Jodhpur

**post complete**

There’s not a whole lot to tell about Jodhpur.  If I’m wrong, I’ll be doing a Jodhpur, Part II, but this seems like a one-horse, I mean a one-blog-post town.

I found the Cloak Room at the Jodhpur station after only 20 minutes of walking and asking people, which I consider a success.  The Cloak Room man didn’t speak much English, but a fellow passenger that stumbled in a few minutes into our attempts to communicate brokered the languages and I got my receipt.

I got a rickshaw up to the main fort here, which is nice to see, but it doesn’t open until 9a, and it’s about 6a when I arrive.  The road that climbs up to the fort is a really long one and I’m glad I got a tuk-tuk to get me to the top.  The man says he’ll wait for 1 hour or 2 hours (there’s a waiting charge), but I tell him I don’t need him as I figure the autos will be dime a dozen soon enough for the return trip.

I get out and take some pictures of the fort.  The view of the “Blue City” is obscured by telephone and electric wires which is disappointing.  Another vantage from within the Blue City area would work better, but there’s no easy way to get there from here, so I write it off.  I have a seat on a stone ledge and some old men across the way are looking at me and laughing.  I’m not sure why they’re laughing, but it doesn’t bother me.  A group of boys come up and want to talk.  1) because they’re interested in me as a foreigner who is not ignoring them, and 2) because they want to ask for pens and 10rs each.  We have a fun exchange and I show them pictures.  I ask them for a pen because I actually have been looking for one for a month.  They think I’m pulling their leg, but I’m not.  If one of them produced one, I would have bought it!

I find an interesting angle for some photos off to the side in what looks like some people’s personal alley.  A couple guys (unrelated) come up and we have a conversation.  Many of the conversations revolve around how much things cost in America.  They want to know what I do for a living.  They want to know how much I make in a year.  Then they want to know how much I make in a month.  They want to know if I’m married and if I have children.  They want to know why my wife and child did not come to India.  They want to know what I think about India.  They want to know where I’ve been in India, where I’m headed next, how I’m getting from here to there, and how long I’ll be in the country.  Then they want to know how much stuff costs, and the remainder of the time is spent trying to do the calculations between US Dollars and Indian Rupees either in my head or on the calculator I have on my phone.  I should make a sheet and laminate it.  No, I’m kidding.  It hasn’t gotten old for me yet, as each time it’s a new face and new level of surprise.  I try to explain that we earn much more than they do, but we also pay much more than they do for similar things.  For instance, a deluxe thali meal here might be 100rs, but in America it might be the equivalent of 1000rs.

After a while, I’ve seen as much as I’d like, and it’s only been a couple of hours.  I decide there’s nothing inside that warrants me getting heat stroke in the sun, and beside I’ve gotten most of the shots I’ve wanted already.  There are a few sites on the way down the long walk back into Jodhpur and no empty tuk-tuks are heading my way.

I find an interesting statue and some (hopefully) scenic shots of another fort and another group of boys come up, this time maybe late teens.  We have a conversation and I ask about a rickshaw and how much it should cost.  They tell me to go down the hill more, and to get to the train station it should be about 50rs.  I love knowing what an Indian pays.  I thank them and head on my way, and after about 2 minutes, half of them pull up on a single motorcycle.  They offer me a ride.

I simply can’t refuse.

I am riding 4th on the back of a (maybe) 250cc motorcycle, my daypack and camera bag slung on my shoulders, heading down the twisties and back into Jodhpur proper where there are rickshaws again.  We see a small collection of autos and they stop at the bottom of the hill.  I disembark and they ask no money.  I thank them and they drive off, probably glad for the extra seat room.

While at the fort and sitting on the stone ledge, I pulled up the guidebook on my phone (which doesn’t work very well.  If you are reading this in preparation for a similar trip, don’t bother with the .pdf versions unless you’re working on a tablet of some sort, it’s just too hard to navigate the maps, and the rendering takes forever (even on fast devices)).  In the guidebook, I found the name of a hotel with good reviews near the train station.  I told the rickshaw-wallah to go there, and after asking for directions three times, we arrive.

The hotel charges me 18 US Dollars for 8 hours, but I don’t have much choice.  It is actually a nice little place, and I’m happy to part with the money to make my days in between train trips a little easier.  This hotel has an AC room, a restaurant on the top terrace, a regular flush toilet (that does flush), and some conveniently placed electrical outlets.  When I check in, they give me a partial roll of toilet paper and a towel.  I ask for some soap and they provide it which is a rarity (I have soap, but it’s in my bag in the Cloak Room).

I go to the rooftop restaurant and order 2 “half-fried” eggs, instead of “scrumbled,” and get 2 canned mango juices and a water.  I see French toast with “mapple” syrup, which is a first since I’ve been on the sub-continent, and I order that too.  The eggs precede the French toast by about 7 minutes, and the waiter man asks me if I want toast.  Sure, why not, toast is good for what ails ya.  I tell him butter jam toast.  While I’m waiting for my toast or French toast either one, I’m watching the squirrel four feet above me and to my left, lying on the bamboo rafter of the terrace’s thatched shade roof.  He’s twitching his tail every now and again.  Indian squirrels are really cute and are sized about halfway between a North American ground squirrel and a typical chipmunk.  Well, halfway between a regular North American ground squirrel and a chipmunk.  In December we went to NYC and saw some squirrels that looked like they were crossed with hogs.

I ended up stuffing the entire mess into my belly which has to be my largest meal yet, and take the remaining half liter of water back to my room which is where I am now, enjoying the AC.  This room is already reserved for someone else today, so they will put the other guy somewhere else until I leave.  Poor chap.  It’s interesting to see the other side of it.  First money talks loudest.

So here I sit, catching up on posts (I’m current again, yay!), and I’m trying to resist sleep as I have an 18 hour train journey to Mumbai in 4 hours and want to sleep as much of the trip as I can.

I will write again, probably from Goa, which will be a few days from now.  Maybe I’ll be able to get some pics uploaded from Goa for the last several posts.  We will see…