Workers preparing the thatch roof

With construction well on its way, the resort is taking shape. It’s an exciting time to see how the plans and designs on paper are now transformed into physical buildings. The foundations have been poured and structural elements are in place. We’re also experimenting on finishes and materials on prototype buildings to enhance the feel of the resort. It takes time, but it’s a process that we know will achieve amazing results. There are over 200 workers from the local area working to make this resort a retreat in paradise. For more photos, visit us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/panigram.

An employee at the land registration office working by candle light.

My team and I had worked hard for two years to get to this point – the first land purchase. Two weeks before I wasn’t sure if the project would even go forward; some early investor commitments fell through and the villagers were in an uproar because for over a year we had been telling them we would buy their land, but had not delivered on our promise. One angry villager went as far as cutting down some of the beautiful mahogany trees on our intended project site. We got the local government to intervene to save the trees, but this created additional ill will (understandably) with the community.

Fortunately, just a couple of days before our trip to Jessore, after months of meetings and negotiations, I convinced a few forward-thinking Bangladeshi businessmen to invest their faith and their taka in me and my dream of creating a socially and environmentally responsible resort out of mud.

Because all of the legal paperwork that would allow my investors to own the company had not yet been completed, one of the investors came to Jessore with me to co-buy the land in his name for collateral (when he receives his company shares he will transfer the name back to Panigram Resort).

I anticipated problems with the land purchase; this was the first time that we had done it and the first time for anything in Bangladesh is always a struggle as we figure out the system. Sure enough, our day started with a delayed flight and an hour wait for our colleague who was on another plane.

When we got to Jessore I learned that none of the sale deeds had been printed yet because we still had to consult the local attorney about some issues with the complicated Islamic inheritance laws. (Because few people have wills when a landowner dies, their land is distributed among their heirs. This means that even small pieces of land in Bangladesh are often owned by many people.) The land registration office was outside of Jessore City, so we drove a half hour to the proper thana (a Bangladeshi legal division, similar to a U.S. county) intending to print the documents when we arrived. When we got there, however, the power was out, so we had to wait an hour for the electricity to come back on. When it did, my local agent, Koli, got to work on the documents, but unfortunately twenty minutes into the work the power went out again. My investor started to become frustrated with the disorganization.

Koli signs the land documents with the villagers in the bamboo structures behind the land registration building.

Forty minutes later the power came back on and Koli finished his work. I told him to print whatever he had and said that if there were any small changes we could make them by hand. Ten seconds after I said that the power went out again for an hour. (Panigram Resort will have alternative energy not only because we want to be “green”, but also because the municipal power in this part of the world is woefully unreliable!) Finally, in the middle of the afternoon, we were able to get a printed set of documents.

The villagers were waiting for us at the land registration office. Because we still had not told the villagers that I am the owner of the project (I hate the dishonesty, but I lost two pieces of land before because the price increased by a factor of ten once they found out it was a foreign owner), I went into a small room to privately sign the documents before we handed them over to the landowners for signatures.

Koli took all of the landowners around to the back side of the land registration building for the signing; there were several bamboo stalls set up in between the date palm and jackfruit trees that villagers use to conduct business. It took the rest of the afternoon for all fifteen people to sign the documents that sold me just an acre of land (our first parcel). When the sun went down we migrated into the land registration office which was now lit by kerosene lamps.

Most pieces of land in Bangladesh are owned by multiple owners; all of whom must sign the deed of sale.

When the first group of people finished signing the documents they came to us to get their money before we filed the registration; my investor, Pintu, gave them pay orders. The villagers had never seen a pay order before and did not believe that we were giving them real money. We explained to them that they just had to open a bank account and that the bank would cash the check immediately.

Koli took them to the local bank to open an account, but sadly the bank teller had never seen a pay order before either and told the villagers that it would take a week for them to get their money if the check cleared. The villagers were understandably upset, as were we because the entire point of a pay order is that we pay beforehand and the money comes directly from the bank so that we can avoid the check clearing process.

We called several other banks in Jessore city and we were told that because the pay order came from a different bank and originated in Dhaka it would take a week for the money to clear. The villagers almost walked away from the deal, but Koli worked with the banks to convince the villagers that they would be able to get the money, they just would have to wait for it. The villagers agreed to proceed with the sale, but they would only let us register our documents after the money had cleared the bank.

I drove Pintu back to the airport so he could catch his evening flight. We were all frustrated that the land registration didn’t finalize that day. I assured Pintu that it would go through in a few days and tried to relieve some of his annoyance with the disorganization by having him read my Huffington Post article about my first investor meeting (“Ecopreneur: Never Let Them See You Sweat”); he felt better after reading about that adventure!

A week later the pay orders cleared and the land registration was finalized. A few days after that, the investors officially closed on the first round of equity and I went back to Jessore to buy the next piece of land. For the second purchase, all of the land documents were printed beforehand, we arranged to pay the villagers in cash, and Koli had procured a generator for the print shop near the land registration office, just in case we needed to make some corrections…

Buying land in Bangladesh wasn’t easy, but just look at my new view!

View from the Panigram Resort project site!

This article was cross-posted with the Huffington Post.

View from the Panigram Pavilion

Molly relaxing in the hammock

I took Molly on a boat tour of the area...

I showed her the project site from the water. (The sky really was this blue!)

They are still harvesting jute along the river.

A picture of tranquility in the gorgeous Bangladeshi countryside...

More jute stacks across from the pavilion.

Panigram is located at the intersection of two rivers - the Kapotoko and a smaller canal. This is a glimpse of the canal...

We plan to put the spa on the other side of this canal.

I think I have the most beautiful office in the world!

The Panigram Pavilion on the river at Panigram Resort.

Koli and I sped down the road on his motorcycle in a torrential downpour. He had left our motorcycle helmets at the project site, so I held my hand over his eyes like a visor to block out as much of the monsoon rains as I could so that he could see well enough to keep us on the road. The van, holding three of my interns, two large blocks of ice, all of the cooking utensils from my kitchen, two gas stoves, and several pounds of food followed us. We got to the edge of town and saw that the road was completely blocked for repairs. While the motorcycle might have been able to squeak around the barricade, the van would never make it; fortunately Koli knew an alternate route out of the city. We were already an hour late: the van was delayed, our landlord had padlocked us in the building (it took us 20 minutes to find him and have him come open the door), and we had to stop at the bazaar to get ice.

There comes a point in every entrepreneur’s life when they think to themselves, “What the #$%@ am I doing?!” and Friday August 14th was definitely one of those days for me. The investor meeting had already been rescheduled twice; I inadvertently scheduled the initial meeting the day after a large Muslim holiday and coincidentally all of the airlines had cancelled their flights for that day. After realizing the dilemma, I pushed the meeting back a day, but there was not enough advance notice for anyone to come. Praying that the last six weeks of preparation had not just been in vain, I sent out one more invitation, hoping for the best. Several investors RSVPed only to cancel at the last minute. I had invited the District Commissioner, but he wasn’t sure if he could show up. As I was speeding down the road, the rain pelting my body with watery spikes, I prayed that the few potential investors who were coming would not cancel because of the rain. At the same time, however, I felt strangely exhilarated, extremely alive. I was pursuing my dream and would do whatever it took to make it succeed.

As we approached the site, I realized that because of the rain the mud road which leads to the Panigram Pavilion would not be able to support the van, so I had Koli call in some of our friends, the local boatmen. Several members of the community were there when we arrived at the bridge. Sensing our distress and urgency, and knowing that this was an important day to raise money for the project that would support their community, they immediately stepped in and helped us transfer our cargo onto small, wooden boats. I was in a rush to get back to Jessore so I could shower, change into a sari, and pick our investors up from the airport; I barked a few last commands at my team as they paddled down the river, and I jumped into the van yelling “JAN!” (“GO!)

Ten minutes out of town I heard a “Pop!” The driver pulled over to the side of the road. We had a flat tire. I looked up at the sky and yelled, “Are you kidding?!!” The driver went to get his spare; it was also flat. Now fully into what my mother calls “the red zone”, like a general in wartime, I grabbed one tire, commanded the driver to grab the other, and hailed a passing vangari (like a truck version of a rickshaw). Twenty minutes later we made it to the nearest town and went to the tire repair store.

I called my interns: nobody answered the phone. Finally, on the fifth attempt, I was able to reach Brian. I asked him to send Koli so that he could drive me back to Jessore so I could get my investors – I would rent an autorickshaw to bring them back if I had to. According to Brian, Koli had run into town to pick up a few things and his phone was damaged by the rain so he couldn’t be reached. Brian also told me that their white punjabis had been dyed red because my boua tied them in a red gamcha and the rain had soaked through. Also the lungis, uniforms for our boatmen and rickshawalas, had not been sewn yet. Gratefully, he left out telling me that several important food items had been left at home…

Forty-five minutes passed and our tires still were not ready. Finally Koli gave me a call and I asked him to come take me back to Jessore. I also asked him to call all of our friends in Jessore to see if somebody could pick up our investors from the airport, as their flight was landing in just forty minutes. He made several calls – all of our friends were out of town and our normal autorickshaw driver could not be reached. I texted my architect, Marina, who was also on the flight, to let her know that I might be a bit delayed picking them up at the airport.

As Koli pulled up to the repair shop on his motorcycle, the driver told us the tires were fixed. I got into the van, sent Koli back to the site, and we headed on our way. We pulled up to my apartment in Jessore and I made a mad dash upstairs. Chi Chi, who had fallen sick the day before, was feeling a bit better and decided that she wanted to come with me to the site after all. In ten minutes I tied two saris and shuttled us into the van. (I counted the rainstorm as my shower for the day!) We pulled up to the airport and I ran to the United counter to see if our flight had arrived yet. He said it was coming in for a landing now. Unbelievably I was not late!

My architect, my potential investor, and I taking the boat to the Panigram Pavilion.

I picked up an umbrella, put on a smile, and jovially met my potential investor and Marina at the airport as if I had not a care in the world. The sun started to peak out around the clouds. We picked up Koli’s brother in Jessore and headed on to the project site. I told them that we had to pick up the Chief of Police, so I wouldn’t be able to take them the “pretty” way to the site, but that it should be a short forty minute drive. They looked out the window, admiring the pastoral scenery, and said, “this ISN’T the pretty way?”

As we pulled up at the bridge, I remembered that I forgot to give my interns the fifteen minute warning call! I quickly called Jonathon and he had all of the interns change into their uniforms on the pavilion before we pulled up in the boats.

Our boatmen waiting for us at the bottom of the bridge next to the jute rafts.

Everyone was impressed by the beauty of the river and the site. They loved the idea of taking the boats to get to the resort and suggested that I make that the permanent way to get to Panigram. As our boat docked at the pavilion, Jonathon was standing guard in his white(!) punjabi holding a tray of cool, scented towels for our guests. We served them mango lemonade and mint iced tea and then I took them for a tour of the project site. The sun was finally shining (the weather always seems to be better at Panigram!) and our guests fell in love with our trees and the river views.

Jonathon, Janine, a member of the upazila, and the Upazila Chairman waiting for us as we pull up to the pavilion.

We headed back to the pavilion and several of our guests wanted to take namaj (go for Friday prayers), so we had the boats take them to a little mosque near the bridge. When they returned, we served them a fabulous Bangladeshi fusion meal designed by my culinary intern Janine. The food was an enormous success! As we finished dessert, the District Commissioner (DC) arrived! He brought several of his deputies with him including the Thana and Upazila Chairmen. My investors insisted that the DC taste some of the food, even though he had already eaten lunch. Fortunately, we had planned ahead and I had Janine prepare the extra food that we brought. Everyone agreed – the food was fantastic!

The District Commissioner, Thana Chairman, Upazila Chairman, Chief of Police, Marina Tabassum, Salahdin Imam, Mahabub Alam, me, and several representatives of the local government.

I told the government officials a bit more about my project – how I am hoping to build an environmentally responsible resort that improves the lives of the people in our host community. I explained how I intended to create new jobs and support local artists and craftsmen by reviving some of the arts that are now being lost in Bangladesh – like jute products, pottery, and pakha goods. I gave everyone a gift basket that included examples of things that I talked about – a beautiful, decorated pakha (palm leaf) fan that was custom made for us, a jute water bottle holder (also custom made), a small clay vase, etc. When I finished, the DC told his deputies and the Chief of Police to give me any assistance that I would need to make my resort successful. Having government support in Bangladesh is extremely important, so this was a big win for us!

Kristin Boekhoff talking to investor Salahdin Imam as members of the community eagerly look on.

When the DC and his entourage left, just my potential investor, Salahdin Imam, and Marina were left at the site. Though Jonathon had spent weeks planning a lovely boat tour and rickshaw ride through the surrounding countryside, because of the namaj and the DC’s visit we were very behind schedule and only had time for a small boat ride to the end of the property before we had to head back to the airport. Both of my guests were eager to explore the river, however, so I hailed our brightly colored boatmen and set off. A light rain enhanced the experience; we were prepared with large umbrellas and enjoyed being on the water in the monsoon.

At the end of the day, I felt confident that I had delivered what I promised – a luxurious taste of Bangladeshi village life in a beautiful, relaxing environment supported by first class customer service. As we stepped from the boats back onto the pavilion, Salahdin held out his hand and said, “You’ve convinced me. I’m in!”

My architecture intern, Chi Chi Lin, sitting on the Panigram Pavilion that she designed and built in just four weeks!

Lighting up the pavilion at night.

“Can we stay TONIGHT?” Chi Chi kept nagging me. For the past week she and the interns have been begging me to allow them to spend a night at the Pavilion. I was inclined to capitulate since they have worked really hard for the past several weeks to build it. It still amazes me how much they were able to accomplish in just three weeks!

Koli had some doubts. He insisted that we get permission from the local police before spending the night. We went down to the police station together. The Chief of Police was very friendly, but tried to convince me not to spend the night.  My interns worked hard, however, and I wanted to reward them, so I stuck to my guns and told the police officer that we really want to stay and that the interns were going back to America in a few days and would not have another chance. He agreed on the condition that he be allowed to send us four police escorts.

Chi Chi was ecstatic when I told her the news. We packed up hammocks, mosharis (mosquito nets), and bed rolls and took them to the site. The pavilion and bathroom were complete and Panigram was ready to receive her first guests.

We were a bit worried that all of the villagers would stay all night watching us as they do in the day, so we devised a plan to distract them. Musjid, one of the village leaders who has been very instrumental in garnering local support, invited us all to his house for dinner. We hoped the villagers would see us leave the project site and assume that we had gone home, as we did every day around that time. I came up with an elaborate plan to drive down to the next town, transfer to a boat, and come back to the pavilion on the river. I thought it was a brilliant idea, but Koli said that he didn’t know the pathway to the river and that it was too dark to find it. We compromised by taking our autorickshaw to the bridge that crosses over our river and taking a boat from there. At least this way we would avoid the ten minute walk to the project site in the dark; our headlamps are easily identifiable and I was sure they would attract curious onlookers.

Secret nighttime boat ride to the pavilion.

It was fantastic to take the boats to the site at night! The river was beautiful and quiet and we were completely surrounded by fireflies.

When we got to the pavilion, Chi Chi set up oil lamps which bathed the site in a beautiful, warm, orange glow. We set up our hammocks and settled in for the evening. A few locals tried to approach our pavilion in a boat, but the police chased them away.

We slept in hammocks on the pavilion that we built.

Somewhere, a villager was playing a flute and we drifted off to sleep to the sound of gentle music, surrounded by the glitter of fireflies…

My intern, Brian, sleeping in...

Brian and Jon explore the local river

The river is central to village life near the Panigram site. Its waters flood rice paddies, provide fish to eat, and assist in the important jute harvest. This year, however, the river reached it lowest point in decades. Normally 90 feet wide, the longer than usual hot season reduced the river to a meager 15 feet across. Now, the monsoon started, but the extra six weeks of dry season caused a floating aquatic plant locally known as port to flourish. Port is always part of the river ecosystem, but this year port stretches the width of the river preventing nearly all boat traffic. This floating plant strains the local economy and could ruin Jon’s hard work as Panigram’s tour program intern.

This summer, Jon explored the area around the site, researched the origins of local ruins, and compiled a database of the local plants and their uses. For our upcoming investor meeting, Jon has planned an hour-long boat and rickshaw tour through the local area. The tour will start at the pavilion where boatmen will take our guests two kilometers up the river to a nearby village; there our guests will take rickshaws along a scenic route back to the pavilion. The tour will end with a striking view of the pavilion at the bridge overlooking the proposed Panigram site.

The only thing floating between our wonderfully planned tour and us are thousands of  port, the ubiquitous aquatic plant. All along the river, these small plants float on the top of the water, hundreds bunched together like tiny islands. Our task: navigate through the seemingly impenetrable mass with an uncooperative boatman.

The impassable mass of Port

At first, Jon and I paddled down river to see if moving the port out of the way was possible. We bunched up our lungis (traditional Bangladeshi male skirt) in the local fashion and tried to push the plants out of the way. Both of us were ecstatic at how easily the two of us could push hundreds of these plants out of the way. Within minutes, however, the plants floated back to their original position, rendering our pushing strategy useless.

Although our attempt at moving the port out of the way failed, we did notice the neighboring villager take bundles of jute and bind them into a raft. After he launched the raft in the river, our farmer then piled the harvested water plants on top of the jute raft. At the time we didn’t know why the farmers were piling port on top of their jute, but we did notice that as the farmer removed the plants, he created a channel wide enough for us to maneuver our boat through.

Jon wades through the river wearing the traditional lungi

Later on, we learned that Bangladeshi jute farmers in the area submerge their jute in the slowly flowing river to soften the fibers. The process, called redding, softens the jute enough for the women and children of the village to remove the fibers to make cloth, rope, and other jute-based products. The farmer stacks the port on top of his jute bundles to keep the intense tropical sun from drying out the top layers of jute.

Encouraged by the farmers removing the jute, Jon and I ventured upstream to see if the river portion of the tour was possible. After we passed the bridge, our boatman refused to paddle any further, claiming that too much port blocked the river. Jon and I, however, armed with our knowledge of the jute harvest persuaded him to let us continue while he sat in the back of the boat, grudgingly steering the boat.

Jon makes friends with our boatman, Uttom

Keeping close the to jute fields, Jon and I managed to navigate through the dense port. At first progress was really slow, we traveled two or three boat lengths every minute, but eventually, we cleared the first patch and skimmed along open water. Thrilled by our progress, Jon and I continued to force our way through the port alongside the jute rafts as our village neighbors greeted us from either side of the river.

As we navigated through more port, we passed the local tamarind tree. Local villagers claim that a spirit haunts the tree. During the day, the spirit resides inside the trunk. At night the spirit torments those who dare trespass under the tamarind tree’s branches. The leaves of the tamarind tree close at night; villagers say it is a sign that the spirit is haunting the area underneath the tree.

The haunted Tamarind Tree on Jonathon's route

Upstream from the tamarind tree, Jonathon and I paddled past an ancient Hindu mondir (temple). Although stripped of its original terra cotta ornaments, the mondir is an excellent example of the unique Bengali-Hindu architecture of the Jessore region. Jonathon informed me that he didn’t know much about that particular temple, other than it still serves as a place of worship for many of the Hindus living in the area.

The mondir along Jon's river route

Unfortunately, Jonathon and I couldn’t continue past the mondir. The port was too dense and the farmers hadn’t started to harvest the jute. Jonathon and I are hopeful that by the end of this week, the farmers will have harvested enough jute for us to continue on to the village were Jonathon intends for our guests to transfer from the boat portion of the tour to the rickshaw portion.

Chi Chi stands with her carpentry team

No construction project every progresses according to plan; Bangladesh is no exception. Workers show up hours late, materials arrive of the wrong specifications, and the weather doesn’t always cooperate. As the architecture intern for Panigram, Chi Chi knows first hand the difficulties that arise during construction projects in Bangladesh.

Rising every morning at six A.M., Chi Chi faced the challenge of working with unfamiliar building materials, supervising her first construction project, and leading a construction team as a female in a male-dominated culture. Last night, I had the opportunity to sit down with Chi Chi and discuss the details of her pavilion project. We talked about her design, her team, and how she managed to overcome the many difficulties that arose while building the pavilion.

BRIAN: This is your first project, Chi Chi. Can you describe the challenges that you faced as a young architect working with an international crew?

CHI CHI: First of all, I really like my team. I even know how to say that in Bangla.

BRIAN: Say it.

CHI CHI: Okay, “amar team khub bhalo lage!”

As a team we have done a lot of bonding. We have taken tea, gone swimming, ridden bicycles, and even played soccer. I’ve tried to lead as a member of the team. I’ve carried mud on my head, hauled bamboo, and done heavy labor alongside my team.

Chi Chi carries mud on her head

Take the mud wall, for instance. I could never know what the consistency should be until I actually stepped in the mixing pit. I had to step into the muck and keri (rice straw), to know when the mud is ready.

I think that because I am willing to get dirty and lead as a team member I’ve earned the respect of the Bangladeshis working with me. My team has accepted me, a girl, into their “man circle”. Which is really cool since I’m the only girl on the site and also because I really need their help constructing the pavilion.

I have very limited experience with building actual structures. I’ve drafted mock construction documents in school, but accurate calculations and blueprints aren’t very useful here. My Bangladeshi team doesn’t use traditional blueprints and my materials are not uniform, so exact calculations would be useless anyway. I’ve been challenged by the fact that bamboo is never going to be straight, that rain tree timber is never going to be completely flat, and that mud won’t dry as fast as I want. All these little things added up and proved to be quite a challenge.

Chi Chi discusses her design with her bamboo team

The difficulties associated with building materials were overcome because I have great people working for me. They know exactly what I want and they know shortcuts to do things certain ways. They know how to save time. They know the secret ways of how to attach this to that. My local builders, they know what’s up.

The roof team connects a bamboo girder to a cross beam

BRIAN: I know you’ve been waking up at six A.M. for the last two weeks for an hour long commute. Can you tell me a little more about your daily routine?

CHI CHI: Six AM! Auto rickshaw! Every morning!

My daily routine is funny. To me its normal now, but if I told anyone else back home at the beginning of the summer that I would be doing an internship where I wake up every morning at six am to commute an hour in a tiny 100cc motorcycle rickshaw to a little town in Bangladesh where I would walk around a construction site barefoot with no safety helmet, they’d think I was crazy.

Not only is my commute ridiculous, but also I have to do all my work wearing long pants and long sleeved shirts – and a scarf, because I’m a girl and need to be conservative – in 34 degrees Celsius weather.

Our first aid is Purell. When I cut my foot, one my roof team bandaged the cut with a cigarette wrapper and netting. Our running water is the nearby river, which is also our shower. It’s my normal day; I don’t think it is weird anymore.

BRIAN: Quite a change of pace from daily life as a student at Cornell. Do you have any funny stories from the site?

CHI CHI: Today, my team made me eat with my hands on the floor. They cut a banana leaf down, put it on the floor, made me wash it with with water using my dirty hands. Then they dumped my rice and shobji on the leaf and giggled as they watched me struggle to eat with my hands. Seeing me uncomfortable, Muku, the foreman of the roof team, said that he would be willing to make me some bamboo chopsticks.

BRIAN: Whenever I’ve had the chance to visit the construction site, it always seems like we draw a large crowd. How have you managed to work with so many curious Bangladeshis watching you?

CHI CHI: It took me a few days to get used to it, but now the crowds are just part of the scenery. The people are very hospitable and really want to make friends with you, so they give you fruit. I’ve tried every single type of guava there is to try around the area, from the little rock hard kind, to the big ripe ones. Some people gave me some huge pomello fruits. People really like to give you fruit.

Curious Bangladeshis watch us work

BRIAN: Bangladeshis are notorious for their disregard for punctuality. How have you managed work around this cultural difference with your team?

CHI CHI: So, in Bangladesh there are two different times: Bangladesh time and digital time. Digital time is what the rest of the world runs on and Bangladesh time is about two hours slower. I’m not joking when I say that I’ve had people ask, “Wait, Bangla time or digital time?” to confirm a deadline.

To make sure that my team arrives on time, I asked them to meet me at the ‘Union Bar’ before we start work. The ‘Union Bar’ is my nickname for local tea stall where most of my laborers hang out. After I asked them to meet me at the ‘Union Bar’ they started to show up to work on time, because, you know, everyone in Bangladesh likes to “take tea.”

BRIAN: You aren’t fluent in Bangla, so how you communicate on the site with your team?

CHI CHI: I try to speak Bangla and my team tries to speak English. Usually, we try to meet in the middle: the middle being 20% of either end. I know the important Bangla words like: eta (“this”), ota (“that”), agamikal (“tomorrow”), kaj koro (“work!”), bash (“bamboo”), shundor (“beautiful”), shundor na (“not beautiful”), and kato (“cut”). Since verbal communication is difficult, I’ve found that pictures, photographs, and models work best.

BRIAN: Why did you pick the site? And, why did you pick this site over the two other you had in mind?

CHI CHI: I had two other sites in mind. Both were located in different Mahogany groves and had a constant cool breeze. The shade and breeze were positive elements; however, the trees and the surrounding crops obstructed the view of the river. Panigram means ‘water village’ so I felt that it was very important to have a beautiful view of the water. Kristin and I chose our current site at the junction of the river and the canal because of the scenic view.

The stunning view from the pavilion deck

BRIAN: Describe the view from the pavilion.

CHI CHI: As you look out across the river from the pavilion, in the distance you see the bridge that connects two villages. There are many villages surrounding the site; along the riverbank you see villagers cultivating jute, fishing from rafts made of hollow tree trunks, and harvesting water lilies. It is peaceful, bucolic, and refreshing, especially after visiting the noise and commotion of Dhaka.

BRIAN: Describe the layout of the pavilion.

CHI CHI: The layout of the pavilion follows our needs for the upcoming investor meeting. We built a dining room, a foyer for our guests to mingle, and a kitchen for Janine’s team to prepare the meal. The structure follows the curvature of the land in order to maximize the view of the river and mask the noise from the kitchen.

The roof, modeled after the banana leaf, changes the direction of the slope as it curves over the foyer area.

Chi Chi's roof model she used to show the team the 'twist' she wanted

BRIAN: Following the curvature of the peninsula definitely frames the view well. I am curious as to why you designed the roof with the twist?

CHI CHI: The twist in the roofline evokes the shape of the banana leaf. The first time I visited the site, looking for locations for the pavilion, all of us were caught in a very heavy downpour. The villagers gave us large banana leaves to keep us dry, I observed how the veins on the leaf point downwards, so the when three breeze blows and twists the leaf it still kept me dry. I wanted to convey the organic nature of the banana leaf to my roof design.

BRIAN: How did you arrive at the final design?

CHI CHI: With the time constraints, my first idea was the simplest idea: A thatch roof and plain gazebo style house. I’d seen it done around the area and it was simple enough to do very quickly. But of course, the design had to develop into something more original.

I had two things I wanted to accomplish with the final design. First, I wanted to incorporate important elements from the village life: water and local, sustainable building materials.

Water is very important in Bangladeshi village life. In order to convey this importance through the pavilion, the main entrance is accessible by land during the dry season and by boat during the monsoon.

Everything I used to build the pavilion is local and sustainable. These are materials that our village neighbors see, use, and experience in daily life: bamboo, golpata thatch, and mud.

We definitely used a lot of bamboo. It is cheaper and stronger than timber. Bamboo is also locally available. I saw it cut from the bamboo forest, carried by men, and cut at the construction site. Bamboo as a building material is definitely sustainable for the community because we are buying it locally, supporting the local economy. Plus, bamboo is fast growing, so the wood that we harvested will be quickly replaced.

The golpata thatch roof is made from dried palm fronds, split into two, and then woven between the crossbeams and girders. It is waterproof without any added chemicals. I am still surprised that the thin leaves are waterproof.

A member of the roof team weaves golpata thatch for the roof

Mud is really easy to work with too, because it can be any shape. And it’s locally available and it’s free! We literally got it from underneath our platform – straight from the source. To make the soft mud into a building material, we mixed locally available rice hay, called “keri”, into the mud using cows.

Bamboo, golpata thatched roofs, keri mud, and rain tree timber are all local materials. Everything that we have is straight from the source, a sustainable practice for the local area.

Chi Chi

Yesterday, Chi Chi, Jonathon, and I visited the Panigram Resort site to take measurements for a pavilion. We plan to use this building to house an investor meeting at the end of the month. Chi Chi is responsible for the design the pavilion and needed to be on site to brainstorm how best to showcase Panigram’s core vales of  ”Fresh, Sustainable, Inspirational”  through the building. Chi Chi plans to utilize traditional building materials such as bamboo, jute, and mud into the pavilion. Chi Chi also intends to highlight the element of water into the design to reflect the element’s importance in Bangladeshi culture.

Speaking of water … while the three of us were measuring the site, we were caught in a heavy monsoon downpour. Taking shelter underneath a banana tree, we made friends with three local farm boys: Rippon, Shamin, and Jittu, who, only moments earlier, had been staring at us in that uniquely Bangladeshi manner. (All foreigners are treated like rock stars in Bangladesh.)

Rippon, Jittu, and Shamin

After the rain subsided, I asked our three new friends to show me around, hoping to give Chi Chi a respite from the famous Bengali curiosity. Following the three boys, Jon (another intern) and I embarked on a journey through dense bamboo forest.

Rippon Blows Bubbles from the Koecha Plant

Our first stop was a koecha plant. Rippon, Jittu, and Chamin showed Jon and I how to make bubbles using the plant’s soap-like sap.  Amazed by this simple trick, Jon and I tried to copy the boys. We failed, however, much to the amusement of our three young friends. After a few more failed attempts and even more giggles at our expense, the boys urged us to trek onward.

Katal - Jackfruit is the national fruit of Bangladesh.

As we continued to follow our hosts through rice paddies, bamboo forest, and fruit trees , I noticed that the boys held immense pride in their homeland. It was obvious to me that these boys toil long hours in the field and they were eager to show us the results of their efforts. Leading us deeper through bamboo forest,  the trio proudly displayed the bounty of their land: coconuts, rice, egg plant, mangoes, bananas, chilies, and katal (jackfruit) – the national fruit of Bangladesh. Later  in the evening I had the opportunity to taste jackfruit for the first time. It has a pungent sweet aroma, its flesh is pastel yellow with a sweet, banana-like flavor and slippery texture.

Jittu Models the Banana Leaf Umbrella

The tour was cut short when Chi Chi called to say she was finished and ready to head home. Disappointed that our boyish adventure was cut short, I had to tell our young friends that is was time to go home. Sadly, the three boys mirrored our disappointment as they led us back to the Panigram site. On the walk back, Jon and I were again caught in a torrential downpour.  In order to prevent us, their guests, from leaving completely soaked, the young boys demonstrated how to make an umbrella on the fly. Grasping the stems of the kola pata (banana leaf) with a deft twist, the young boys offered Jon and I natural on-the-go rain gear.

Rippon, Jon, Shamin, Jittu

Standing on the Property Looking at the River During the Dry Season

View of the River in the Monsoon Season

View from Some of the Future Bungalow Locations

The Canal

Where the Main River and Canal Intersect

Wooded Area

More Trees!

Papaya Trees

Bamboo Forest

The Site Has Many Fabulous Date Palm Trees

In the Winter We Will Collect Their Sap to Make Ghur (Brown Sugar)

There Are Some Unusual Plants on the Property – This Farmer is Showing Us One

In the Winter the Fields Around the Resort Are Filled with Mustard Flowers