Tour guides Bangladesh

5 ideas for guided tours in Bangladesh

• Dhaka

  

  Dhaka. Fast, crowded, alive. The capital pulls you in with layers—old, new, something in between. You walk, you stop, the city keeps going.

  In Old Dhaka, streets narrow, buildings lean. Called “Puran Dhaka” by locals, it holds what remains of the past. Ahsan Manzil. Lalbagh Fort. Bazaars where everything is loud—colors, voices, smells.

  Further north, Gulshan. A different rhythm. International restaurants, embassies behind guarded gates. A walk by the lake, maybe. Banani, next door, stays up later. Bars, clubs, a street named after Ataturk buzzing until the early hours.

  And Dhanmondi—quieter. Trees, lakes, wide sidewalks. You see people reading, running, doing nothing at all. And that’s part of the charm.

• Sundarbans National Park

  

  Out where the rivers lose their names, the Sundarbans begin. Tangles of water and trees. Salt, mud, and silence. And somewhere inside, the Bengal tiger.

  It stretches over 10,000 square kilometers. Sixty percent in Bangladesh. The rest across the border in India. Boats drift through tidal creeks. No straight lines.

  At Hiron Point, maybe a crocodile. Maybe a dolphin. Always birds. At Katka, you walk. You listen. You wait. Deer, boars, macaques appear, disappear. Further north, Karamjal. A center where crocodiles are raised, studied, maybe released. They move slowly, even in water.

• Puthia

  

  Puthia doesn’t speak loudly. But it doesn’t have to. Temples rise from the earth, carved, painted, standing still.

  Start with the Govinda temple. Walls covered in stories. Details catch the sun just right. Then, the Shiva temple, painted in colors that feel older than they should.

  Walk a bit. You’ll see the Rani Bhabani Palace. Mughal and colonial, woven into one. Empty halls, open gardens, shadows that stretch. Nearby, Govinda Roy’s palace still stands, lighter, almost delicate.

  Before you leave, find the Chhoto Sona Mosque. Small, yes, but balanced. Stone laid with care. No crowd, just space.

• Sajek Valley

  

  High up, where clouds fall low, lies Sajek Valley. Not loud. Just green hills, fog, and wind that never stops.

  The road there—curves, bumps, trees pressing close. Stop when you can. Views shift fast. The Ruilui viewpoint gives you space to breathe.

  Up on Mount Kanglak, you can see for miles. Villages below, rivers in the distance. Some still. Some moving. Sajek isn’t empty—it’s home. The Chakma, the Marma, others too. They’ve lived here long before you arrived. They’ll still be here when you leave.

• Chittagong Hills

  

  Southeast Bangladesh. Hills that roll and disappear into haze. Culture layered thick. Trees, rivers, people who’ve learned to live close to both.

  At Kaptai Lake, blue stretches far. Man-made, yes, but it feels older. Created when the Karnaphuli River was dammed in 1960. Now it mirrors the sky.

  Then Rangamati. A town caught between forest and water. Markets full of woven cloth, silverwork, things made by hand. You walk slowly here.

  Further still—Khagrachari Park. Forest thick, trails narrow. Elephants sometimes. Waterfalls, caves. It’s not made for tourists. But you’re welcome, if you listen.