I decided the easiest way to explain what we did was to post some photos from our Bangladesh trip. See Mr C's blog for a synopsis of what we did there.

As you all know, Mr C's folly at the airport meant I had to travel to Bangladesh entirely alone. This went better than expected, apart from a couple of small mishaps such as leaving my boarding pass at the Boots counter in Gatwick. The next day Mr C reappeared, alive and well. We stayed the night at his uncle's house and then went to my Dadu's:

Mr C in the room that was decorated for us at Dadu's (my paternal grandmother's) place. Asima and other relatives spent many hours putting up the flower chains and roses, only for us to take it all down - Mr C was Allergic. We took a picture beforehand for posterity.

The next day we went to my Nanu's, or maternal grandmother's house:




I'm going to get in trouble for posting this one, but I will anyway. Mr C in a pagree (which was too small for him) and gold foil necklace he was given to wear by my cousins. They are 'holding the gate', a tradition in which the groom is not allowed to pass until he has paid off the bride's relatives. The only thing is, Mr C already got married to me a year ago, and he's already paid my relatives twice over in England!

Mr C with my Mimi Khala's children..Jarif, Arif and Maliha. They are all characters, although I don't think I got to see Jarif (the eldest) on form this time. Maliha is absolutely gorgeous.

A photo with my great grandmother. No-one knows exactly how old she is, but a reliable estimate seems to be 94 or 95. She's a little bit deaf, but otherwise in astonishingly good health for someone of her age, and has a great sense of humour.

A few days later, we headed off to Sylhet, first stop Moulvibazaar where Mr C's father lives. He held a party for us, and invited over 1000 people to it.

The poor chickens waiting their turn for slaughter. My father-in-law ordered 450 chickens, 6 goats and 2 cows for the function and slaughtered the cows himself (all captured on video for those who are interested).

The Sylhet function. I decided not to even expect segregation, quite rightly as it turned out - when I arrived, there was a line of waiters waiting to welcome me, as well as male relatives and family friends wandering up to the women's section.

We spent some time in Hingagia as well, where Mrs C Senior grew up. It's a place that Mr C and sisters remember fondly from their childhood.

Making sunga, a traditional Sylheti speciality: Fresh bamboo sticks are filled with a mixture of rice and water and sealed at each end. They are then roasted on an open fire outside, and then the bamboo is peeled away (in a similar way to sugar cane) to leave a tube of cooked and scented rice inside.

Me stripping the bamboo bark to get the sunga (or chunga in Dhaka dialect) for our evening meal.

The lake at Hingagia, one of several on the land. At this time of year (the dry season in Bangladesh) the water is quite murky but it becomes clear and fresh in the rainy season. There's also an outdoor swimming pool complete with changing rooms, where Mr C used to frolic as a child.

A tour with Nana, Mr C's grandfather, through his 'estate' in Hingagia. He planted many of the fruit trees himself (or rather, got the villagers to do so under his watchful eye). Sadly, his son moved away to Sylhet town so his children could get a better education, and no-one lives in Hingagia any more on a day-to-day basis.

The interior of a traditional mud hut where the caretakers of the Hingagia grounds now lives. The flat was very simple, just two rooms, one serving as a kitchen and the other a bedroom, but was scrupulously clean and tidy throughout.

The home of a tea garden manager. We visited two tea gardens, and both of the houses were beautiful, reminiscent of the Raj and colonial glory. You could imagine you were in a different era sitting on the porch and looking out onto the wellkept gardens.

Leaving Hingagia - with Mr C's uncles, aunts and cousins.