06/15/14 - 6/16/14: Jodhpur, Rajasthan, India
Katie and I arrived in the lobby the next morning at 4:47am. The wobbly concept of time I’d witnessed in India meant I didn’t think twice about being two minutes late for our meet-up. Well, I was dead wrong! Aura gave everyone a talking-to about the importance of punctuality later that day and we made sure to be early to everything from that point forward.
We arrived in Jodhpur around lunchtime and would be squeezing all our touristing into less than 24 hours. Aura took us to a large outdoor bazaar which wrapped around a clock tower built by the Maharaja Sardar Singh at the end of the 19th century. The Sardar Market is also known as the Clock Tower Market due to the iconic landmark at its center. It provided little shade as Aura gave us a brief orientation to Jodhpur. Regrettably, I don’t remember anything he said. This may be due to my lack of recall, or the relentless heat, or perhaps I was distracted by the slowly encroaching group of men...
Whenever Aura spoke to us in busy areas, local citizens (predominantly men) would inevitably draw closer until they encircled our group. This was not a threatening ring of strangers but, rather, a curious congregation. We were a spectacle, tantamount to watching street performers. These bystanders appeared interested in Aura’s talk and fascinated by the pale western women wearing tank tops and short shorts (which was probably equivalent to us seeing a man on the street wearing no pants). I, myself, remained covered for two reasons: 1) I burn as fast as a lobster in boiling water, and 2) I prefer adopting to clothing culture as I travel. In my mind, the native people are the experts when it comes to the best dress for their climate. And I’ve found myself far more comfortable in light and loose clothing that covers me. There’s a reason T.E. Lawrence didn’t garb himself in shorts and a tank top when he crossed Jordan’s desert.
The market was bustling with activity and Aura gave us 20 minutes of free time to explore it. I was of a mind to buy masala chai tea to bring back home with me. Since Jodhpur is best known for its tea and spice trade, it seemed like the best place to make my purchase. Others seemed to have similar notions as we all walked to a nearby tea shop. The owners saw us coming and prepared a presentation, which I was thrilled about. My excitement morphed into anxiety, however, as their explanations grew long. I would’ve been happy to sit there all afternoon tasting teas and hearing about their origins, but time was short and we were warned never to be late again! Consequently, we were forced to cut them off and hastily buy tea before running back to meet Aura.
Next, we sped in tuk-tuks over to Mehrangarh Fort. This astonishing citadel rests atop a hill standing like a protective father watching over his city. The name Mehrangarh is derived from two words meaning “sun” and “fort” and this moniker suited it well, with its walls reflecting across Jodhpur. Mehrangarh is one of the best maintained forts in all of India as well as one of the largest. Its grounds span three miles and house several palaces. The architecture was gorgeous from afar and as we grew close its beauty did not wane. Unlike other historic buildings we’d seen in India thus far, with their dusty and somewhat crumbling facades, Mehrangarh still appeared strong and formidable. I couldn’t wait to learn about the history within.
I was so taken with the fort and its enormity that I kept snapping photos, barely registering the audio tour playing in my ear. Not until we walked up the entranceway and through the main gate did I actually start listening to the narrator. The Mehrangarh Fort has a macabre history. It was built around 1459 by the leader of the Rathore clan, Rao Jodha, and was further developed between 1638-1678 by the Maharaja Jaswant Singh Rathore. According to legend, the fort displaced a hermit who lived on the hill. Angry at being forced out, the hermit cursed Rao Jodha and his people to suffer an eternal drought. To appease the hermit, Rao Jodha built him a home within the fort. And to further guarantee the citadel’s prosperity, a man from a lower caste volunteered himself to be buried alive within the fort walls. In exchange for his sacrifice, the man’s family would be taken care of by the Rathore clan forevermore. The state supports his descendants to this day.
Like Fort Jaisalmer, Mehrangarh’s gate was constructed at the end of a curve to prevent elephants from gaining momentum in order to ram the spiked doors. Just beyond the gate were a series of red embossed hand prints pressed into the wall. These are known as sati marks and they were made by the wives of previous Maharajas. After a Maharaja’s death, his wives would make their final walk down this path, stopping to leave their hand prints behind. They’d then be sacrificed in the Maharaja’s funeral pyre to join him in the afterlife. British rulers were so disturbed by this gruesome tradition they criminalized it in 1829 but the practice carried into the 20th century. The last recorded instance of sati was in Jodhpur in 1953 and the practice was officially condemned by the Indian government in 1987. That’s right, 1987. And people wonder why there are women’s marches...
From the ramparts we could see the whole of Jodhpur spreading out from the hill like a skirt. It was there that I truly came to understand why Jodhpur is known as “The Blue City.” Numerous homes are whitewashed in a sky blue color that creates a pleasant checkerboard motif across the rooftops. The use of blue is linked to the old Indian caste system, which is a discriminatory social structure where certain human beings are elevated above others based on origin and occupation. The highest caste level was reserved for Hindu priests, known as the Brahmins. They were followed by warriors and royalty, then businessmen and merchants, and finally the common laborers such as farmers and blacksmiths. Brahmins denoted their high status by coloring their homes blue. The caste system has since been abandoned, however, like all prejudices, corrosive elements remain today. Now, anyone may paint their home blue, and the style makes for a picturesque cityscape.
As we strolled along the fort pathways we saw more immaculately carved havelis with cooling courtyards, just like in Jaisalmer. We then entered a museum that connected various rooms across several mansions and palaces. The museum housed collections of palanquins, elephant saddles, and famous miniature paintings, which is a traditional Indian art form. One room displayed antique weapons, one of which was a dagger that could splay open like scissors to cut the enemy from within. Ouch! There were also several entertaining rooms for the Maharajahs. These were opulent spaces with tiled floors, jeweled walls, and cushioned seats. One room had the additional intrigue of false windows where the Maharajah’s wives used to eavesdrop on visiting dignitaries. We also saw a long, white, marble centerpiece to a courtyard where the Maharajah’s coronation ceremonies have long been held.
As we examined the architecture and antiquities it felt as though we were also part of the exhibit. Several people asked to take photos with us and, of course, there was the unending staring. I’ve come to understand that Indians, especially the men, have no qualms about openly staring at you, even at close proximity. The children were also fascinated by us. One young girl couldn’t stop looking at me. I smiled at her which made her smile back and then she followed me around like a puppy dog for a while. And Joni received some extra special attention - it turns out she looks a lot like a revered female military leader in India! Who knew?
When we met up with Aura at the cafe outside the fort, I asked him why Indians are so captivated by westerners. He said he’s asked people this himself. He thinks it’s for a few reasons, one being the history of British rule. Historically, Indians were taught that white colonialists were superior, so there’s a latent fascination or even adoration when it comes to caucasian people. There’s also a certain code of conduct for Indian women that western women do not follow. We can wear what we want and experience a freedom of living that they’ll never know, which is a point of fascination. Finally, there’s Hollywood films, which predominantly star white actors. Since white people are rarely seen in Indian life, we’re almost like stars to them.
I appreciated Aura sharing his observations. I also have a theory about why we were so riveting to local people, and it’s a pretty basic one: Boredom. On buses or trains I never saw a single Indian passenger with a personal form of entertainment. There was nothing to pass the time. Meanwhile, our group had iPods, Kindles, or even a deck of cards. And in the markets there appears to be little excitement until we show up looking odd and unusual. Is it any wonder people would be drawn to us? It’s like aliens just landed in their backyard.
That evening we walked down the road to experience an authentic Indian home meal. Aura told us the chef is a woman who’s published several cookbooks and is fairly well known for her wonderful Indian cuisine. We entered her house, which was a lovely white stucco home with portraits of famous-looking Indians along the wall. The chef and her husband welcomed us to sit on their patio where we were served fresh lemon sodas. She then presented us a buffet-style dinner with an assortment of dishes. Everything tasted delicious. My favorites were the curried mutton and the potato dish (sorry, I can’t recall the Indian name). The dessert was a little round pastry with a brown sugary-sweet filling inside. It was divine. Everyone was raving about the meal by the end of the night.
Our bus to Udaipur was early the next morning. The interior was unlike any bus I’d ever been on. There were the usual seats running front to back and above our heads were long sleeper areas where passengers could lay down. The ride started off fine with all of us in our own seats. As we stopped along the route more locals would board. They’d hop up into a sleeper area or cram two people into a seat. There was no air conditioning and the windows were all open to keep the air moving. As you can imagine, a lot of dust blew in, so we wrapped our heads in what was fast becoming our standard headgear - a wet bandana.
Katie and I were interested in avoiding any restrooms stops during our 8 hour ride. Between the two of us, we drank less than 1 liter of water. We were adept at keeping ourselves hydrated just enough to survive, but not enough to urinate. We’d practiced this skill throughout Southeast Asia and had perfected the art by India. Only once, on the sleeper train, did I have to give in and use the squat toilet. And by squat toilet I mean a hole in the floor. I watched the train tracks whiz by as I whizzed on them. I had no choice but to grip the handholds beside me as I squatted, my body jumping and bumping along with the train. Copious amounts of hand sanitizer were used afterward.
Our friend Anne has a bladder the size of a thimble, so there was no way she’d be skipping a bathroom break on the road to Udaipur. Her subsequent restroom tale made me grateful for my dehydration. At one of our stops she disembarked to use the facilities, which turned out to be a short concrete wall. That was it. Nothing to hide her, no holes in the ground, just a slab of concrete to squat over. Luckily, she was wearing a long skirt with shorts underneath, so she was able to maintain her modesty. When we signed up for our “India On A Shoestring” tour we understood we’d be receiving an authentic Indian experience. Based on how many times Anne used public restrooms I’d say she was definitely getting her money’s worth.
I’ve seen other public restrooms like the one Anne experienced in the cities we’ve visited - concrete walls along a street with small partitions and no drains to speak of. Definitely not a sanitary solution. A little research taught me this bathroom problem is a well-known struggle in India with many pain points to overcome: the availability of toilets, water scarcity, sewage infrastructure, and cultural norms. Historically, toilets are believed to be inherently unclean. Because of this it’s not traditional to have one in the home. Ironically, this perception is causing a sanitation problem that affects water sources and creates unhealthy environments. Efforts have been made to fix this issue, like the Swachh Bharat, or “Clean India” mission that was implemented in 2014, but they still have a long way to go. Education and change take time.
Well, enough about the scatological aspects of our bus ride - on to the drama. That’s right, drama! (When you have an actor leading your tour it’s bound to happen.)
So there we were, sitting on a bus that was now as full as a New York subway car during rush hour. Men, women, children, babies - the entirety of humanity was on that bus and more were boarding at every stop. Aura started bickering with a woman who was gesturing at us, obviously annoyed that we had 1 person per seat while the rest of the bus had 2 or 3. You could hear them going at it in Hindi while the bus horn blared in the background. Buses in India don’t have traditional horns that go “honk, honk,” no, they have horns that blast frenetic music that sounds like a trumpeter just snorted a row of cocaine.
Patience was wearing thin as more passengers crammed into the clown bus. Every handhold was occupied and people were twisting into the sleeping areas like human pretzels. Aura pushed his way to the front of the bus and started arguing with the driver. Then, at the next stop, the majority of the passengers suddenly exited! Less than half of them returned. Don’t get me wrong, it was still a full load, but it no longer felt like the bus was about to bust at the seams.
When Aura returned I asked what was going on. He explained that G Adventures had pre-paid for our seats, so we had every right to keep them and not feel pressured to give them up or share them, which is what other passengers were complaining about. Legally, the bus is full when the seats are full, but it’s an unspoken rule that people can still board. It provides extra money to the drivers and the bus companies. Aura said he usually doesn’t care but, in this case, the bus was far too crowded and it became a question of safety. We were about to cross over a mountain. Aura told the driver he would file a complaint and they’d lose all future business if he didn’t clear the bus immediately. Once again, Aura saved the day!
Even with less people on board the ride was hot, dirty and exhausting. Sadly, Katie was the next soldier to fall ill in our group. The poor thing had intestinal cramping and was tapped out by the time we reached Udaipur. I could read the misery on her face. Thankfully, our hotel room was quite nice and clean with a flushing toilet and a steady air conditioner. Katie finally felt free to drink as much water as she wanted and use the restroom. As an added bonus, the World Cup was playing on TV. With accommodations like that, it’s no wonder she decided to skip our day in Udaipur in order to recuperate. Little did she know she was about to miss the nicest city we visited in all of India.
