Bangladesh: there’s something about train travel

Note: I originally wrote this post during my first visit to Bangladesh in 2019. Now I’ve been back a second time in March 2024, and – other than the fact that this time I traveled with my husband rather than as a solo female – it’s safe to say nothing much has changed:) 

One day I flagged down a passing bus on the side of a country road. I’d been day-tripping out of town, visiting ancient mosques and mausoleums I didn’t know existed until pretty recently. Riding back to my homebase in Khulna I stood in the crowded aisle, thinking about my next move.

Wherever I decided to go, I knew there’d be a long journey involved.

Bangladesh is notorious for bad roads and bad buses. Accidents are frequent. I’ve been to plenty of countries where dangerous roads are a fact of life, and road travel is pretty much unavoidable. But in Bangladesh, there are other options. Besides all the boats, there is also a pretty extensive railway system. I love train travel anyway, so avoiding long distances on dodgy roads is just a nice bonus.

I’d watched a train chug slowly through a crossing one day, the roof packed with passengers, people hanging out the doors and clinging to the step. There were people riding on the hitches between carriages. I saw two men sitting casually right on the front of the engine. Riding outside is free, I knew that much, but I wanted a seat. Inside the train, preferably.

I went to the station in Khulna to see about a ticket. Queuing is just a suggestion here and a lot of people tend to be very interested in whatever I do, so when it was my turn I stood at the counter with several other would-be passengers on either side of me. We all leaned through the ticket window together.

The girl behind the counter looked at her screen and told me that both second-class seats and first-class berths were available on the train to Sylhet.

Me: I’ll take a second-class seat.
Ticket girl: Madam, second-class is not safe. A first-class berth is much safer for you.
Other Passengers: (murmuring in agreement, nodding at the ticket girl) Yes, she’ll take first-class. To Sylhet.
Me: Oh, well ok, I’ll take a first-class berth then.
Ticket girl (consults computer again, and apparently discovers first-class berth is sold out): Madam, a first-class berth is not safe. It is not ladies-only.
Other Passengers: (in consternation) Not for ladies, no.
Ticket Girl: It’s much better to take a second-class seat.
Other Passengers: (reassuringly) Yes, take second-class.
Me: Alright, second-class it is then.

Bangladeshi train stations seemed safe enough to me: there’s plenty of armed security wandering around. And while I waited on the platform the next morning a plain-clothes policeman identified himself. He personally escorted me aboard and put me in my seat.

That was the first of several trains I took in Bangladesh. It was always somewhat messy, and always totally fine. I never did get a spot in first-class so I can’t say what it’s like, but I didn’t have a single problem in any of my safe/unsafe second-class seats. I learned a few things on the way, too, so if you like train journeys, or weird journeys (or just like reading about other peoples’ weird train journeys) then this is for you.

First, you should show up early, but the train will probably be late. You can stand around looking hopefully into the distance down the tracks, while the other passengers stand around looking at you.

Next, find your platform. If you’re not sure you’ve got the right platform, try this: stand perfectly still. Any person around who can speak English will probably ask where you are going. The general consensus will then be that you’re on the right platform, and the train is seriously delayed. The passengers who break the news to you will apologise sincerely for it.

Some stations are small and relaxed. You can sit around snacking and drinking tea. Others, especially the big ones in Dhaka, are crowded as all hell and can be a bit daunting. Especially late at night, especially when locals take it upon themselves to tell you it’s not safe for you to be there alone.

Most stations have a VIP waiting room. That is, a dimly lit room with broken chairs that smells strongly of pee. However there are usually many women in it, so (if you are a woman too) such rooms make a welcome retreat from the man’s world that is mostly everywhere else in Bangladesh. Or if you prefer, you can just hang out on the tracks and wait there:

Even a sleepy country station platform can turn into a mad rush when the train pulls in, so you should look for your carriage right away. Unless you get the knack of waiting until the last second and then charging the doors as the train departs. Many other passengers are highly skilled at this.

The carriage you’re in is printed on your ticket in Bengali and English. But it might as well be Bengali only, when the translation is ‘Gha’. With little to no English signage and no English announcements, you can find your spot by asking any person in the vicinity of a carriage door, train employee or not, if it is in fact, ‘Gha’ (or whichever one you’re meant to be in).

When the attendant comes through the carriage make sure to buy a little paper cup of scalding hot tea and then clutch it tightly, holding it at arm’s length. Don’t spill it all over yourself as the train jolts violently down the track. Third degree burns in Bangladesh, not an enticing prospect.

Get a window seat – and watch the beautiful scenery roll by. For an even better view – go to the end of the train and hang out with guys in between the carriages. I mean that literally. You can hang right out the open door with them, if you want.

As the train I was riding one afternoon pulled into the station, I stood up a little bit in advance to haul my backpack down off the rack and get ready. The aisle was jam-packed with standing passengers. Everyone wanted off at the same time – except for everyone on the platform, who wanted on. It was a madhouse. ‘Madam, just go! Go now!’ shouted the man behind me; only moments ago he was sitting calmly across from me with his family.

I stepped into the aisle but turned back when I felt a hand on my wrist. ‘Is this seat free, Madam?’ The hand on my wrist belonged to a man out on the platform. He was reaching through the window beside me, ready to drop his bag on the seat I’d just vacated. ‘It is now’ I answered, thinking ‘Smart’, and mentally filed his seat-saving technique away for my next Bangladeshi train trip. But I still had so much to learn: throwing his bag down, the man put a hand on either side of the frame and climbed right in through the window and into my seat.

I threw my weight forward and let the momentum of the crowd push me to the end of the carriage, where I burst out the door and onto the platform in the afternoon sun. The man who’d been sitting across from me had already extricated himself and his family. They looked at me and smiled in what I took to be approval (or else ironic amusement). ‘Have a nice vacation!’ he said, and we parted ways on the busy platform.

Read More

For more of my adventures (and misadventures) in Bangladesh, check out the rest of my stories from the road.

Are you in India, thinking about heading for Bangladesh? Or vice versa? Here’a post about crossing the Benapole/Petrapole border by road between Bangladesh and India.