Bangladesh have a couple of world-class cricketers, and these along with the rest of the Bangladesh national team are presently hosting Australia for a 3 match ODI series. All 3 matches are being staged in Dhaka, the first of which took place this Saturday just gone. Naturally keen to get tickets for one of the games (and with only one game being played on a weekend it really needed to be that one) I started making enquires almost as soon as we landed. Despite several promising leads, including our chaperone working for the Australian embassy (!) with only 2 days left until the game we were still ticketless. You would think acquiring tickets should be fairly straightforward but the online/telephone booking systems that we are so used to in the UK do not appear to be the done thing over here. Perhaps because masses of the population don't have bank accounts or any kind of plastic payment options?? Regardless, acquiring tickets here seems to be an altogether more manual process.
Our continued hope for tickets was fanned by a tip off we received that 'One Bank' were selling tickets. Heading down into unchartered city territory Chloe and I went in search of One Bank and the coveted tickets on behalf of ourselves plus 6 other ex-pats. It turned out that One Bank were not selling tickets. "Do you know where they are selling tickets?" I had to ask; the customer service assistant not forthcoming with any additional information voluntarily. The gentleman did not know, but said that the bank manager might be able to help us. We were swiftly ushered across the floor and gestured to sit in front of the manager's desk while we waited for him to finish a phone call. This was my first ever meeting with a bank manager and for what? To ask where we could get cricket tickets from! After putting our seemingly strange yet honest request to the bank manager, he asked one of his colleague's to make a call on our behalf and before long we were told that tickets were being sold at the Grameenphone (national team sponsor) centre across the road. Looking out through the window we could see the Grameenphone centre heaving with Bangladeshi's; I assume also in search of tickets. We had an appointment 45 minutes from then, in a different part of town, so decided to come back later.
Upon returning from our fascinating meeting with an English guy working here with an NGO called Food for the Hungry, we entered the Grameenphone centre with optimism as well as a little trepidation. The 'queues' were not overflowing down the street by now but inside appeared something like organised chaos. Guessing that the official stood at the centre of a hopeful looking mass of locals might know something about the tickets, I politely made my way through to him and expressed that we were looking for tickets. "10 minutes" he said. Hoping I had been understood we waited. About 2 minutes later another official arrived, who gently took hold of me and moved me to a position by a desk. Assembling a rope-type cordon he then began to organise all the Bangladeshi's into a queue behind me! I had been warned by a couple of ex-pats that my white skin might bring me special treatment in certain situations, but that didn't stop it feeling particularly uncomfortable when it actually did. I had done nothing to deserve a place at the front of the queue; most of the Bangladeshi's were there before me; what were they thinking of me? Were the others in the queue feeling resentful? Nevertheless, given the nature of my quest I did not complain!
Shortly after, a man came out with a book of tickets and I asked how many I could have; "One" he said. One?! I was on the look out for 8, and while I wasn't certain he would give me that many I thought I'd be able to get more than one. I eventually explained that my wife was with me and so he agreed to two (for less than £1 each!) but that was my lot. We were soon told by a nice young man in the queue behind us that the tickets they had sold us as well as to him (the only tickets they were offering) were for a stand without much cover from the sun. He also explained that there was another possible way of acquiring tickets through a mobile SMS system, but all of the instructions were in Bangla.
We queued at another desk to ask if they had instructions in English and after a little while a lady working there came and asked what we wanted. I explained the situation and she said she would see what she could do. 5 minutes later I had 8 tickets! Not 8 together but the additional 6 were pretty much together in a covered stand so I wasn't going to be picky. I think she was slightly bending the rules by getting them them for us it has to be said, but smiles all round. The shadier seats were almost £3 - pricey.
One interesting observation was how quickly and shamefully my behaviour changed following the white skin queueing incident. Only moments later and upon deciding to seek English SMS instructions I found myself walking straight up to the desk, past the orderly queue, feeling like I had some kind of special status. In a way I did have in their eyes, but it was worrying how quickly I was prepared to capitalise on this for my own ends. When I realised what I was doing I retreated to the back of the queue. I was approached shortly after by the lady member of staff, but I at least felt a bit better about the special treatment being initiated by them, rather than assuming it on myself.
Chris
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sounds like quite an adventure! i've always wanted to watch cricket abroad, i'm going to have to settle for enland india at trent bridge. great to hear what you are up to keep it coming...
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