Discover the best time of year, based on historical climate, temperature, and precipitation.
The best weather in Cox’s Bāzār is from January, February, December. — consistent weather climate
⛈Hot & rainy
| Score | 98 | 99 | 93 | 78 | 51 | 35 | 34 | 35 | 34 | 52 | 90 | 97 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Climate | Pleasant | Pleasant | Pleasant | Hot & dry | Hot & rainy | Hot & rainy | Hot & rainy | Hot & rainy | Hot & rainy | Hot & rainy | Pleasant | Pleasant |
| Temperature | 16–25°C | 17–27°C | 21–30°C | 25–31°C | 26–31°C | 26–29°C | 25–29°C | 25–29°C | 25–29°C | 24–30°C | 21–29°C | 18–26°C |
| Feels like | 15–25°C | 18–28°C | 23–33°C | 29–36°C | 31–37°C | 30–35°C | 30–34°C | 30–34°C | 30–36°C | 29–36°C | 23–33°C | 18–28°C |
| Precipitation | 9mm 1 days | 3mm 1 days | 31mm 3 days | 30mm 5 days | 164mm 14 days | 563mm 30 days | 725mm 30 days | 511mm 30 days | 362mm 29 days | 207mm 17 days | 52mm 4 days | 15mm 2 days |
| Sunshine | 9.8h ☀︎ 89% | 10.5h ☀︎ 92% | 10.9h ☀︎ 90% | 11.3h ☀︎ 89% | 10.8h ☀︎ 82% | 4.6h ☀︎ 35% | 3.8h ☀︎ 28% | 3.8h ☀︎ 30% | 5.3h ☀︎ 43% | 9.0h ☀︎ 77% | 10.2h ☀︎ 92% | 9.8h ☀︎ 90% |
| Wind | N · 16 km/h | NW · 17 km/h | NW · 19 km/h | SW · 19 km/h | SW · 20 km/h | S · 21 km/h | S · 22 km/h | S · 20 km/h | S · 17 km/h | NE · 15 km/h | N · 14 km/h | N · 15 km/h |
| Humidity (%) | 74% | 73% | 75% | 80% | 82% | 89% | 90% | 91% | 90% | 87% | 79% | 77% |
| Day length | 11.0h | 11.4h | 12.0h | 12.6h | 13.2h | 13.4h | 13.3h | 12.8h | 12.3h | 11.7h | 11.1h | 10.9h |
The world's longest unbroken sea beach reaches its absolute atmospheric peak in January, when crystal-clear winter air meets a rare dip in domestic crowds before February's total gridlock sets in.
Cox’s Bāzār does not whisper; it roars. Fronting the Bay of Bengal along the southeastern tip of Bangladesh, this is a working fishing port fused to a boundless, unbroken sandbar that stretches south toward Myanmar. Travel here is defined by scale: miles of churning surf, thousands of moon-shaped wooden fishing boats hauled onto the tidal flats, and a domestic holiday culture that descends on the shoreline in massive waves. Yet the calendar here behaves in ways that baffle conventional travel wisdom. Standard beach logic suggests avoiding the monsoons and targeting peak winter warmth. In reality, the town experiences its heaviest human stampede during the rain-drenched midsummer, while the winter months split sharply between a calm, luminous January and an overcrowded, chaotic February.
On paper, February looks like the textbook month to visit. The air is dry, the Bay of Bengal sits flat and docile, and the daily warmth hovers just shy of twenty-eight degrees. Because of that surface-level perfection, February is consumed by near-total gridlock. Domestic tour buses line the approach roads, Kolatoli Beach becomes an impenetrable forest of selfie sticks, and the southern cruise along Marine Drive slows to an exhaust-choked crawl. The atmosphere feels frantic rather than restorative, as the town strains under the peak weight of its own popularity.
January is where the real prize lies. The weather in January is virtually indistinguishable from February—crisp, cloudless mornings, low humidity, and calm sea breezes that settle gently by midday—yet the crowds pull back dramatically. You can walk the hard-packed sands of Laboni Beach early in the morning with only the crows, stray dogs, and returning fishermen for company. The sea is clean, safe for wading, and bathed in a pale, golden light that vanishes once the springtime haze arrives. If you want the vast expanse of the coast to feel genuinely vast, January is the solitary month that gives you pure coastal clarity without demanding you elbow your way to the surf line.
By March, the dry gentleness of winter burns away. The sun turns sharp and unrelenting, baking the coastline until the sand is hot to the touch by mid-morning. While March still offers brief pockets of calm along more distant shores like Inani Beach, the humidity begins to thicken ominously. By April and May, apparent temperatures sit persistently in the mid-thirties, and walking the promenade during the middle of the day becomes an exhausting chore. The fishing crews pull back to shaded yards, and the town takes on a drowsy, sun-stunned rhythm.
Yet this period retains an odd, raw charm for anyone drawn to coastal solitude. While May sees sporadic crowds and the first heavy, theatrical thunderstorms rattling through the coconut groves, the mass tourism apparatus has mostly packed up. If you base yourself further south, where the forested hills of Himchari plunge directly toward the ocean, the coast feels wild and exposed. You must be prepared to surrender mid-afternoons to ceiling fans and shuttered rooms, planning your ocean walks for the hour before sunset when the low tide leaves miles of shimmering, coral-strewn mirrors beneath a bruised purple sky.
The monsoon along this coast is not a polite afternoon shower; it is a months-long oceanic assault. Between June and August, the sky empties hundreds of millimetres of water directly into the Bay of Bengal, churning the water into a frothing, chocolate-brown surge and turning unpaved alleyways into slick mud. Red danger flags fly continuously along the beach, and the undertow is deadly. Under ordinary travel logic, this should be the absolute nadir of the season, a time when the town shutters its doors and waits out the storm.
Instead, July is the busiest month on the calendar. A massive counter-current of domestic travellers travels to the shore specifically to witness the madness of the monsoon sea. Sugandha Beach and the central promenade become electric with rain-slicked umbrellas, families splashing in the violent shore-break, and street vendors frying spiced mud-crabs over open fires under tarpaulin awnings. It is completely unsuitable for a classic sunbathing holiday, but thrilling if you want to experience the sheer, theatrical fury of the Indian Ocean monsoon alongside thousands of people who come specifically to celebrate the downpour.
September remains wet, thick with moisture and sudden torrential downpours, but the summer crowd finally dissipates, leaving behind an eerie, washed-out landscape. October marks the genuine transition. The rains relent into brief, heavy evening squalls, the cloud cover breaks to reveal towering blue skies, and the Bay of Bengal begins its slow settling process, shifting from stormy brown back to deep aquamarine.
By November and December, the coastal highway along Marine Drive becomes glorious once more. The air dries out, daytime temperatures settle into easy comfort, and the hill forests behind Himchari turn a vivid, post-monsoon emerald. December brings a surge of holidaymakers eager to catch the year-end sea breezes, transforming central beachfronts back into carnival grounds. It lacks the quiet elegance that January preserves, but it possesses an irresistible, joyful energy, with thousands gathering each evening to watch the sun drop cleanly into the open bay.