Change In Plans

Jodhpur - the Blue City

Jodhpur - Rajasthan - India

This post is about our trip west into the Thar desert, and our first day in the ancient kingdom of Jodhpur.

We said goodbye to our new friends at the Pushkar tent camp early yesterday morning.  The livestock-trading part of the festival had ended, and the rest of the week (building to the full moon) was more focused on pilgrimage and spiritual cleansing.  We were told that already 3,000 camels had been led past our campsite that morning, on their way out of town.

The 200 km drive down to Jodhpur was quick.  We have gotten used to the controlled chaos of Indian roads.  On a good two-lane tar road, like the one connecting Pushkar to Jodhpur, in any given spot there are likely to be two vehicles heading in one direction (one passing, one being passed), and one vehicle coming the other way, half onto the shoulder to avoid a head-on collision.  There will be one or two scooters (with 2-3 passengers each), several pedestrians, and maybe the odd cow.  Everyone seems to pay close attention to what is happening, and it is all in relatively slow motion.  The cars are fastest at no more than about 45 mph.

Midway through the drive we stopped in at a village primary school during a break between classes.  The school was very humble: no desks or chairs, water pumped by hand from outside, and only a half dozen teachers for about 250 kids.  That said, the kids all had school books and uniforms, the facility was clean and functional, and everyone seemed very engaged.  Once class time started, the principal thanked us for our visit and escorted us out.  Not an instructional minute to lose. 

The landscape got progressively more arid as we headed west into the Thar desert.  We have amused ourselves by saying, “There’s gold in them Thar hills!” and “Are we really goin’ out Thar inta the desert, Maw?”  It’s a laugh a minute here with the Baird family.

Umaid Bhawan Palace hotel

We are staying in a truly magnificent hotel called the Umaid Bhawan Palace.  We could see its 60-meter red sandstone dome shimmering on a hillside from about 10 km away.  Many hotels are called “The XXX Palace,” but this one actually houses a royal family in the present tense.  The Maharajah of Jodhpur had it built, starting in 1928, to provide jobs during a famine.  It was designed by a British architect named HV Lanchester, and reflects “influences from Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim and Art Deco styles” with an exterior “inspired by Angkor Wat.”  Whew.  

In 1971, Indira Gandhi abolished something called the privy purse, which I found out was the right for India’s approximately 500 kings to tax their local subjects.  Having fallen on relatively hard times, the Maharajah leased part of the palace to the Taj Hotel group.  The royal apartments are right around the corner from our room: when Lu and I were walking across the courtyard, the king’s small dog barked at us furiously.

Jodhpur is the second-largest city in Rajasthan, with about 2 million residents.  My mind still reels at the size of India’s population.  It is nicknamed the Blue City, because traditionally its Brahmin residents painted their houses a soft pastel blue color.  Late in the day, we looked out over the old city from a high vantage point, and the medina-like jumble of blue buildings was breathtaking in the afternoon sun.  Jodhpur is known for having fierce warriors and excellent polo players.  The famous riding breeches were first tailored here as well.

The historical and physical focal point of Jodhpur is the spectacular Mehrangarh Fort.  It is a behemoth of red and yellow sandstone, perched about 200 meters above the old town.  It is surrounded by 24-meter thick walls hewn from the solid rock of the cliffs.  The founding monarch of Jodhpur, Rao Jodha, started construction on the Fort in 1459.  Each subsequent maharajah added to the fortifications or to the palace within.  

One tiny corner of the Mehrangarh Fort

The Amber Fort in Jaipur was quite spectacular (including the grand entrance on elephantback), but the Mehrangarh Fort is in another league entirely.  In the inner courtyards, the decorative stone carvings are so intricate and beautiful and vast that they brought on vertigo.  The frescoes in the “Hall of Private Audiences”and in the king’s bedrooms were magnificent.  The ceiling of the “Phool Mahal” (which I think was the ballroom) was painted by a single master craftsman, described as the Indian Michelangelo.  Shortly before he finishes, he fell from a ladder and died.  The maharajah declared that no one was sufficiently skilled to finish the master’s work, so it remains incomplete.

Just before we left, Zola and I went for a walk along the ramparts, looking out for 15-20 km in every direction.  There is a great collection of old cannons up there, which makes it easy to imagine defending the palace walls in battles gone by.  More immediately, Zola had to fend off a gaggle of ten young Indian girls who wanted to shake his hand and know his name, and take pictures with him.  He was OK when one of the girl kissed him on the cheek, but definitely not OK when her teenage brother followed suit a moment later.  I think he is learning a lot on this part of the trip.