JODPHUR: January 18
Matchstick tourists look down from the fortress balconies. They look out across the town and beyond the outer fortifications to a ravaged land of rock quarries. The sky on the horizon is sun-bleached.
Uphill views are always preferable. Near distance, middle distance and far distance add depth. Meanwhile three green parakeets have begun an argument in my tree – or perhaps discussion is more accurate; they don't sound cross. Doves have occupied every available hole on the rock face and in the fortress walls. They coo softly. Gliding off the fortress, their arched wings have the rigidity of plastic models.
Showing posts with label Mahrangrah Fort. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mahrangrah Fort. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
WHO NEEDS PSYCHEDELICS?
JODPHUR: January 18
Swim along a coral reef and all you'll see are the big fish and the big coral. Stay still, the more you notice. It is an unpeeling process. Detail by smaller detail emerges, fish small and bright as small jewels. Traveling is the same. I have been seated here on the parapet beneath this tree for close on two hours. Enough sun filters through the leaves to keep me pleasantly warm. Mostly I have been looking upward. Rather than separate, the fortress appears to be a continuation of the precipice from which it grows, rock on rock, up and up, the highest levels honeycombed with decorative caves and balconies and topped with a filigreed crown of carved marble. The sky beyond the fortress is a clear royal blue of extraordinary depth. Tilting my head to the left I can view the sky and the fortress though an old stone arch and over a newish building of golden sandstone. The contrast between golden sandstone, grey rock and sky is of a beauty to be enjoyed and enjoyed and be blown away by. Who needs psychedelics? And why move until the sun sets? Such blissful peace is hard to come by when traveling in company...
Swim along a coral reef and all you'll see are the big fish and the big coral. Stay still, the more you notice. It is an unpeeling process. Detail by smaller detail emerges, fish small and bright as small jewels. Traveling is the same. I have been seated here on the parapet beneath this tree for close on two hours. Enough sun filters through the leaves to keep me pleasantly warm. Mostly I have been looking upward. Rather than separate, the fortress appears to be a continuation of the precipice from which it grows, rock on rock, up and up, the highest levels honeycombed with decorative caves and balconies and topped with a filigreed crown of carved marble. The sky beyond the fortress is a clear royal blue of extraordinary depth. Tilting my head to the left I can view the sky and the fortress though an old stone arch and over a newish building of golden sandstone. The contrast between golden sandstone, grey rock and sky is of a beauty to be enjoyed and enjoyed and be blown away by. Who needs psychedelics? And why move until the sun sets? Such blissful peace is hard to come by when traveling in company...
ONE VERY SMART ASS
JODPHUR: January 18
To my right a bunch of donkeys carrying empty sacks stand placidly beside a pile of builder's sand. All the donkeys but one are small and grey. The exception is white, larger and older than the others. He keeps to the shade of a tree while a labourer loads the other mokes with sand. Last to be loaded, he intends to be unloaded first and heads immediately down a steep dirt path with the others following. One very smart ass...
To my right a bunch of donkeys carrying empty sacks stand placidly beside a pile of builder's sand. All the donkeys but one are small and grey. The exception is white, larger and older than the others. He keeps to the shade of a tree while a labourer loads the other mokes with sand. Last to be loaded, he intends to be unloaded first and heads immediately down a steep dirt path with the others following. One very smart ass...
MOVING HOUSE
JODPHUR: January 18
I have written of the art deco glories of the Umaid Bhawan Palace. The Maharajas of Jodphur moved house in the the 1940s from the Palace within Mehrangrah Fort. Founded in 1459, Mahrangrah is the finest fort in India, the best preserved, cleanest and best organised for the visitor with excellent audio guides for rent at the ticket office. OK, so that's enough of the tour guide spiel. A rickshaw driver asks for 100 rupees to run me up the hill. We settle for forty. The narrow twisting lane through town is surfaced with craters divided by drains and speed bumps. Why speed bumps when a Ducati under maximum acceleration might make 15 KPH before the next bend or the next hole in the road? That is without cows, rickshaws, motorbikes, bikes, pushcarts, absentminded pedestrians and kids playing tag. Sunday and a never ending river of visitors flows up from the ticket office. My fellow Oldies stumble upward. Watch their eyes as they measure how much further they must climb, questioning whether they can make it, understanding now the ambulance on stand-by below the first gate. All have guide books in hand, camera at the ready. The current weakens on the outside of a sharp hairpin above the second gate. I break clear, turn down hill towards the Chokelao Palace and find a comfortable parapet shaded by a small tree.
I have written of the art deco glories of the Umaid Bhawan Palace. The Maharajas of Jodphur moved house in the the 1940s from the Palace within Mehrangrah Fort. Founded in 1459, Mahrangrah is the finest fort in India, the best preserved, cleanest and best organised for the visitor with excellent audio guides for rent at the ticket office. OK, so that's enough of the tour guide spiel. A rickshaw driver asks for 100 rupees to run me up the hill. We settle for forty. The narrow twisting lane through town is surfaced with craters divided by drains and speed bumps. Why speed bumps when a Ducati under maximum acceleration might make 15 KPH before the next bend or the next hole in the road? That is without cows, rickshaws, motorbikes, bikes, pushcarts, absentminded pedestrians and kids playing tag. Sunday and a never ending river of visitors flows up from the ticket office. My fellow Oldies stumble upward. Watch their eyes as they measure how much further they must climb, questioning whether they can make it, understanding now the ambulance on stand-by below the first gate. All have guide books in hand, camera at the ready. The current weakens on the outside of a sharp hairpin above the second gate. I break clear, turn down hill towards the Chokelao Palace and find a comfortable parapet shaded by a small tree.
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