy the view and meet my fellow passengers -
one of whom is Mahjabeen Khan.
Known to all as Moni, she's a professional singer
with a repertoire of Bengali classics.
(SOFT SINGING)
- Very good. - Thank you.
That's a lovely song. Where's it from?
- It's by Rabindranath Tagore. - Yes.
Our Bengali-language Nobel laureate.
- Yes. - You must have heard about him.
He was the only Asian Nobel prize winner for Literature.
Yes. That's right.
Is he still regarded as the great figure of Bangladesh literature?
Any Bengali would say that he is the greatest Bengali poet.
- Rather like Shakespeare of Bangladesh? - Right.
Will you do another one for me? They're lovely songs. Tell me what it's about.
It's about the people. It could apply to anywhere in the world.
It could apply to my country, it could apply to India,
to any country where the people have a very simple way of living.
Whatever they wish for sometimes is washed away
and yet they don't lose hope.
They keep praying to the Almighty that He should be with them.
So this is Tagore - the universal voice, which obviously makes him so popular.
Well, the river awaits. As do I.
(SOFT SINGING)
It's hard to believe that in the monsoon season
they call this stretch of water "cyclone alley" and the wind rips up it.
24 hours after leaving Dhaka, we arrive at Bangladesh's second port, Mongla.
It's as far south as the 0strich can go.
(HUBBUB OF VOICES)
It's 90 miles from Mongla to the Bay of Bengal.
The only boat that'll take me there is an ex-lifeboat
with a viewing platform grafted on top.
0n either side are the uninhabited banks
of the largest coastal mangrove forest in the world.
These are the Sunderbans - habitat of the Royal Bengal Tiger,
which, despite appearances on travel posters,
runs the yeti a close second for elusiveness.
In a tiny space next to the lavatory,
our cooks prepare the last meal of the journey.
Locally caught crab, lobster and the best prawns in the world.
A meal to remember as the strengthening wind tells us the finish is close.
At last the moment has come.
After six months in the mountains, I can sniff the unfamiliar smell of the open sea.
As I head off onto the Bay of Bengal on tons of mud that was once Himalaya,
I feel I've made the last in a chain of connections -
between the sea and the mountains we've climbed
and the gorges we've walked and the rivers we've sailed -
and all the people we've met along the way suddenly seem very close.
"Himalaya" - the high lifel