Drinking in Dhaka ...

I spent 10 days in Gulshan, Dhaka in 2011. It was the Cricket World Cup. Myself and colleague Stuart Hess were staying at the Hotel Washington, an inn whose brochure bragged it had bathrooms with an ‘abundance of hot and cold running water’, not to mention ‘side tables’. The tables were on the sides of the bed and the water most abundant.

There was no bar, though. The concierge pointed across Gulshan Avenue when we asked him where we could slake the thirst built up by a 45-minute flight from Kolkata. There was a bar over there somewhere. We could not find it for a spell. We gave up and walked into a Thai restaurant and asked for beer. The manager gave us a furtive look and told us to follow him. We walked down stairs, through a parking lot, past two suspicious policemen, stepped over steel pipes being cut in an alley to the promised land. La Diplomat. We were shown inside, but needed two minutes for our eyes to adjust to the light, of which there was little. Drinking is done in the dark in Dhaka. It is not encouraged.

The manager scooted two people from a table, sat us down and gave us two ‘ Hunter Premium Quality’ beers. They were, well, okay. Drinkable. So we drank them, then ordered more. La Diplomat would become our happy place in Dhaka.

Gulshan is the diplomatic neighbourhood of Dhaka, and so the restaurants have a western beat. I walked the suburb after getting bored using the abundant hot and cold water at the hotel for recreation. Hot. Cold. Abundant. I found a Nando’s 700 metres from the hotel. After three weeks on the road, I craved a little of home. We would eat takeaway Nando’s and drink takeaway Hunter Premium Quality beers, snuck into the Hotel Washington after reading the warning that no alcohol was to be brought on to the premises.

One afternoon, after a Jacques Kallis press conference, we happened past La Diplomat to pick up a few beers with which to write by. A man at the next table began bleating like a sheep while drinking whisky. His name was Saqui. His card said he was an Agribusiness Advisor.

Stuart told him we were from South Africa, and Saqui rushed across to us. He had spent 27 years in Africa as an advisor. Mozambique, Liberia, Gambia and South Africa. “Johannesburg? I love it. I have been to Soweto,” said Saqui, ordering us two more beers.

“I was taken to a bar there and got a little lost. Then I went to someone’s house and we had a big party, lots to drink and lots of dancing.

“A man in a bus taxi told me not to worry. He would take me home. And he did. You live in a special place.”

Then Saqui had to leave. “If you need anything, you must call me. I owe your land. I stayed there for so long and it gave me so much. It gave me a good life, but more than that, it gave me love. Lots of love. I love Africa.”

The Holey Artisan Bakery was not open when we stayed in Gulshan. It is not far from La Diplomat, a bit of a stroll along Gulshan Lake. Twenty people were killed by madmen at the Holey Artisan Bakery last week, hacked to death to make us fear and run.

I’m not sure what I would have done had I been in Dhaka last week.

I’d like to think I would have had the bravery to walk across the road to La Diplomat to order a Hunter Premium Beer, to raise a glass to those murdered and wonder at the madness of the world.

Welsh rarebikes

After Wales had beaten Belgium 3-1 in the Euro 2016 quarter-finals, Welsh cyclist Luke Rowe, part of Team Sky, said he and his countryman, Geraint Thomas, might not make the start of the Tour de France yesterday:

“Hey @TeamSky have you got 2 subs for tomorrow’s stage of Le Tour. Me and @GeraintThomas86 are off to the pub.”

LFC 1, The Sun 0

All hail Marcus Willis, the tennis player who will be the story of Wimbledon this year no matter who wins. He turned down an offer of £15 000 from The Sun newspaper to wear their branding on court because he is a Liverpool fan.

The Sun ran disgraceful stories when the 96 died in 1989, accusing them of being drunk.

Liverpool fans have not forgot that. Neither has Marcus Willis.

Happy memories of La Diplomat, so sad what's happened now - The Star