Tour Diary

It’s been six long years since I set foot in Bangladesh, but after 48 hours, it feels as though I’ve never been away. In my experience, which includes journeys to all parts of the cricket-playing world, as well as seven months’ hitchhiking through Africa, I have never known a land with an embrace that’s so unrelenting. For better or for worse – for reasons of hospitality on the one hand, and raw survival instinct on the other – the Bangladeshi welcome is the most genuine and vivid imaginable.

It’s a welcome that pervades the senses to an extent that no other country can match. First there’s the heat, an oppressive and clammy blanket of humidity that sets you up for the smothering that’s to come. Then there’s the 24-hour cacophony that plays out like a looped techno track; the bass rumble of a million motors mixed with the spiky treble of as many car horns, and embellished by the intermittent wail of the Azan and the aggressive bark of the loudhailer, as another political rally springs up on a street corner, and then melts away into the crowd.

It’s a welcome that not even the most churlish of tourists could hope to avoid. The staggering stagnation of Dhaka’s choked arteries sees to that. No city on earth can be closer to gridlock, and a 5km journey can take upwards of an hour as air-conditioned coaches compete for road-space with grimy local buses, pea-green tuk-tuks, and the wonderfully ornate bicycle rickshaws that are the city’s signature mode of transport. Even if you wished to close your eyes to the destitution on display, the glacial progress means it’s not an option. There are too many faces at the windows, and too many piles of rags in the gutters, for anything other than the brutal truth to hit home.

Does Australia matter? The topic came up over lunch with two Australian journalists in Melbourne at the very start of this trip. To be fair the question barely came up again unless I raised it, so it isn't as if that is such a thing to worry about. But now, as we leave, is as good a time as any to revisit, maybe broaden it.

We were talking of sacred cows in various countries; most nations have a few. One of the journalists said the matter of whether Australia matters to the rest of the world is as close to a sacred cow as you can have here. Australia was a major ally in the war on terror, he said, adding, even if the US President thought it was Austria.

It is worth reflecting upon. The country is so far from much of the world. It is also out of place; its neighbours are vastly different cultures and peoples. Perhaps that's why there is a need not only to be distinct but to be involved and known.

	Boating on the Derwent River © Getty Images

If Hobart were in England, there would be no word for it other than quaint. But quaint seems as misplaced a concept in Australia as not having a nickname.

When we first arrived here a few nights ago, it seemed as if we had walked into Northern Exposure, that early to mid-90s US series about a New York doctor moving to a town in Alaska. Isolation is instantly felt, befitting of a town at one edge of the world, but not that of an underdeveloped one. Hobart is fine and functional. It just moves to its own pace, one similar to other small, port cities.

As a Hollywood actress, Hobart would be Ava Gardner, with its aloof and distant beauty. Hills of a few colours, shapes and textures skirt it.

The Derwent river lurks through it, opening to greater things. The view from the press box at the Bellerive Oval, looking out at the River end, is outstanding and distracting. Hills creep up on either side of the Oval, but are kept apart by the Derwent , which seems to form a lovely crescent around the back-end of the ground from where we sit.

Cricket bats have become bigger and bigger in recent years to the extent that they are like railway sleepers. However, Paul Collingwood has taken it to the extreme by using one that really wouldn't look out of place on the West Coast Mainline.

He has been using the extra-large bat, which weighs around four-and-a-half to five pounds compared to the normal weight of just under three pounds, during nets on the South Africa tour.

"It's something the Durham second-team coach Jon Lewis came up with about six months ago,” he said. "He asked the manufacturer to make him the biggest bat possible, just to see if someone could use it in Twenty20.

Last night I saw a kid breakdancing to some Rajasthani folk music. As an image it worked better than I thought it might. The occasion was the opening night of the Sydney Festival, a three-week affair, the first night of which is always free. The festival is a sprawling one, showcasing theatre, art, dance, comedy and much music from all over the world. It reminds me of the Edinburgh Arts Festival, though only if that had been cross-bred with some music festival from the UK summer.

We arrived at Hyde Park with just enough time left in the night for The Manganiyar Seduction to seduce us. They are a group of folk musicians from Rajasthan and the music has all the elements of the desert region. If you were from Pakistan's Sindh, for example, the Sufi strains will come through.

There are traces of Qawwali as well, but as the dhols took over, crescendoing until it seemed they couldn't anymore and going further still, the most overwhelming memory - and music can be so associated with memories and experiences of times, places, smells and people - was of Pappu Saeen and his dhols at the Shah Jamal shrine on Thursdays in Lahore. A similar frenzy slipped into the air here, unnoticed amid smoke, strange lights and a quiet sky.

Covering cricket is certainly not a hardship and this tour has been especially enjoyable to follow. However, there are still moments that leave you cursing. Such as when you can’t find any internet access just as you have two pieces to file.

The final day of a Test is often hectic because all the issues from the game are wrapped up, but at Newlands it was extra busy courtesy of England’s latest great escape. Does Graham Onions know how much extra work he creates?

With two stories written and filed I decided to finish the day’s work back at the hotel rather than sit on my lonesome in the Cape Town press box. That idea was fine, it had worked on previous days, so I packed up and headed back to my room which was only a 10-minute walk from the ground.

Got there, unpacked the laptop and turned it on. Searched for the wireless – there it was, not very powerful but usable – and went to connect. Then the fun started. I paid for the connection period I needed and got my log-in number only for the server to tell me it couldn’t register me. Maybe I’d put the number in wrong? Tried again, nope. OK, this wasn’t looking good.

Twice in one day during this Test I saw John Howard, former Prime Minister of Australia, walking around. Once I came across him just outside the press box, as he was making his way to the broadcast booths. I initially couldn’t comprehend him being there so I thought he was a former Australian captain whose name I couldn’t remember. Only after he had gone past me did I realise.

I saw him again a little later in the day coming out of the Bradman stands at the SCG, bantering readily with fans. This is why I had trouble recognising him initially, I thought: he didn’t have an entourage with him of security, sycophants and all other kinds who usually hang around important people. He was just walking around, a man in a suit enjoying a day of cricket.

Kevin Rudd, the incumbent, has also been around. He made some hot dogs for the Jane McGrath Foundation, sat in the commentary box for a while (apparently he even predicted a 37-run win for Australia early in the Test). Earlier in the summer the defence minister was seen sitting in the stands unperturbed, watching Australia and West Indies battle it out. In New Zealand earlier, the Prime Minister spent around half an hour in the commentary box just chatting cricket.

There’s nothing like a good controversy to spice things up. There hadn’t really been too much to get the match referee interested in this series except for Stuart Broad’s "inquiry" about the amount of time South Africa took to review his lbw decision in Centurion.

That all changed on the third day at Newlands – and Broad was again the centre of attention. A fancy piece of footwork was caught on camera as Broad stopped the ball then stepped on it with his size 12s. It soon became clear the issue was escalating and by the close South Africa had “raised concerns" about the state of the ball. That was enough to evoke the spectre of ball-tampering.

The South African media immediately latched on. “Ball tampering furore,” was the front page Cape Times headline, which didn’t leave much to the imagination. On the IOL website there was a blown-up screen shot from E.tv, the news channel, which showed a large foot about to go down onto the ball.