Jovial in Jodhpur

We arrived at a highly recommended humble little hideaway named Singhv's Haveli after a surprisingly fairly priced rickshaw journey. Following the belligerent brush with the ballistic policeman over the embezzled bag, we must've been resonating staunch immovability with our sour moods palpable, as there was far less of a battle with the throng of vying drivers than usual. Giant guilded gates dotted with ornate bolts creaked inwards to reveal a quaint little courtyard skirted by the sharply rising yet unimposing walls of rickety floors creeping above. Up a steep and tottering stair case sat the charming restaurant strewn with comfy pillow loungers amidst billowing lengths of colourful drapes.

www.singhvihaveli.com

We ventured on up intricate entanglement of precipitous little pathways seemingly hollowed directly out of rock, and past a gloriously adorned lounge room complete with a marble chess set and fantastic feature long and decadent hanging swing in the centre of the room, we found ourselves atop the 5 story historical haveli heading for the master suite. Unlocking our beautiful baroque doorway we found an unbelievable room nestled inside which was fit for a maharaja.

The cosy period room was glowing with warm terracotta walls adorned in intricate Indian art and snug little enclaves situated around ambient stained glass windows, where we sat to gape out regularly. The view as we opened our doors was magnificent as we were nestled in the center of the old city, basking in the blue hued landscape under the towering shade of the great Mehrangarh Fort which overlooks the city from 400 foot above. Thankfully a huge proportion of the population has retained the indigo style residency which is endemic to Jodhpur. Allegedly the preferred colour of the Brahmin holy men in ancient times, other townspeople followed suit either in appreciation of the aesthetics, or as the colour is said to deflect the sun rays cooling the home whilst acting as a repellant for pesky mosquitos. Whatever the reason, the effect is stunning.

After a brief jaunt through the quaint and quiet streets locating some new underwear to restock Jack's depleted wardrobe, we spent the evening drinking beers and eating endlessly to ward off any prevailing negativity generated in the dreadful police lair earlier that morning. The initially coy haveli staff relaxed in our progressively drunken and giggly company and a thin, epically moustached man even retrieved me several packets of biscuits when I asked whether there were any stored in the depths of the kitchen, which we happily shared. Every single time we headed up or downstairs to our beautiful room I couldn't resist a surreal sweep in the golden swing that hung in the middle of the lounge. How often do you get to do something so random indoors, let alone in a stony haveli in the middle of India! Each oscillation made me laugh hysterically with joy, and I don't think Jack became bored of it, even after the hundredth time. The beer intake definitely helped with these tolerance levels I think. He even got involved:

The next day we circumvented the magnificent Fort and took a casual early saunter, navigating busier morning streets heading for the centre of town. Wider and endlessly more spacious than the streets of Varanasi we were able to walk at a leisurely and deeply appreciated relaxed pace observing the business of the locals. Rough natural cotton was gathered in huge bundles to sell to bed makers, and shops of glittering metals housed skilled workmen beating pieces of copper into a vast array of attractive looking cooking tools. Everyone was resoundingly friendly and calm and we felt peaceful. The centre was inhabited by a larger more busy market supplying infinite ladies' arms with infinite glitzy bangles, and miles of beautiful shiny Indian hair with hundreds of sparkling clips and brooches. We came across a tiny little spectacle-clad old Indian stood atop a small stool amidst swaying stacks of eggs piled high into the sky. This old grafter has been running his omlette business since the late 1960's and has frequented the pages of innumerable travel documents and guides over the years. And so for breakfast we ate a world famous delicious omlette cooked to perfection over his well-worn pan, which alledgedly fries through 2,000 eggs daily.

We strolled through the steadily inclining zig-zag streets making our way to the entrance of the breath-taking Fort. Having stashed one of our two cameras so as to avoid the mounting costs of photographic equipment which is charged as an irritating extra at all tourist hotspots in India, we paid our entrance fee and began ascending the enormous stony passage to the entrance gates. For all the Lonely Planet's miscalculations, they had appropriately deemed this the best Fort in maybe all of India, and we felt inclined to agree. Sat atop a vast rocky hill jutting out majestically, described by Rudyard Kipling as 'the work of angels and giants', the Fort formidably fringes the city dripping history and intrigue onto all in the streets below. As legend has it, Rathore ruler Roa Jodha chose Bhaurcheeri, the mountain of birds, for the site of his hefty stronghold in 1459, and displaced a solitary hermit named Cheeeriq Nathji, or Lord of the Birds, in order to begin his work. Deeply unimpressed with the irrefutable relocation, Cheeriq cursed the ruler with "Jodha! May your citadel ever suffer a scarcity of water!" Although responsive Rao Jodha attempted to appease the hermit by building a house and temple within the Fort in close proximity to the cave used by the hermit for meditation, even today the area is plagued by a drought every 3 to 4 years. To instigate a more auspicious beginning, Jodha selected the next hill along and this time buried a man alive in the foundations for good luck. Good luck for all, except for the sacrificed Raja Ram Meghwal really. However, he was promised that in return his family would be ever looked after by the Rathores and to this day his descendants still live in estate bequeathed to them by Jodha over 650 years ago.

A collection of stunning facial hair

These tantilising tales were recounted for us through the theatrical narrative of the complimentary audio guides, which Jack and I set to play at each prompted interval with exquisite timing so we could enjoy the stories in perfect unison. The gigantic entrance gates were angled on a corner at the end of the winding pathway and laden with lofty piercing spikes to deter the forceful fury of elephant attacks, which we thought was very clever. In addition to the 20 meter thick imposing walls and other impressive structural features Mehrangarh Fort has remained utterly impenetrable throughout its long military history. The ornate facades of stunningly carved temple and artistic turrets instilled an inspiring antiquity in every corner. A robust armoury display harrowed our souls with aggressive instruments of violent combat from centuries gone by. Some of the best preserved and decadent palanquins, traditional seating vehicles mounted atop elephants, camels or 6-8 hardworking yet unlucky men, were on display in the middle of the Fort. The views were formidable and a gentle feeling of awe and admiration generated by our aerial perspective drew you into an ambiance of old wherein you could easily imagine the security offered by such a building in the face of an advancing army. 

We hobbled down the cobbled streets under evening's shadow having watched the sun sink sublimely over the rocky horizon beyond the city's ancient wall. A relaxing saunter to a nearby and vibesy establishment dripping in quintessential colourful drapes and mood lighting afforded us aa quiet beer and snack stop before bed. Jodhpur had certainly treated us well with its warm inhabitants and epic history lessons, and we'd instantly fallen in love with the place. Splashing out on our room for 2,400 rupees per night, approximately £22 and our second most expensive lodgings, was wonderful therapy for the hectic prelude at the police station. Funnily enough, when reiterating our experience here to Indian friends later down the line, referring to Jodhpur with similar pronunciation to that of a pair of jodphurs a jockey might sport simply evoked confused expressions and incomprehension. We had berated the Lonely Planet for its 'Language' section which displayed such translations as 'rest-oo-rent' for restaurant, and 'thaynk-ooh' for thank you, but actually this panned out to be incredibly useful and we learned that simply sounding the word out as Jodhpuur with accent on the final vowel induced immediate understanding and the traditional Indian head wobble of acknowledgment. Whatever this place was called, however it's expressed, we loved the majestic blue city of calm and could have nestled there for much longer soaking up its serenity and giggling our pants off.