"It has been stigmatised," says Yasmin Choudhury, who I am travelling with. "We never hear any positive news."
Yasmin was born and grew up in south-west London to Sylheti parents, but it's only since her father died suddenly in 2004 that she started to take real pride in her heritage. Now she's founded a company, Lovedesh, to overturn people's preconceptions (desh means country in Bengali, hence Bangladesh). Her aim is to showcase the best of the country, by offering escorted holidays, hosting wood-fired curry nights around the UK and promoting Bangladeshi fashion (which means traditional jamdani weaving, not H&M shirts).
I'm Yasmin's guinea pig – the first person she has taken to Bangladesh, apart from her 12-year-old daughter. Her aim is to try out places for her newly devised holiday itinerary. She's keen for my input, but it's hard to know where to start. One of the places I am initially undecided about is Cox's Bazar, a beach that stretches an incredible 125km down the eastern side of the Bay of Bengal. It sounds amazing, yet a number of Bangladeshis had advised me to skip it, calling it "overdeveloped" and "unimpressive". Even my guidebook is uncomplimentary: "World wonder it isn't." We decide to take a chance and travel south.
When we get to Cox's Bazar town, I can't help wondering if the naysayers are right. As the top domestic tourist destination, it's strewn with half-finished hotels – a muddle of high-rise, concrete blocks competing for a sea view. A fishy smell hangs in the air. When we climb into a tom-tom (as tuk-tuks are called here), our driver promptly crashes on a chaotic side street. It's hardly paradise.
But 10 minutes later, things take a turn for the better. The development around town is, indeed, a mess, but it's (currently) contained, which means you can leave the main parasol-strewn stretch behind and find yourself wandering the expansive shore, totally alone. It may not be bright-white sands and turquoise waters – the colour scheme is more beige and dusky blue – but it is wild, empty, pine-fringed and seemingly neverending. Later, we take a boat trip to Sonadia island, 9km away. We're the only people there – aside from a handful of fishermen, who live on the island year-round, drying fish in bamboo huts.
The forest: south-west
We book a boat trip with Pugmark , the longest-established operator in the region. Visitors would typically take a three- or four-day trip, staying overnight in the boat's basic but snug cabins. We only have a day. As we drift along the muddy waters, beside the low-rising, tangled foliage, we spot Ganges dolphins (like marine dolphins but with longer noses). Then, in a side stream, we run into some fishermen with a curious technique. To steer the fish into their nets, they use otters on leads. Loudly squeaking and squawking, the otters work in pairs to herd the fish.
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