The brothel opened 20 years ago, making it the newest and largest of the 14 recognised brothels in the country. It is set on the meeting point of two vast rivers, the Jamuna and the Ganges known locally as the Padma , which makes this a very busy place to catch a ferry. Trucks carrying rice, jute, sugar cane and fish from the west and south-west of the country queue here for two or three days at a time to cross the river for the drive to the capital, Dhaka. In Bangladesh on a BBC World Service boat to look at the impact of climate change, I was surprised to find that an unexpected consequence of rising water levels is the growth in demand for prostitution.
River erosion has meant the closure of some ferry berths, so men wait even longer to cross the river. And, while they wait, many of them pass the time in the company of Daulatdia's women. The brothel feels like a vast street market. There are lines of fruit and vegetable stalls, tea stands and even a TV repairer. The only immediately visible difference between this and all the other small towns I've visited in Bangladesh is the presence of so many women in public.
These alleyways hold 2, single-storey rooms with corrugated iron ceilings and cloth walls. Late morning is the peak time for business, and there is a long taxi rank of cycle rickshaws waiting to take the men back to the quayside when they have finished. Bangladesh isn't the only country with entire villages devoted to prostitution. In Cambodia there's the notorious Svay Pak, and there are Indonesian villages that house prostituted women at a time.
The extraordinary thing about Daulatdia is its size and its unexpectedly open atmosphere. Turning down an alleyway, I am directed past a piece of fabric draped across a doorway and find myself in the middle of someone's room. A post-coital client is enjoying a cigarette, and hurriedly ties a sarong around his waist, scuttles off the bed and away. This is one of the better rooms.
The woman who rents it can afford to employ a cook - a retired prostitute who is crouching outside in the narrow alleyway, preparing a chilli omelette. In the next cubicle I meet Parveen, who is happy to show me around. Her double bed is covered with a bright sunflower-patterned throw and she has cut hundreds of tiny holes in the dark red fabric that hangs as a wall behind her bed, giving the impression of fairy lights.
