The Lion, The Witch & The Rucksack
by Lynn Kilcline

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - JODHPUR DELIGHT.

As we looked out of the train window the next morning there was a big difference in the feel and look of the landscape. The air blowing through the carriage had a drier hotter feel and the clothes of the people we passed in the villages weren’t the colours or styles we had been used to.
I tried my best to clean myself up and look presentable for my room finding duties, but the train’s facilities were no different from any of the others we had travelled on so it wasn’t easy.
We reached Jodhpur station just before 9. a.m. and I left Brian in the ticket hall as I went in search of a room. I didn’t expect to go far. The guidebook indicated that there was a reasonable lodging house across the road.
Either my eyes were deceiving me or I was looking at the wrong place. The name board above the dilapidated building opposite was the one I was looking for. I didn’t fancy calling in. I was sure there would be loads of alternatives.
Everything and everywhere was very bright and very dusty. The men wore strange trousers made out of yards of fabric wrapped around like a skirt and then hitched up between the legs to make trousers. Maybe they were the forerunners of the jodhpurs we know today.
The men also wore amazing turbans, nothing like the Sikh turbans we see in the west. These were magnificent creations in outrageous colours and we later found out that different colours are worn for different seasons as well as for different festivals.
All the men wore leather shoes with pointy toes like Aladdin’s and most sported big curly moustaches that would make Brian green with envy.
The women wore quite different saris from anything we had seen before. They were of one colour and blindingly vibrant in reds, greens and blues, with no patterns or contrasting borders.
Within 100 yards I came face to kneecap with a camel that was as big as a house. It looked like a fantasy creature in Star Wars: I didn’t know a camel could be that big.
There were camels everywhere pulling carts. Some had polka dots painted on them and others had black symbols marking their hides. It was the strangest feeling being a little white person scuttling about beneath my umbrella with these strangely painted giant animals lumbering around me.
I wasn’t having much luck on the hotel front and so I thought I would follow the map in the guidebook, be very daring and head farther into the city. Probably because I felt strange and the whole place seemed surreal I charged along at a terrific pace and didn’t savour everything around me, although when I did I could hardly believe my eyes.
I found myself in some wide back streets and there were bulls tethered up that were so big I could have stood up under their bellies. They had painted horns 4ft or 5ft long and I began to think that I was in the land of the giants. Even the men were taller here, and we were to see many of 6ft or more, which certainly wasn’t the norm in the south.
I made my way to the Umaid Garden Hotel. It looked quaint from the outside and a bit too quaint on the inside. I looked at two rooms which were both claustrophobic. One had the air conditioning unit hanging out of the wall and a door that looked as if it had been rammed by one of the big bulls I had seen earlier.
I had been walking for 1 1/2 hours. It was airless and stiflingly hot and difficult to breathe. I managed to find my way back to the main road and continued towards the Hotel Ghoomar.
This was a government hostel and resembled a barracks. Undeterred I went to look at a further two rooms. I looked along the long corridor which had little yellow doors opening off. It really did look like a sanatorium.
The first room was spartan; I felt I could perhaps spend one night there if necessary, but I didn’t think I would want to inspect it too closely. The second room made me gasp. It was like stepping into a furnace. It took the full brunt of the sun and was unbearable. My skin was prickling with sweat in the few moments it took my guide to point out the full range of attractions. So far this place was looking the most likely but it certainly wasn’t anything to be excited over.
The Tourist Information Office was next door. It had to be one of the most inconveniently situated offices in India, being a forty minutes walk from the town.
I know I should have avoided it, I know I should have known better, but it seemed ridiculous not to try to make use of it. Naturally when I asked the attendant to recommend a good hotel he advised me to go next door. When I asked about good veggie restaurants he recommended that I go next door. I could see I wasn’t going to go far with this line of questioning, and so I asked for a map and left.
There was a hotel called The Hilton. It was probably going to be a joke, but it didn’t look as if it was far away and so, in one last burst of energy, I set off again on what turned out to be a fruitless search.
I reached a junction and saw my first Jodhpur rickshaw. It resembled a brightly coloured Thai tut tut and a racing car from Mad Max. I asked the driver to take me to a hotel called the Ajit Bhawan. I had decided to discount the Hilton on the basis that it would probably be lousy and if it were a real Hilton we couldn’t have afforded it.
The guidebook said that the Ajit was a Heritage Hotel situated behind the Maharaja’s Palace. I was whacked and desperate, and if this place was no good I would have to go back to the station and hand over to Brian.
The cab pulled up outside an enormous gateway. The driver didn’t want to pull into the driveway so I paid him and walked through the gate and along a curved tree-lined drive.
In front was a well-maintained old building with very regal flagpoles but no guards or doormen. Inside was a tasteful tiny reception with helpful staff. I asked to see a room and I was led out across a shady terrace to a small complex of round cottages. When the porter opened the door I fell in love. I didn’t care if the room was £100 a night; I wanted it.
The beautifully carved door itself was wonderful even before it was opened and the room was delightful. It was like a scene from The Arabian Nights.
The circular room was dominated by a big double bed covered in cushions and there was a sumptuous bathroom stocked with big white fluffy towels. It cost about £35 a night and was worth twice that to me.
Sparing no expense I took the hotel car back to the station to collect Brian who at least had the decency to register his concern, I had been gone almost three hours. It seemed like six.
Brian was as thrilled as I was when he saw the hotel and the room. We put our bags on the floor and immediately went to look at the pool.
It was a stunner. Part of it disappeared under the hotel restaurant and it was possible to swim between the pillars and into the shadows below. The gardens were very pretty and small areas were set aside in the shade with tables, chairs and garden swings. It felt as if we’d died and gone to heaven
We felt that we should have a good shower before even contemplating going into the pool; we would surely leave a giant tidemark in it if we didn’t.
It was terrifically hot outside by that time and so after we had showered we laid in the air-conditioned room with AXN until mid- afternoon.
When we did venture out it still seemed hot but we organised ourselves with two comfortable sun loungers and went straight into the water. The water was ice cold. I was immersed up to my chin and everything below was numb with cold. It felt great.
When I climbed out of the pool I was covered in goose pimples and as soon as they showed any sign of disappearing I went back into the water. It was lovely. We could have sat there for the rest of the day and into the night but we had places to go and things to see.
Because the guidebook had indicated that most people stop at Jodhpur see the Fort and leave, I had allowed us only a two-night stop. Clearly other travellers had not found the Ajit Bhawan.
We tidied ourselves up and reluctantly left our room and went down to reception to inquire about places to eat in the town. The helpful staff told us that there was a restaurant a few hundred yards away called On The Rocks. I was very off-hand and said that it didn’t sound very Indian. I had vision of a burger bar, and asked if they could recommend something more traditional.
After some discussion among the staff we were given a business card of a restaurant in the city. A distant relation of one of them owned it, and we were told we would get a 10% discount on production of the card.
Outside the hotel there was a lone rickshaw, which was convenient for us and lucky for him as we hadn’t seen any guests around the hotel all day.
As we drove in to Jodhpur it was as if all hell had been let loose; traffic, people, camels, cows, bikes, rickshaws and noise. It was mayhem.
We couldn’t tell if the restaurant was clean as it was so dark inside, but it was the nearest thing we had seen to a British version of an Indian restaurant. White tablecloths covered the tables and flock wallpaper covered the walls. The food was not very good and when it arrived I found that I was a long way from forgetting my last clash with Indian food at the Sea Breeze. I stuck to the boiled rice and managed the odd mouthful of vegetables, but had to concentrate hard to stop myself from gagging.
Unfortunately we both had something other than our food to concentrate on.
It was quite a large restaurant and most people had spread out, but a young Indian couple came and sat on the table next to ours. It was unusual as we rarely saw young people together, with arranged marriages being prevalent, and these two looked only about 18. She was lolling all over him and he had his arm draped over her shoulders. She was pretty and was wearing a nice sari but he was a slob. His clothes were scruffy and unkempt and he didn’t look as if he could afford to be sitting where he was. We were unable to ignore their presence as he had a charming line in romantic techniques.
Every few moments he would belch loudly and more often than not it was in her ear. No one could belch that often naturally unless they had a severe medical problem. We thought he might be doing it to be offensive, but when we watched it was clear that he wasn’t. Everything he could do with his body to make a noise he did and that included eating like a pig. We glared at him on a number of occasions but he was oblivious as this was clearly his normal behaviour. We paid, got our discount and left to brave it outside.
Things hadn’t calmed down and at one intersection a small child on a bicycle battled his way through the melee. I watched in horror as everyone swerved to avoid everyone else and the child made it to the other side and pedalled on his way.
We headed for the bazaar area but it was closed for the night.
One of the few places that was open was a barber’s shop so Brian called in for his shave and moustache curl while I sat outside in the dark on a step.
After leaving the barber’s we became hopelessly lost and wandered around twisty back streets. It was pitch black in this district and I didn’t feel very comfortable, but people were lifting their beds out into the street to sleep, so it couldn’t have been too dangerous.
One of the good things about Jodhpur was the lack of begging. We were hardly ever pestered. Most people seemed to be going about their business and left the tourists alone but at that moment they were all going to sleep. Although it was barely 9. p.m. we didn’t like to disturb anyone to ask the way.
Eventually we hit on a part of the main road that I recognised from my morning’s ramble. I suggested we walk back to the hotel. I was sure I could remember the way.
Forty minutes later we arrived back at the Ajit and I asked Brian if he would like to take a quick look next door at On The Rocks. I am not sure where my energy was coming from but it was best to take advantage of it while it was there.
Outside the restaurant there were four old motor scooters and an old car and we laughed and tried to imagine the kind of dive this was going to be. What a surprise we had.
We opened the entrance door, which was in a high stone wall, and we stepped into a different world.
To our left was a small bakery with bread, cakes and all manner of pastries on display. Straight ahead was a wooden humpback bridge over a stream and lily pond. Over the bridge was a beautifully constructed garden with trees and fountains and tables lit by candlelight and some of the larger tables had Bedouin canopies. There were large stone carvings of seated camel, and bird song and jungle noises were being transmitted from speakers tucked in to the thatched roof of an indoor restaurant.
The waiters were wearing army uniform of dark green, with scarlet sashes on their caps, and they looked terrifically smart. We were mortified that we had already eaten and so I ordered tea and Brian had an ice cream. There were no prizes for guessing where we would be eating the following evening.
We walked back through the grounds to the hotel and found a collection of vintage cars lined up below an awning. All were in first-class condition. We inquired about them when we went through reception and were told that they had belonged to the younger brother of the Maharaja.
The hotel had originally been built as a home for the Maharaja Sir Ajit Singhji, the younger brother of Maharaja Umaid Singhi, and the late Maharaja’s family still lived there. These people had style.
After a quick not-to-be-resisted swing on the swinging chair by the door to our room we retired. Suddenly I felt like a balloon with all the air let out and I was asleep in no time at all.
Because the room was dark and cool I had no idea what time it was when I woke up, but I didn’t want to wake up or move. In fact I wanted to lie there the entire day, but it was not to be. We had to make an early start to see Meherangarh Fort.
The temperature the previous day had reached 42 degrees C [about 107 degs F]. No wonder I had been a bit hot under the collar.
The lone rickshaw was outside the hotel again and so we had him drop us in the centre of town. We could see the fort perched high up on a hill towering above the city and we thought the best thing was aim towards it.
The winding streets were full of character, but they were not full of directions to indicate which winding alley would take us to the fort.
As we cleared the remaining houses at the edge of the city the path became very steep and the enormous cobbles were so shiny with use we kept slipping backwards. It was quite a laugh, except that the laughing left me breathless and then I couldn’t climb. But we made it, and stopped on a small plateau a hundred yards from the entrance to the fort where we were rewarded with a fabulous view.
The old city of Jodhpur was surrounded by a wall 10km long and we could clearly see where the old city ended and the new one began. Jodhpur was also often called the Blue City and we could see why. Many of the houses within the old city walls were painted a bright delphinium blue. They were the homes of Brahmins - the highest Hindu caste.
We were the only people there which was a peaceful and magical way to enjoy this historic monument.
This was a real fort, where we could shut our eyes and imagine invading hordes trying to storm the gates. Everything was big. The gates would have accommodated giants, and the ramparts would have had room for processions of elephants ten deep.
The first enormous gate that we entered was scarred by cannon balls and the Maharaja Man Singh built another, the Jayapol gate, in 1806 following his victory over the armies of Jaipur and Bikaneer. The Maharaja Ajit Singh commemorated his defeat of the Mughals by building the Victory gate.
The most fascinating was the Iron Gate. Colossal and covered in spikes, there was a series of sati marks [handprints] beside it. Their story intrigued me.
It had always been the custom that upon the death of a reigning Maharaja all his wives would be cremated with him. Under British rule this practice was outlawed, but in 1843 when the Maharaja of Jodhpur died, his 15 widows threw themselves on his funeral pyre despite the law. As they walked up the steep hill to the top of the fort they had each left a handprint beside the Iron Gate. The prints were covered in silver leaf and red powder and apparently many devotees still pray there and mark themselves with the powder. It is a very powerful piece of history.
Inside the fort there were a series of courtyards and palaces. The palace apartments have names such as Pleasure Palace and Phool Mahal, which means Flower Palace.
There are some splendid collections and one that we particularly liked was the one of the Howdahs. These are the seats and canopies that the Maharajas used when they travelled on their elephants in processions.
All the apartments are beautifully decorated and have delicately carved latticework windows fashioned from red sandstone. I was madly taking photos and noting ideas for a room I intended to decorate when I returned home.
The atmosphere was intensified by the presence of the palace guards in their uniform of swathed Jodhpur trousers and unusual tops all in white, and brightly coloured and intricately woven turbans and pointy shoes.
One such guard made Brian’s day when we entered an exhibition of the Maharaja’s Turbans. He gave Brian a demonstration from scratch of how to wrap a Rajasthani turban. It required 35 ft of fabric 3 ft wide and in spite of the very clear and detailed instructions we were given to accomplish the simplest style, I didn’t think we would be trying it at home.
Things were really heating up and after one final look at the magical view we began to make our slippery descent. We had bought some perfume from the shop within the fort, just a few small phials as gifts. I was not a perfume wearer but I had never smelt anything quite like those perfumes before. One of the small phials was simply called ‘Rose’ and when opened it smelt exactly of roses. I decided to keep one for myself and whenever I open it the smell is of England in summer and a beautiful cottage garden but the memory will always be of Jodhpur.
We took a cab back to On The Rocks and had afternoon tea and cakes, which were excellent, and then we intended to sit by the pool and relax.
After we had changed we made our way through the gardens, clicking away with our camera, and we made a second visit, in the daylight, to the Maharaja’s car collection.
At the pool were a young German couple in Jodhpur on business. They were supposed to have been on an Indian Airways flight to Delhi and then home, but there had been a problem with the plane, twice.
They were now back at the hotel minus their luggage and hoping to board later that afternoon. They were not complaining but without their bags the chap was reduced to swimming in his underpants and the girl was at a distinct disadvantage. I lent her one of my more presentable bikinis and she was most grateful.
After they left, two English girls arrived and while they were swimming they began talking to Brian. Soon we were all chattering away like old pals.
They had both been in advertising and worked in London, and they had decided to stick together and pack it all in and go on a world trip for ten months.
We had intended to take it easy and have a nice meal next door and an early night but we were still talking to the girls at seven o’clock, sitting in the dark.
We had recommended next door to them and we were not surprised when they joined us to eat a short while later.
I bought cakes and pastries from the shop for breakfast on our early morning train ride to Jaipur, and the girls decided to do the same although they were on their way back to Delhi. We wished them goodnight and good luck.
At the hotel reception we asked if they could recommend a hotel in Jaipur and we were told that there was another Heritage hotel there, and it was an old converted palace. That sounded wonderful and it meant that I wouldn’t be repeating the three-hour hike I had on arrival at Jodhpur. The staff made advance reservations for us and it was a blessed relief.
Back in the room it was a labour to pack up all our gear once more, I just wanted to be asleep and I didn’t really want to leave the hotel the next day, I hadn’t even watched AXN for heavens sake!
By 5 a.m. we were outside the Ajit and loading our luggage into the hotel car. Our train left at 5.45 a.m. for the six hour journey to Jaipur, and we would be travelling in the air-conditioned chair car carriage.
The station was a hive of activity. It was filled with soldiers, and it looked as if war had been declared. Our driver was able to assure us that because of the close proximity of Jodhpur to the border with Pakistan there has been a strong army presence there for many years. Later I was given more information when I began chatting to a young lady in uniform, a sergeant in the Indian army. She was more than happy to answer my curious questions about a female officer and her role in the forces.
We left the soldiers and the beautiful Ajit Bhawan behind in Jodhpur, sat back in our seats, and agreed that the previous day had been one of the best we had spent in India.