Jodhpur

Having acclimatised to rural Rajasthan in Ghanerao, Jodhpur, a city of one million, brought us back to hustle bustle and pollution that beats even Delhi. Every evening, the centre of town is enveloped in a thick grey pashmina of smoke and the rickshaws cough up cartoon like-fumes from their diesel engines.

Our first morning was spent visiting village settlements outside Jodhpur. The tour is organised by a specialised  tour company that claims to plough back some of their profits to the communities. The visit by Jeep (a 1952 Land Rover actually) offers a fascinating glimpse of life outside the city.

We visited potters, weavers and people from the Bishnoi community. This is a sect of the Hindu religion that follows the teachings of Jambeshwar Bhagvan. One of their principles for living in harmony with nature is that all trees are protected, some are sacred. They are the original “tree huggers”. Exceptionally in the hindu religion, the deceased are buried, not cremated, as cremation would involve cutting wood from a tree for fire. The visit usually ends with an “opium tea” ceremony involving a complicated filtering apparatus that looks like a cross between a bird-cage and a miniature temple. On the morning that we visited, the elder was out on business ( I can imagine a red- turbaned gentleman with a briefcase doing house-calls: “Uppers, downers, I’ve got them all, come on tree huggers...”)

Jodphur itself, the Blue City, is a maze of alleys with some elegant havelis and indigo-tinted houses.  Sardar Market, with a red-stone clock-tower at its centre, is where most of the bangles, spices and sequined textiles are sold to locals and tourists alike, but not necessarily at the same price. Pedestrians have to dodge the rickshaws and motorbikes while cows, secure in the knowledge that they are sacred, pay no attention to the on-coming traffic.

The town is dominated by the massive hilltop fort of Mehrangarth, built in 1459 by Rao Jodha, the city’s founder. Visitors to the fort are treated to a turban wrapping demonstration. The guide points out that in Jodhpur there’s meaning in their colour, the way they’re worn – every turban tells a story. (We Irish call this ‘talking through your hat’.)

We dined under the stars on the castle ramparts at the Mehran Terrace restaurant. When we arrived at 8.30pm we were surprised to notice that we were the only clients. In an effort to make small-talk I pointed out to one of the flock of waiters that business was quiet that evening. No sir, he earnestly replied, we have another booking for 9.30pm.  The food was quiet good so it did seem strange to have such a spectacular setting all to ourselves (not for the first time in India.) We left at 10.30 and the 9h30 reservation had still not arrived...

Tomorrow morning we take the train to Jaipur.