Sun baked villages blend into tea plantations like the rows of crowded tea-trees striped through the Bangladeshi countryside.
At the end of a dusty road, just before a three-way Y intersection sits a small shack with bolts of light crackling through it’s unlit thatch interior.
I’d been riding for hours, feverish from accidentally downing a tall glass of tap water a few days earlier, happy to be breathing fresh air and drinking in sunlight.
I passed by a restaurant and doubled back in hunger – a good sign I was starting to overcome whatever bug roiled my gut.
Surprised or amused, pairs of eyes glowed in the darkness and watched as I took a seat at a wooden bench, across from a man in a striped shirt.
The owner came over and (in Bengla) asked to take my order. Rather than struggle with the language barrier, I walked to his prep area and pointed to the only dish available – a simple, yet delicious lentil & rice concoction that cost 12-cents.
Sated, happy and feeling recharged, I went on my way, but not before shooting a few photos of this deliciously simple establishment.
