Jodhpur

Thursday 30 December – Saturday 1 January 2000

By early afternoon, we had arrived in Jodhpur and eventually found ourselves on the long winding road that leads up the hill to the Umaid Bhawan Palace Hotel.  Arriving at the gated entrance, we would have been justified in thinking we’d booked into Buckingham Palace for the next three nights but this was India, as magnificent as it is squalid.  Designed by the president of the British Royal Institute of Architects for the Maharaja Umaid Singh, work started on the marble and pink sandstone structure in 1929 (Depression?  What Depression?) and took 15 years to complete.  After the Maharaja’s death, the building was turned into a hotel with the spacious grandeur of something built for Royalty.

The city of Jodhpur is situated on the edge of the Thar Desert and, after Jaipur, is the largest city in Rajasthan.  It is dominated by a massive fort, which straddles a sheer rocky ridge right in the centre of town.   All across the old city, indigo painted houses stand out bright and colourful.  Traditionally, blue signified the home of a Brahmin but more recently, non-Brahmins have also taken on the tradition, perhaps in part as it is believed that the color worked as an effective mosquito repellent!

Although a walk through the jumble of winding streets within the old city, alive with stalls, traffic and continuous noise, was fascinating in itself, the main attraction of Jodhpur was without doubt the Meherangarh or Majestic Fort.  Set atop a large hill, it could be seen for miles around.  Inside, there was a series of courtyards and palaces.  The palace apartments housed exhibits of all kinds from Rajput armoury, furniture and costumes to elephant howdahs (seats), miniature paintings and even cradles.  

As we walked around on New Year's Eve day, we saw preparations being made for the grand party that night and felt extraordinarily privileged that as guests at the Umaid Bhawan Palace Hotel, we had the opportunity to attend the party “by invitation of Their Highnesses the Maharaja and Maharani of Marwar – Jodhpur”.  Upon purchase of an extortionately priced ticket of course!  The invitation tried to add a little flavor to the much awaited celebrations, setting the scene in an oh-so-flowery Indian way by observing that we would be “in a procession that will transport you to the medieval ages in a wave of color and sound; rising to a crescendo as the last moments of this Millennium approach and the 21st Century surges forward to carry you into the future of hope, harmony and happiness”.  Obviously this was a party not to be missed.

That night, we were driven up to the historic Fatehpol (Victory Gate) and gathered to await the arrival of the Maharaja.  The massive wooden doors of the gate were tightly closed, keeping us in suspense as to what lay in wait for us behind them.  To the left of the gate was a makeshift bandstand with musicians in white uniforms trying to get their fingers around old Christmas favorites such as 'Jingle Bells' and 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer'.  Suddenly, the tempo changed and the band produced an off-beat waltz (the significance of which we never did figure out), as the Maharaja and his family rolled up in a gleaming vintage Rolls.

After a few words of welcome, inviting us to join him in the procession to the ramparts of the fort, he beat on the face of the immense wooden doors barring our way to the interior and, abracadabra, the doors opened to an unforgettable scene of regal pageantry.  Waiting inside were several bejeweled camels and horses all dressed up in traditional Rajput finery.  Around them swirled dancers, their faces hidden, their dresses swirling, while the men made merry with their drums and flutes. 

Following the Maharajah, we made our way slowly up the incline into the inner reaches of the fort, passing under bridges and walking beside high ledges where yet more woman dancers were swirling to musical accompaniments provided by the ring of musicians sitting cross-legged on the ground around them.  Rose petals were strewn in our path, lilts of different tunes mingled in the air, and the light of hundreds of candles and torches flickered and gleamed in the night, casting shadows across the cobbled path and high stone walls.  It was mesmerising.  In fact, it was hard to take it all in, the colours, the different shades of light, the smells, the noises all making up a part of this fantasy-like scenes unfolding before us.

Half way up there was a pit stop where glasses were refilled and energy was recharged for the final ascent.  As we reached the top, just before the final flight of steps that led us up onto the magnificent ramparts, we were bedazzled with yet more forms of entertainment.  Traditional puppet shows were in progress, acrobats whirled through the air performing cartwheels and somersaults, and fire-eaters and magicians weaved their way through the crowd:  a feast for the senses.

At the top of the ramparts, we looked down the sheer drop below us to the city, its lights flickering and casting a peaceful glow upon the night sky.  A line of cannons ran along the length of the ramparts, embedded in the stone, their barrels facing out over the city.  Waiters passed among the throng of people handing out food and drinks and we were now free to wander through the many rooms and palaces that were open to us.  Many of the rooms were strewn with cushions and adorned with swaths of cloth hung between the walls.  Hundreds of tiny oil lamps lined the pathways between the palace rooms, and in one of the smaller courtyards a bar and disco had been set up to welcome in the new millennium.  But the biggest feast of all was the immense barbecue that had been set out in the large courtyard.  From cold cuts to whole roasted pigs, there was something for everyone.  Salads of all descriptions lined the buffet tables, and there were even tandoori ovens and tawa hotplates manned by chefs producing fresh, piping hot breads including traditional naan, chapatis and parathas.  There were as many hot dishes as there were salads and almost twice as many desserts to choose from, as if you would still have room for more after sampling all the culinary delights on offer!  It was truly a feast fit for a king.

After dinner, there was dancing and as the new millennium dawned, a spectacular fireworks display above the ramparts.  Our necks craning to look high up into the sky above us, we saw rocket after rocket lighting up the night sky.  Below us in the city, smaller firework displays were also in progress, and it was a bizarre sensation to be looking down on them as they burst open, spreading their colors across the backdrop of the city rather than the sky itself.  Firework safety was seemingly not the number one priority of those in charge of pyrotechnics at the fort, and we were both thankful and amazed that none of the men setting them off were harmed; it seemed at times as if the rocket would take one of them with it as it whizzed up into the air, a line of fire erupting from its tail. 

After the fireworks, dancing once again became the order of the day and more prizes were announced for 'the best dressed couple' or 'the most outrageous dancer' of the evening.  We were impressed by the prizes being offered:  weekends at exclusive resorts in Goa; a two night stay at the best hotel in Delhi; or a boondoggle at a sister hotel of the Umaid Bhawan elsewhere in the country.  It seemed well worth making a fool of yourself on the dance floor if those were the kinds of things you could win.  But soon, the last of the prizes had been handed out and only one remained, for the 'Millennium Couple'.  Intrigued by what they would be handing out for this apparently top prize of the evening, we decided to hang around and see what the winners got to take home.  Finally, the judges had made their decision and announced that the Millennium Couple of 2000 would be …. Eric and Pippa!!!! 

Apart from being somewhat taken aback, we suddenly got very excited.  Could we be taking home a free weekend at a top resort in Goa?  Or maybe a few extra nights at the Umaid Bhawan?  We stepped up to the podium, brimming with anticipation.  But this time, instead of a plain white envelope (like the one that had contained the weekend in Goa), there were two wrapped gifts.  “Some jewelry for Pippa” the man announced (wow, a diamond necklace, maybe?), “and, for Eric, some traditional Indian clothing” (a pang of disappointment, but whatever it was would probably be made of the finest silk).  We thanked him profusely.  On regaining our former positions, next to Pippa’s brother and parents, we unwrapped our prizes with a great sense of excitement.  And the prizes?  Well, tacky, plastic costume jewelry for the woman who never wears jewelry, and a cotton nightgown for the man who could have won the prize for 'most non-Indian body type'.  Oh for that weekend in Goa. 

When we arrived back at the hotel in the early hours, our New Year celebrations were far from over.  Courtesy of CNN, we had brought in the first new year of the millennium with the people of  Kiribati earlier that afternoon.  This time, we tuned in to watch our New Year celebrations back home, and at around 05.00am saw the fireworks along the Thames in London, followed later that morning by the crystal ball falling at Times Square in New York and finally, in the early afternoon, put a call into Eric’s family in California to wish them a Happy New Year as their new millennium dawned almost half a day later.

Needless to say, no-one surfaced until early afternoon on New Year’s Day when we gathered at the restaurant on the pillared terrace overlooking the gardens to eat and decide what to do with our day.  We ended up deciding on a game of croquet which lasted the rest of the day and which Pippa’s mum lost, courtesy of her son in law!

Osiyan

Sunday 2 January 2000

The next morning, there were several tearful goodbyes as Pippa’s mother and father left to return to Delhi and then London while we, still accompanied by Pippa’s brother, Jerry, headed further west to Jaiselmer in another rented car (complete with reckless driver).

We headed first for the town of Osiyan, a great trading centre between the 8th and 12th centuries when it was dominated by the Jains.  We arrived as night was falling and with limited options on accommodation, found ourselves in a deserted pilgrim hostel, courtesy of the head priest at the Jain temple.  We had read in the guidebook that there was a range of tented accommodation available at a nearby Camel Camp but at $200 a night, the novelty of sleeping under canvas diminishes rapidly.  Instead, we warmed ourselves on cardamom tea and coffee, then went to visit the temple in darkness.  A family had rented the temple for the evening (by means of a hefty donation) in order to hold a vigil for a recent family member who had died.  They were singing and praying but nonetheless welcomed us in to join them.  With no electricity inside the temple, shadows from the flickering oil lamps danced around the temple.  Amid this eerie atmosphere, we felt very self conscious looking around at the magnificent carvings and sculptures while this seemingly unstructured ceremony unfolded.  People would come and go, sometimes halting proceedings to presumably ask a question or inform others of something that had happened. After brief consultation among themselves, the chanting would recommence and random bits of music from a bell or drum would float out into the night air. 

After half an hour or so, we bade our goodnights and made our way back to the hostel, telling the priest we would be back the following morning to take some photos of the exterior.  That night, we ate at the roadside with our driver, huddled round a makeshift fire which was kept alive with anything that could be burnt – paper, cardboard boxes, even soles of old shoes – and learning more of the culture in this fascinating country while locals looked on in wonder.

We were up early the following morning, admiring the temple in the light of day.  Jainism arose around 500 BC, around the same time as Buddhism, and although they displaced Hinduism in central and northern India for a time, Hinduism continued to be the principal religion in the south.  Unlike the Buddhists, however, the Jains never really denied their Hindu heritage and their faith never extended beyond India. 

A significant amount of painstaking restoration was taking place, which, given the level of detail in the Osiyan sculptures, was apparently slow to progress.  Even though we had already seen what is considered to be the greatest Jain temple in India at Ranakpur, we were still impressed by the quality of carvings here.  The only thing that gave us pause was why the female body appeared in so many scantily-clad and provocative guises within the confines of a temple.  The priest explained to us that it was through the experience of sin that the Jains believed they evolved learning to renounce the desire which tainted all human experience.  Good answer!

Jaisalmer

Monday 3 January - Tuesday 4 January 2000

We arrived in Jaisalmer by mid-morning and as we approached, marveled at this giant sandcastle look-alike rising out of the middle of the desert.  Centuries ago, Jaisalmer’s strategic position on the camel train routes between India and Central Asia meant it acquired significant wealth, hence allowing the townspeople and merchants to build magnificent houses, exquisitely carved from wood and golden sandstone.  With the rise of shipping trade, Jaisalmer declined in importance but nowadays was making a big comeback with tourism.

This was perhaps the only negative side to Jaisalmer.  Aesthetically, it was a wonderful place to wander.  The massive fort rose above the city, a warren of narrow, paved streets brimming with Jain temples and the old palace of the former ruler.  Unlike any of the forts we had seen previously, this one was an integral part of the city.  Guesthouses, restaurants, shops and homes could all be found within the gates, hidden down the many alleyways.  In fact, about a quarter of the city’s population resided within the fort walls; this was in brilliant contrast to the empty palaces housing small-scale museums elsewhere. 

Beyond the fort was the old city, situated within the old city walls.  There were yet more winding streets and many fine examples of the old sandstone mansions built by the wealthy merchants of Jaisalmer, known as h.  Some displayed exquisite carvings in wood or sandstone.  Just outside the city walls was the old water supply to the city surrounded by many small temples and shrines.  It was a peaceful walk around the lake and gave us a chance to reflect on how much we had enjoyed our visit to Jaisalmer.  Despite the huge influx in tourism (and with it, the burgeoning business in restaurants serving banana pancakes), Jaisalmer had retained a unique ambiance.

Bikaner

Wednesday 5 January – Friday 7 January 2000

From Jaisalmer, we took a bus northeast to Bikaner, 30 kilometres (20 miles) south of which lay our destination: the Karni Mata Temple, better known as the 'Temple of Rats'.  Here, rats are considered to be incarnations of mystics or ancestors, and are brought offerings of food by a steady stream of believers.  There are literally thousands of rats running riot throughout the temple complex, and they like visitors.  Definitely not for the squeamish.

We knew we would have to leave our shoes at the door (as with all other temples), although at the threshold the idea of not having any protection against these esteemed vermin became less than appealing.  But we were not leaving before we’d seen this for ourselves, and within a second of stepping foot into the inner courtyard, a black rat sped across our paths.  Then, we saw more … and more of these oh-so-revolting rodents.  The floor was writhing with them, a sea of black fur, long tails and protruding incisors.  Avoiding them was hopeless, but, as our driver had advised us, it was a stroke of good fortune to have one run across our feet so we stood, eyes closed, toes curled as soon as we were close enough for them to be swarming round our ankles.  Large bowls of food, both inside the temple and in the courtyard itself, were teeming with rats of all sizes.  The guidebook noted that eating this holy food that has been salivated over by the rats also apparently brings good luck but that we were definitely not going to try.

But the big excitement of our visit was spotting the white rat.  Our driver had told us that any wish we made would come true were we to see this highly auspicious temple resident.  Locals were crowding round a doorway where it had been spotted, trying to entice it out with food.  The air was electric, each and every person willing this rodent out of its hole in order to cast good fortune on all those who saw it.  We were soon rewarded with a very positive sighting of this holy rodent, resplendent in his whiteness from head to tail.  And what did we wish for?  Well, we had just learned Pippa was pregnant, and wished for a healthy baby ... and in September, a strapping baby girl was duly born.  So we can heartily recommend the white whiskered wonder of Bikaner.

Before leaving town, we paid a visit to the Camel Research and Breeding Farm and learnt all about these weird and majestic creatures.  We also visited the fort (a must do in all Indian cities that have them) and took a long wander through the city.  We were rewarded with sightings of some spectacular havelis and old Jain temples but after one day, we’d seen pretty much all there was to explore and the next morning were on a train to Delhi; a typically long, unremarkable journey.