Exploring Hampi

Another marathon day to get from place to place.  Two hours plus of car from Kumarakon to Cochi Airport, then flying in a small prop jet to Hubbeli, followed by just over four hours of car to reach Hosapete, the gateway to the extensive ruins at Hampi.  Travelling the road from Hubbeli to Hosapete in the dark is like a nightmarish journey through Dante's inferno, so we are nothing short of relieved to arrive in one piece.

Our hotel rises like a giant mushroom at the edge of smallish Hosapete, which is worth a big miss, other than its being a mere 13 km from the Hampi ruins.  Getting information on the ruins and how to see them is trying, but we decide we'll head out with a tuk tuk and then check how things work.  We're lucky to run into a generous spirited driver who gives us the lowdown on Hampi and how to see it.  He cruises right into the village where he maintains--and we later confirm--is the only place to rent a motorbike/scooter. We did manage to find a useful website www.hampi.in, which gives a pretty good overview of the scope of the ruins and points out some of the highlights.  They're quite spread out, cars and tuk tuks cannot access everything, and yes, it's hot.

We pick from the dregs of motorbikes and putter off, barely making it up the first hill.  Hampi, a city of the Vijayanagara, appears to have been around in the 14th century, and by 1500 was reputed to be the world's second largest medieval city.  It was a major center of trade but was ultimately decimated by a series of Muslim sultanates, and subsequently fell into ruin.   There are dozens of sites, some of which are crumbling, but others remain stunning despite the passage of time.  The first temple we visit, Virupaksha, is the only site that has been in almost constant use since it was first erected.  This morning there are plenty of local people wandering, making offerings and praying.  The temple elephant is out, too, taking cash in his trunk to then rest his trunk on your crown to bless you.

We make an effort to hit all the highlights on this side of the river, including a large Royal quarter, which includes Elephant stables, the Queen's bath house, palace military reviewing grounds, and lots of smaller temples.  By mid afternoon, we're tooling around the rural areas that now engulf some of the ruins.  We end our day with the spectacular ruins of Vitthala, with its sweeping courtyard, market complex and signature stone garuda chariot, which is truly gorgeous.

Back to Hospete for the evening, with plans to return and cross the river to see some of the sites on the other side on our second day.  There's a misunderstanding with our tuk tuk driver, who ends up taking the really long, but wonderfully scenic road to the other side of Hampi, but we straighten it out, and find another motorbike to rent, then heading to the Hanuman Temple, climbing the 700 plus steps to reach where the monkey god is alleged to have been born.  The remainder of the day, we explore some more small ruins, but mostly meander the small country roads, through the villages, watching the new rice being sown, the old rice fields being cleared, endless flocks of sheep, goats, cows and oxen wandering the fields and roads, while locals finish husking and packing rice.  It's tranquil, and a whole other India from what we've seen in the cities.  Without the mobile phones and ubiquitous electric wires crisscrossing fields, it could be a whole other century.

We return our bike, wander through the "hippie" side of Hampi, which seems to be an outpost for young backpackers--many of whom are Israeli--and finally make our way across the river, no mean task, since the boat owner is reluctant to cross with only two or even four passengers, but maintains he'll happily do this favor for 3 times the going rate.  Luckily for us, some other passengers show, haggling continues, but we win out.

Our final day, it's back to Hampi Bazaar --the Hosapete side--, where we're lucky to cross the river more easily, and spend a delightful handful of hours just wandering.  In the afternoon we return to Hosapete, enjoy dinner at the local restaurant down the road--Naivedyam--, walk around and around the small paid entry city park just a tad further down the road, before picking up our bags and catching the night train to Mysore.

Check out the pictures of Hampi, and the small videos of combined scenes we shot while zipping around the surrounding countryside.
The ruins: https://photos.app.goo.gl/sxLn3PsJD5Hgjq1m6

The countryside:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/AcDY4HJZ9PXPzbHy9

Tea plantations of Munnar

It's a long and bumpy ride up into the mountains known as the Western Ghats.  We leave the trop,ics of Cochi behind, but are heading into some rain.  Turns out that some tropical typhoon has come in near Chennai and is now moving overland and into the Arabian Sea.  This is the same area that hit a couple of months earlier with devastating floods and mudslides, but it's tamer this time around, although by the time we reach the remotish hotel, nestled between the tea plantations and forested hills, sheets of rain are coming down.  The afternoon is spent in the room watching the trees sway wildly, the rain cascading from the skies.  By evening the rain has let up and we enjoy a wonderful dinner in hotel in the middle of the trees.

The sun greets us the next day, and with a bit of information from the hotel staff, we walk down the patchy road to look for the famed views over the tea plantations that cover the hillsides here.  We reach a point where we follow a smaller track into a plantation for even better views, then eventually back track to the hotel, this time continuing in the opposite direction to see what we can find there.  We definitely strike gold.

Tea pickers dot the nearby hills, and as we navigate the track, we figure a way to get closer and see more of what is going on.  Our timing turns out to be perfect.  The workers are fanned out over the hill, clipping with an implement that is something like hedge-clippers with an attached box.  The clipped leaves fall directly into this box and are then dumped out onto a tarp that each cutter has with her(most are women).  They appear to be just about finishing up their clipping for the morning/day, and begin to tie up their bundles and head down hill to the track we're on.  Each sits down on her now open tarp and begins sifting through what she's picked, removing some stems, throwing out some weeds and the odd flower.  She lightly tosses the leaves while doing this sorting.  The manager lady comes barreling through the line of pickers, barking out orders we don't understand, but the pickers don't seem to pay her any heed.  A short while later the pickers line up to have their bundles weighed, then dump their leaves in common piles, where another bunch begins stuffing the mesh bags with the leaves.  Meanwhile the women collect their bags, their clippers, and walk away down the hillside.  Had we come thirty minutes later, we would have missed the whole thing!

Photos and video of the tea picking and hillside views of the patchwork of tea:
https://photos.app.goo.gl/RKJ2QhgHw8y7YeRA8

A window on Kerala

It's a long day of airports:  Udaipur to Chennai, then a wait to fly on via Trivandrum to Cochi.  Arriving after dark, it's another couple of hours through surprisingly modern urban sprawl on pretty good roads to get to the smallish outpost of Cochi.  Around for centuries as a center of the spice trade on the Arabian Sea's Malabar coast, it has seen seasons of Chinese, Portuguese, Dutch and British colonies, and has also been home to a community of Jews as far back as the mid 1300's.  In fact, tiny Mattancherry, which lies next to Fort Cochi, boasts India's oldest still working synagogue--although there are reputedly only a handful of Jews left in the area, and there is no rabbi.

In a morning of sweltering heat and humidity, we wander down the block to the sea, fallen upon by local tuk tuk drivers who want to take us on "tour".  Of note are the fish stands, backed by the huge Chinese nets--this name given since it was the Chinese who originally introduced them.  The giant nets are lowered and raised in what seems a ludicrous attempt at fishing.  They're hung on massive poles weighted with hefty stones, and when raised there is barely a butterfly net's worth of tiny fish.  Men sit mending nets, while others mostly lounge along the shore pathway, which, truth be told, is indescribably filthy with rubbish.  We walk along towards Gandhi beach, but again, there's not a grain of sand, only rubbish.  Across the entry way into the harbor, oil tankers and a couple of military looking vessels sail by.  Huge oil storage facilities dot various parts of the landscape, along with the forest of taller buildings in distant Ernakulam, the modern city across the water.

We continuing walking the small historic area that is now called Fort Cochi, although none of the fort walls or much of anything else are left.  We run into our tuk tuk friend Subhair again--he's been shadowing us--, and agree to have him haul us around to see the sights.  It's too hellishly hot to walk it all.  As India's most Christian state, we start off with a couple of churches.  One originally held the explorer Vasco da Gama's remains, before they were returned to Lisbon in the 1530's.  There is a Dutch cemetery, an old palace with gorgeous murals, appropriated by the Dutch after they ousted the Portuguese, and the lovely little Jewish synagogue in Mattancherry.  We visit the local laundry site, refurbished and still in use, originally set up as a central area to clean the uniforms of the Dutch soldiers, where some major whacking of clothes and linens is going on in small stalls, while in the adjoining spaces, clothes are hung on twisted ropes so as to make clothespins unnecessary, and where coal fed irons are used by the team of men ironing.  We end up the day with a visit to a small cooperative where they dry ginger and where the women make all sorts of spice mixes, teas, candles for the local churches and soap.  I am easily persuaded to bring home a spice mix for masala tea and some heavenly smelling cardomon pods.

An unexpected highlight of the day is stumbling upon the preparations and later actual festivities around children's day at a local school.  The very young children are shy, but the older ones, getting ready for their bicycle parade, are wildly enthusiastic and thrilled to pose for photos. 

The next morning we contemplate taking the ferry around the waterways, but it's truly oppressively hot, so instead we spend hours hanging out in a small cafe on Princess Street, whiling away time with chai and juice.  In the evening we visit a small cultural center to get a tourist view of Kerala's Kathakali performance, a classical Indian dance with highly stylized hand and eye movements, accompanied by some singing, a chime and some drums.  It is preceded by a session demonstrating the application of some of the very elaborate theatrical make-up.

We leave Cochi for Munnar up in the Western Ghat mountains for a couple of days--see the separate post on Munnar--and then move on to the backwaters of Kerala, in the small town of Kumarakon, another longer than expected drive.

We're back in the tropics after a couple of days in the highlands, and despite the lake breeze, it's still uncomfortably hot.  We arrive in time for an afternoon tea with some snacks and then take an uneventful hour long ride on the boat courtesy of the hotel.  The water landscape is flat and rather monotone, so we plan to make our way into the nearby town on the following day to check out the backwater canals and waterways that have garnered the area its name.

By morning we've discovered that the hotel has some rickety bicycles we can borrow for our little exploration and we're off.  The backwaters are rimmed with coconut palms, rice paddies and small brightly painted homes.  The air is ripe with humidity, school kids rush off to school and the local ferry drops off  passengers as we look down from a bridge.  The odd fisherman sits by the side of the road with a tray full of fish for sale.  Traffic is light on the main road, but as we drift to the small lanes that line the smaller waterways, the pace slows down still more.  Women launder at the water sides, a small group of men is busy taking down a couple of dead trees, motorized long boats chug along the water, ladies saunter by under umbrellas, and we watch.  In the afternoon, we head out once more, waving and smiling at the locals, who are lounging on stoops, chatting with neighbors, and slowly bringing their day to a close.  As the sun sets over the lake, we enjoy the peace, and get ready for another bout of plane and car as we head north to the ruins at Hampi.

Some pictures of Cochi and the Kerala backwaters:  lots of places didn't allow photos....
https://photos.app.goo.gl/AFQtny6Xs1icPHJH7

Udaipur: A Palace and a Painter

Ram Ram drops us as close as he can get to our hotel on the Lal Ghat in Udaipur, and he's gone.  We weave through the traffic and find our hotel, which lies right on Lake Pichola.  Our view is a refreshing change from the scrubby desert, and as we settle in, the sun turns fiery as it sinks behind the distant hills.

We have more days than we might have chosen in Udaipur, so we're carefree with our time.  The Lal Ghat area is clearly the epicenter of the tourist zone, overrun with souvenir shops, hotels and guesthouses, countless ayurvedic massage shops, tailors and street artisans, and the calls to come into shops incessant and insistent as ever.  We're better and better at simply walking on, knowing there will be plenty more occasions to chat about where we're from and how long we're in India.  Crossing one of the pedestrian bridges nearby, we search out the alleys leading to Hanuman Ghat, where there are some swankier hotels and restaurants, and a good view of the City Palace.

Udaipur is known for its miniature painting, and artists fall from the trees all over town.  A young man gets talking to Andres, weaving his fabulous tale of generations of artists, and then takes us to a nearby shop, but Andres edges on and says he'd like to see these artists at work.  Really?  Yes, really.  A moment's thought and a bit of back and forth about how it's a fair walk--no, we're totally on board with walking, more back and forth, and finally he says he will take us on the back of his motorbike.  OK?  Well, ok then.  It's a tight squeeze, and I'm holding on for dear life, but we whiz through the alleyways, back into the Lal Ghat, over another bridge, and into another clearly residential area, and we're there.  We're ceremoniously introduced to the brother, Manish, and then to the painter extraordinaire, their father, Jagdish.

A lovely man whose grey mane of hair seems lit up next to his ebony skin, he's sitting quietly on the floor, brush focused on a large scene of a procession in front of the local city palace.  Manish speaks very good English and eagerly explains his father's work, the whole process of sketching, color mixing from local stones, and even shows us the gold leaf which is used in some of the finer work.  He also shows us the very fine brush-tips--made from the eyelashes of camels--, used for the very finest details.  He brings out his various credentials, and photos and letters documenting his invitations to stay in Finland and Germany where he taught with the help of an interpreter, some years ago. 

Then we look at some of the work that is for sale, some of which is really striking in its detail.  We're particularly taken with what is a classic Indian motif--that of the elephant, the horse and the camel--, which Manish explains represents the ideas of good luck(the elephant), power or strength(the horse), and love(the camel).  It's difficult to keep all the information straight, because there is just so much of it, but we listen and say that we are interested in the work, and would like to think about it, and return the next day.  He's a little deflated, but says we are welcome whenever we choose to return.

Stopping in at the Edelweiss cafe back in the Lal Ghat area, we run into a British couple that we literally bumped into during our stop at Ranakpur, sit and chat at length and agree to meet for dinner in the evening.  A bit of a rest during the warmest part of the day, looking out over the lake from our window, followed by a wander to check out the entrance times and prices at the palace, and a delightful dinner and conversation on a nearby rooftop, and the day comes to a close.

We've done our thinking about the painting, having also stopped in a handful of local art shops, but the quality of Jagdish's work is far superior to anything we've seen--even to our untrained eyes--.  The snarled traffic is like something out of a movie,--laughably ridiculous--.  It takes the work of several car passengers and random passersby to reorganize and manage the tangled mess, but it all thins out as we cross the bridge to the Ambamata Temple Road and head left and uphill.  We arrive at the door to the astonished faces of the family, who can't believe that we've returned and that we've found our way back!  We're ushered in with great ceremony, with cups of masala tea and small bottles of water and the warmest of welcomes.  We again look over the painting, close the deal, and then Manish offers to have the work framed for a nominal fee, if we can return a final time and he entreats us to please join the whole family for dinner upon our return.  We're just bowled over by their genuine hospitality and grace, and agree to return once again the next evening.

The following morning we're off to the City Palace, which our British friends recommend we visit right when it opens.  At the juice stand we've adopted and around town, the locals are complaining about the hordes of Gujaratis who are in town and simply taking over the place.  It turns out that in the state of Gujarat, Diwali is a longer holiday, and the locals pour into Rajasthan, many coming by car, clogging the roads, partying hard as Gujarat is a "dry state", and from what we've seen the Gujarati tourists truly are everywhere, and especially gathering in crowds in the area outside the main gate to the palace.  We had the weird good luck to receive some tickets from a couple of passing French tourists.  They asked if we'd already visited the palace, --we hadn't-- so we could have their tickets, which due to the hordes of people, hadn't been torn off, and were thus still valid.  Propitious indeed since we were about the first to walk through the main gateway, well ahead of the already gathering hordes.

The palace, which dates from about the year 1600, is another maze of a building, several stories high, with several tree-lined courtyards, some working fountains, galleries of artwork, and lots of mirror and glazed tile work.  The palace and museum galleries include some lighter fare including demonstrations of turban making, hookah smoking and classical meditation music.  By the time we have wound our way through the palace the queues to enter are already interminable.

By evening we're ready to go back to Mr Jagdish's home and join the family for dinner.  The family is in all states of excitement when we arrive, and despite the customary pitfalls of communication, it's clear that they are as thrilled to have us as we are honored to be there.  After checking out the painting--now framed--, we take some photos of Mr Jagdish with his work, and of course with us.  Manish proceeds to elaborately pack it up for us and payment is settled.  Meanwhile preparations for bringing in dinner are underway.  In one of the most endearing moments yet, Mr Jagdish pulls aside Andres, whispering whether he would like them to procure a beer for him.  They are again amazed when he explains that he really doesn't consume alcohol at all, and make him doubly happy when they bring out a cold can of Coke instead!  They seem worried about us sitting on the floor, but we allay their fears, and the food comes in.  Rice, dal, and a very nice paneer chile, along with a platter of tomatoes and cucumbers, papadums and chapatis.  We expect them to join us, but they insist we eat first.  Conversation is really quite wonderful, covering our poor eating manners--countered by their confusion over forks and knives--to how we spend our days when we are home. We share photos of our family, parents, and even answer Manish's query about ways to improve his English.  We also meet the rest of the family, Manish's brothers, niece and nephews, and finally also his sister-in-law and smiling mother.  They are movingly gracious, and near the end Jagdish insists on actually feeding both Andres and me some of the sweet galub jamun dessert.  He sits with his arms draped over Andres' shoulder, sometimes holding his hand, and the impression is of genuine mutual appreciation.  Nothing short of humbling.  Photos of us with the family at Jagdish's personal request cap the evening, and as we ready to leave, he hugs each of us tightly, wishing us every good fortune in life.  Even his wife hugs me several times.  We tell him that these are moments we will never forget, and wander back to the main street, turning often to wave one more time, feeling we've been privy to something special. 

Our remaining time is spent meandering through the markets, watching the chai makers, laughing with the rickshaw passengers who are working hard to load wares onto the vehicle, wandering the quieter back alleys where a determined little boy, maybe 4, smiles disarmingly and confidently as he heads home all alone in the ghastly traffic, and finally, relaxing with a fresh juice while the world hustles by.  From here we'll change things up as we head 2100 km south to Cochi, in Kerala.

Links to the photos of Udaipur:
Around town:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/AAcNYsxGEV6LvieW9

The Udaipur Palace:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/AAcNYsxGEV6LvieW9

Visit with Jagdish Yadav, painter:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/JoFCAdosAP9bT4ZB8

  

Stop in Ranakpur

Our driver Ram Ram arrives a little late to pick us up in Jodhpur, but he's in good spirits.  The roads are quiet because a lot of the country is shut down due to Diwali celebrations. He is on the phone almost non-stop, even asking me to please wish his various family members a happy holiday, since that way they'll believe he really is working.  Also he seems to know everyone everywhere.  He chats with the driver of the car next to us through open windows as we drive down the (fortunately) empty road, then catch up with a "brother cousin" at a gas station.  He stops constantly, and then finally justifies all the mysterious stops by explaining that Ranakpur, the great Jain temple we're planning to visit on our way, doesn't open to non-Jains until noon, so it turns out we've got time to kill.  It's a cup of chai at one stand, some well-meant but nauseatingly sweet and sticky rice flour balls at another, and later still some lentil flour chips with chilis--which he suggests we might not want to eat--"most spicy".  Every stop we're asked whether we'd like whatever he's offering, but clearly a "no, thanks" still brings him rushing back to the car with his latest idea. 

The road is wide and empty for the first bit, but then we bump onto a semi-asphalted track with aspirations of being a road-- a mite tricky when we do encounter oncoming traffic.  Today, though, most of the traffic is livestock, some of it very inconveniently parked in the middle of the road.  For the first time we even come across dead animals--the inevitable result of hanging out on roads.  The nice thing is that Ram Ram isn't in any hurry, so he's not driving like the more typical madman, and after a couple more stops he suddenly picks up speed, and we roll into Ranakpur right around noon.

It's a madhouse in the parking lot, so we hop out and head to the ticket line, which is equally nuts.  Long lines, lots of don'ts on a bill board, and of course, queuing is for amateurs.  We do finally secure a place in line, but it then turns out that cell phones need to be left behind in lockers, that there are strict clothing guidelines, and on and on, but the reality is again somewhat different.  As foreigners we have to pay an entrance and camera fee--no-one says anything about mobiles--, but we have to take an audio-guide, a sort of compensation for the fee, as locals don't pay an entrance fee at all, and don't typically use an audio-guide, but instead are expected to give a donation to the temple.  The Indian woman behind us in line does her level best to unravel all this for us.  Tickets in hand we head to the security lines to get into the temple, where some people lose their water bottles, others are fine, a man in shorts in sent out, while behind him, several others in shorts walk straight in.  A bit of a circus --without the clowns, though--. 

The inside of this 14th century gem is breathtaking.  Ornate pillars and domes in beautiful symmetry surround us.  The detailed stone-carving high and low is truly stunning.  Despite the sign to keep silence, there is very loud chatter everywhere.  Some Jains--not sure if they're priests or not--wander around the temple, regularly stopping to ask people if they can pray for them.  They're prohibited from asking for donations, but that doesn't appear to worry them in the least--, on the contrary, they're very forward about the donation aspect of their prayers.  Guards are everywhere and often right in the line of where you want to take a photograph, so the visit is an exercise in patience.  Jains pile in and out of the main altar area, which is closed to non-Jains. 

Check out the photos, as they do the temple more justice.
https://photos.app.goo.gl/3vcQpw4DepmN4ctGA

Jodhpur: The Blue City

Most of the day we spend watching everyday Jaisalmer from our rooftop perch.  Baje is ever ready with masala tea and cheese and tomato sandwiches; he's singularly hospitable.  Mid-afternoon we're off to the railway station to catch the train to Jodhpur--a new experience for us in India.  We've opted for second class two tier/seat-berths, and it's challenging to find the right car, but as we're extra early, we zero in on what we think is the right spot, and settle in to wait for the doors to be opened.  It's a terrifically long train, and there are lots of people on the platform, but the signage and announcements are in English as well as Hindi, so it's smooth going.  It turns out our seats are not together, but we sit together anyway, in the hope that some kind soul will be willing to move.  The tremendously rude passenger who turns out to be the legitimate occupant essentially flicks Andres away from his seat.  Later I simply move to his "compartment" and we share his seat/berth. We have no plans to sleep since the train arrives at about 11pm, so there's plenty of room.  We depart punctually, but within a half hour we've come to a full stop in the middle of the desert with rapidly dying daylight.  There's a huge commotion at the side of the train, passengers are outside, and it's instant mayhem.  Our kind neighbor, who has already explained that he is also travelling to Jodhpur with his wife and grown son(?), says there is a problem with a cow on the tracks.  It sounds like it was lying on the tracks, presumably already dead, and its carcass is a drag under the carriage.  Could be that, but honestly, we only really get that there is a cow involved, and it doesn't seem like we could have hit it, because we almost in the middle of this lengthy train.  Passengers jump back on board, the train goes a short while but then stops again.  Finally  the issue appears to be resolved and we're off into the night shadows of the Rajasthani desert.

A train official comes through to check our tickets, and others around us explain that we've moved together from "seat 31"--and after much flipping through passenger lists and checking and rechecking our ticket and names, we're checked off and left with our new neighbors, a middle-aged couple who sit cross-legged on the berth opposite us.  He speaks a smattering of English and is gracious, his wife is aloof and seems intimidated by us--all impressions.  She is on the phone chitchatting with one person after another, intermittently playing music through her phone, lounging and laughing with her husband.  Later they prepare chunks of coconut with little sugar balls and kindly offer us a generous helping.  After this snack she dedicates herself to massaging her husband's arm with something that smells Tiger Balmish, and then begins clipping his fingernails.  Back to the phone, more snacks and nibbles, and finally she begins making up the berth with the train provided linens.  Meanwhile our upstairs berth occupant has shown up and gone straight to sleep.  Preparations continue around us, people are slowly settling in for the night.  This is a train to Delhi, and they won't see their destination til well after the sun rises.  We, on the other hand, are trying to figure out how we'll know when we've arrived.  Other than an estimated time of arrival, we have nothing!  Announcements on the train are non-existent, and the stations we do stop at don't have easily found names--or they are only in Hindi.  So Andres dozes off and I read until our neighbor asks to turn off the light.

I watch the night world go by.  A solitary light, a noisy clanging at a railway crossing, a spray of lights in a station, but not much else.  However, as we're clearly begin moving into an urban area, and the time is right, we see the lone station sign reading Jodhpur: we've reached our destination.  Off the train and into the otherworld of the station.  Hundreds of people are sleeping in the main hall of the station, with many hundreds more sleeping right outside.  It's a nightmarish scene backlit by. hawkers scurrying into the stream of arriving passengers.  Haggling back and forth we finally get into a tuk tuk which eventually delivers us to our hotel.  We're in Jodhpur!

The trip to Jodhpur: https://photos.app.goo.gl/gVDYYWbVcneJtBdt7

We seem to be about the only people staying in the hotel, so have a quiet breakfast with a slew of serving people hovering around us.  Then it's off to the town proper.  We're a couple of kilometers outside the center.  The Mehrangarh Fort looms above the so-called Blue City.  Our tuk tuk delivers us to the entrance, but it's still a stiff uphill walk from there.

Mehrengarh is another stunning feat of towering architecture carved from and onto rock, begun in the second half of the 15th century by the Rathgore Rao Jodha., who had to forcibly remove the so-called Bird Hermit who lived on the crags.  Not only is it a formidable building, but it showcases a range of interesting artifacts, including howdahs(elephant riding platforms),  palanquins, royal cradles, furniture and weapons as well as finely detailed miniatures.  At one of the gateways are the handprints of the many wives of the mid nineteenth century maharajah Singh who threw themselves on his funeral pyre.  The beautifully decorated Flower Palace glitters and shines with color.  The endless staircases and narrow passageways are dizzying, the history of the many generations of rulers and their respective feats even more so.

From the palace we walk down into the blue city--the older part of the town that borders the fort.  Many buildings are indeed still painted blue, but sadly many are in wretched condition.  Interest dictates our direction.  The narrow streets are busy and clearly have designated sections: jewelry, shoes, housewares, textiles, sweets, all things Diwali(which will begin the following evening), and the impressive if somewhat scary firework and firecracker stands.  The crowds grow incrementally larger as we get closer to the Sardar market, which rings the old clock-tower and is a veritable  explosion of color, people, traffic and wares.  Omelettes are cooked in a stall in one of the gateways, a Muslim man sells rings off a tray hung from his neck, women haggle fiercely over cloth, and lines of buyers form before trays of sweets covered with silver foil.  It's a swirling madhouse with more to watch than we can take in!

The next morning we decide to check out the Rao Jodha Desert Park, which lies within sight of the fort.  We walk the couple of trails they have, admire the views of the fort, and are surprised at the zip lines overhead.  It's a nice change of pace from the crowded city, although once we're done, we head right back to the marketplace, standing and watching the world go by.  We're shown into a spice shop, treated to a saffron/cinnamon/cardamon tea, and then escorted to a "friend's" shop to look over the allegedly hand-printed indigos.

That night the lights all over town are striking, both the electric multicolored flashing strings of lights, and the small clay bowls with wicks and oil.  The crash and boom of fire crackers is rampant, and in fact wakes us up from time to time during the night. 

From here, it's on to Udaipur, via the huge Jain temple at Ranakpur.

The fort at Jodhpur:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/iqYCknmLsQYw5SAi6

Around town in Jodhpur:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/7iR68MNT1QgDbYvp8

Jaisalmer: The Western Edge of Rajasthan

Our one hour flight from Jaipur to Jaisalmer is delayed a couple of times and then abruptly canceled--luckily all before we leave the hotel.  Supriya comes to the rescue and organizes a car ride there.  It's purportedly a 10 hour ride... and since there is no guarantee of a flight the following day, we're off with our driver Thomas(?) within the hour.  He's in a mad rush to get out of the mangled traffic in the city,  so we make good time to the scrubby countryside.  Dusty fields are punctuated with occasional shade trees, sheep and goat herders are brief blurs of color as we speed by.  It's rather monotonous countryside, but it exudes calm after the frenzied atmosphere of Jaipur.  Cows idly wander the middle of the road, camels pull open carts, cotton balls dot the dusty cotton crops.  Heat shimmers over the baking fields at midday. 

We stop at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere, eyed by the local men who are lounging on platforms at the front of the shop.  It's hour upon hour of the same, occasionally broken by the daily life scenes of local villages--the markets spilling onto the street, motorbikes beeping, livestock rustling through roadside rubbish,  one town indistinguishable from another to our untrained eyes.  We have a few biscuits to tide us over, and a couple of bottles of water, and it's a good thing, as there isn't really anything that could be considered a stop until about an hour from Jaisalmer.  The blazing red sun sinks below the horizon, and we're surprised to suddenly be on a rather good road.  Despite the better road, night travel is definitely not for the faint of heart, what with livestock, people and vehicles haphazardly and regularly crossing or blocking our path.

As Jaisalmer's illuminated fort looms above the increasing urbanization, Thomas tells us that he won't be able to deliver us to the hotel because cars aren't permitted with the old city walls.  We'll have to take a tuk tuk up for the final short stretch, so we part ways and arrive at our lovely hotel with its breathtaking roof terrace view of the heavily fortified old city. 

In the morning we explore surrounding alleys on our way to visit the City Palace.  It's mostly unfurnished and spotty restoration is underway.  Dizzying amounts of stairs and courtyards afford some nice views, and we feel like in so many of the palaces we've visited--like we'd be lost for a long time before we figured out our way around.  The final part of the visit takes us through the women's quarters, via a tiny shop, and suddenly we're back on the street.

Wandering through the old town, we realize it's actually much smaller than we thought, but we still walk in circles before finding our bearings again.  Hordes of tourists now clamber around the square in front of the palace, and shopkeepers are in full on sales mode.  We linger for a while with a young man who offers us puzzle boxes to try opening, padlocks with three or more keys to unlock:--the idea being that each key was given to a different son, so none could cheat the others, and that they had to work together to get things done.  There are locks with more than seven keys, and they're a real mystery, at first.  Sufficiently entertained and newly informed with local trivia, we move on.

We check out some of the stately old havelis (traditional homes or mansions, often with striking architectural features) in the town outside the fort, and crisscross the alleyways, avoiding cows and motorcycles as best we can.  The next morning we are up early and head to the Jain temples before the crowds arrive.  The intricate carvings and corridors full of stone tirthankaras--which look like meditating gods--stare at us with wide eyes but no real expression.  We then return for breakfast, leaving again later in the morning to visit the remaining temples which are closed to non-Jains during the majority of the morning.  The amount of detail in the carvings is staggering, and unfortunately for us, difficult to understand without any available context. Breathtaking, though.

A short walk to the nearby man-made lake, where we encounter a beautifully adorned camel amusingly close to the "May I help you sign", comes highly recommended by Baje from the hotel.  We also walk to a viewpoint for the endlessly touted sunset, but have vetoed the much acclaimed camel tour of the desert.  Our ten hours on the road showed us as much as we needed to see of that!  On our last day we get ready for the night train to Jodhpur, where we'll spend our next few days.

Some pictures of Jaisalmer:

City Palace and around town:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/9eaot7f9WkQUmWaA6

Jain Temples:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/qZy4Ki2WnyNjs8Bp9

Wandering the Pink City: Jaipur

A few bumpy hours on the road and we arrive in Jaipur, about 3 million souls packed into another maze of a city.  After getting set up in our oasis of a hotel, we decide to walk the couple of kilometers into the Pink City and get our bearings, courtesy of our ever closer friend, Google maps.  It's a Sunday afternoon, which to some might conjure up quiet leisurely activity, but in Jaipur, most things are in full and manic swing.  The initial part of the walk is through more residential and rather quiet areas, but then we come out onto a main artery leading to the Chandpol Gate into the Pink City.

The Pink City--more accurately the old part of Jaipur, which was a walled city, with the Maharajah's palace within its walls-- continues to be the beating heart of the city.  Laid out in a checkerboard of blocks that today are principally bazaars with a rainbow of wares from textiles to housewares, spices to jewelry--, the buildings are still painted this pinkish rusty color, and the palace, while an extensive complex largely open to tourists, is still also the private home of the Maharajah of Jaipur, when he or his family are in town.  People are out and about in tremendous numbers, and the main road is a rope of intertwined traffic, all honking simultaneously.  We pick up some nut-based snack from one of the stands, sneeze our way through the pungent dust of the spice grinders, walk through the crowds out in force picking through garishly colored decorations and lights for the upcoming Diwali holiday.  We stumble across the highest minaret in town, and eventually retrace our steps to the hotel.

The following morning we forego the walk and take a tuk-tuk to see the City Palace.  We've made the acquaintance of a driver who got us across a major thoroughfare the night before to make our way to a restaurant, and he seems to be a tad more of what we're looking for in a person to just cart us around town.  He has abandoned the killer hard-sell that is present everywhere and with everyone.  He is fatherly in his advice about all the bad people and terrible prices within the palace walls, and waits in a shady square while we tour the sprawling complex.

In addition to the older buildings that now house some of the family's art, textile and old document and photo collections, there are courtyards with stunning gateways, and towering above it all are the private apartments--seven stories high--that comprise the residence.  Some of this sumptuousness can also be visited for a hefty add-on fee, but we take a pass on that.  Each gateway is guarded by regal looking, red-turbaned Gurkha guards, who expertly invite the streams of tourists to take their photos--all for a price, of course!  Every area seems to have jack-in-the-box characters who pop out of the shadows to make unnecessary suggestions about where to take the "best" photos, or to take your photo for you.  It's a bit of a circus, but still a beautiful environment.

Dinesh then takes us to see the Maharajah's family's cenotaphs, also known as Gaitore Ki Chhatriya which lie at the outskirts of this section of Jaipur, under the wandering walls that surrounded his forts and city in years past.  The cenotaphs are amazingly quiet, set up in three separate courtyards, the oldest and furthest being the most ornately carved.  The chattri are like canopies that make up these royal memorial pavilions.  At the feet of the towering walls of the old fortifications, this peaceful place is a respite from the streets of the inner city, where the only sound is that of a group solemnly chanting.

The following day Dinesh is bright and ready as we chug up to the Amber Fort.  He parks and we walk up the zig-zag pathway which is full of elephant traffic carting tourists up the hill to the main courtyard.  Turbaned mahouts sit on the big beasts' heads urging them quickly up and even more quickly back down for another set of riders.  It's a bit fairy-tale like, but the animals are robotic.  Everywhere "photographers" are perched and calling to the riders, hoping to sell a print souvenir of "your maharajah journey".  Through the main gate we arrive in a huge courtyard where we purchase our tickets and are shocked to find busloads of people.  More than we've seen just about anywhere, really.  Some spots--especially the Ganesha gate, are so clogged with sightseers, it's all but impossible to take much in the way of photos.  We meander through the mostly empty corridors and courtyards and blind alleys,  the trying to ignore the obsessive selfie-sphere around us.  There's time to look over the garden, the lone gardener smiling unabashedly at me, and the stunning mirrored walls and ceilings of  the Jai Mandir (Hall of Victories).  The crowds everywhere make for tough going.

Back at the base of the fort we have Dinesh take us to the nearby Anokhi Hand Block Printing museum, housed in a lovely restored old home.  We run into a couple we've befriended earlier in the trip, catch up and really enjoy the exhibits of traditional textiles and regional block prints, along with the demonstrations of how the blocks are carved from teak, and how the printing is actually done.  The four of us seem to have to run of the place, so it's a real treat all around.

Our remaining time in Jaipur is spent wandering to the Hawa Mahal, almost adjacent to the city Palace, where the women lived and from where they could see goings on without being seen themselves.  The front view of the building is a Jaipur classic.  Lots of bazaar wandering has us finding a "street dentist" who sits at the side of the insanely busy road poking barehanded into a suffering man's mouth, the mobile barber with his old-style razor knife, heaps of Diwali decorations(the holiday begins on November 7 this year), and glimpses into everyday life that include tailors, spice vendors, chai carriers and others whose trades we are left guessing at.  Dinesh also takes us to a wonderful carpet making business--they deal in camel's hair along with silk, cotton and wools of various sorts, and some more hand block printing, which is fascinating to watch.

Lots of photos to check out:  note that there are a handful of videos as well.

City Palace and Cenotaphs:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/Cj8ozdrXucxdrpgt9

Around town:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/XSo37MdqB4BVeV4JA

Amber Fort:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/MKGfvuGyBftwrZKX8

Anokhi Museum of Hand Block Printing:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/LXxzTSX3wVoPWhjd6