Jodhpur: Nancy Reagan May Have Been On To Something

(Two posts today - trying to catch up)

The drive from Jaisalmer to Jodpur was unremarkable, mostly because it retraced much of the same ground we covered already.  Jaisalmer was as far west as we will go.  Now we start headed east back toward New Delhi. 

We checked into the Taj Hari Mahal, a replica of a Mughal palace.  It was a very luxurious hotel . . . about 30 years ago.  Unfortunately, nothing’s really been fixed or updated since then.  It’s a far step below the Taj Group’s other hotel in town, the Umaid Bhatwan Palace.  But at a $500 a night difference, we took the run-down replica.

After having lunch, our driver suggested that we go check out Sadar Bazaar, the famous outdoor market of Jodhpur.  Regrettably, we went.  This is where I will start my rant about the outdoor bazaars of India.  They are disgusting and there is no reason on earth to visit them.  It truly is an insult to all of the senses. 

There are no sidewalks, so you constantly have to watch out laterally to dodge cars, bicycles (one fell on me and cut my leg), autorickshaws, dogs, cows, people carrying buckets of water or cement on their heads, etc.  Then, you have to constantly look down because there’s cow shit everywhere (yes, this is a food market too – yum yum).  And this isn’t you’re ordinary Nebraska cow shit.  Nebraska cows eat grass and have fairly mild-grass-filled shit.  Here the cows eat garbage, so their shit is a runny green mess that covers the streets and is smeared about by the cars and people.  The smell of cow shit mixes with the constant smell of burning garbage and diesel exhaust to thoroughly overwhelm you nose so that you begin to taste the smell.  Then you constantly hear the honking of cars, motorcycles, and auto-rickshaws.  It’s not quite enough to just be one steady stream of honks, so it’s a constant thumping of HONK, HONK, HONK.  Not only that, but every person you pass either proposes that you follow them to their uncle’s shop, or asks you “Where from?”  Then you have the beggars, usually at waist height, poking you to get your attention.  And why you would want to buy anything here is beyond me.  They’re selling textiles and garments that have been sitting out in the dust, grime, and shit for days.  (Yes, I wrote this after being thoroughly disgruntled with the whole outdoor bazaar experience.  But I think it pretty well captures the frustration we felt whenever trying to venture outd

oors.)

We escaped the outdoor bazaar mostly unscathed (aside from the cut on my leg) and, after a good night sleep, went to the city’s main attraction, Meherangarh Fort.  Of all the places we have visited so far, this was the best.  This 13^th century fort has been beautifully restored.  It has opulently painted rooms where the Maharaja would make appearances.  Each Maharaja left his own stamp on the place, one with a high ceiling owing to his 7-foot and 350 pound body. One Maharaja’s bedroom contained a mix of European and Indian styles, complete with the original ceramic tiles that he ordered from Europe in the 1600s.  The skill with which they built this, and the care that went into restoring it, were amazing. 

The Fort had a resident astrologist, and a reading was only four bucks, so Brian L. decided to kill a little time and get a reading.  Expecting a smarmy tourist trap, we were instead greeted by a very serious, professorial looking man, probably in his sixties.  After asking Brian his date, time, and place of birth, the astrologer examined Brian’s palms and fingernails.  He then proceeded to describe in great detail Brian’s personality, health status, love life, work life, and f

uture.  His level of detail and accuracy became a little creepy at times.  He also nailed the exact ages at which Brian made significant career changes (going to law school and leaving the law for politics).  

Surprised by the accuracy of Brian’s reading, I decided that I’d give it a go.  My reading was not quite as accurate as Brian.  He stumbled around a little and got a few details very wrong.  But being the undying skeptic that I am, it still was much better than I had expected. 

The good news is that Brian and I will not have many health difficulties and we both will live into our eighties. 

Emerging from the astrologer’s small office, we returned to the audio tour of the fort.  Many of these forts have such audio tours, which are surprisingly good.  They have a number of benefits, but the biggest is that the supposed “government approved guides” generally leave you alone when they see you with the headphones.  The device itself is basically an MP3 pl

ayer that lets you choose which features you want to learn about.  We generally tried to stay on the suggested course of these things, but some were of more interest to us than others, and we usually ended up skipping some of the finer details on the textiles and the guns.

Until 1979, Nergengarh fort was locked-up, dilapidated and covered in bat droppings.  But the current Maharaja, Gaj Singh, started a foundation to save the fort, and it has since been beautifully restored. Gaj Siingh was born in the year of Independence (1947) and was only four years old when his father died in a plane crashand he assumed the (now only ceremonial) title of Maharaja.  In addition to the title, he also inherited wealth, and he lived a life of privilege.  He was educated in Oxford and now lives the life of old-money.  He has a financial stake in several businesses and he has started and funded many charitable organizations (such as the project to restore the fort) that are doing great work. 

Gaj Singh resides at Umaid Bhawan palace, which was the next stop on our tour.  This palace was built by Gaj’s grandfather in 1930 as a famine relief project.  It kept 3,000 peopl

e employed for 16 years, and the end result is a beautiful art-deco palace that has been impeccably maintained.  Gaj Singh resides in one-third, a small part is devoted to a museum, and the remainder is an opulent luxury hotel (that you have to pay $60 just to visit; we didn’t visit!).

The morning that we left Jodhpur, both Brian and I questioned the accuracy of the astrologer’s prediction that we would be healthy and live to age 80.  We both felt like we were going to die.  In Mexico, they call it Montezuma’s revenge.  Here, the call it Delhi Belly.  You get the idea.  We both groaned and held our stomachs as we started the bumpy drive eastward.