Yet Another Travel Journal in this (Too) Familiar Rajasthan, But with Family and Kids (page 5 of 11)

Otherwise, I also want to tell you that while you advocate for traveling in the conditions that work for you and kinda mock those "chochotes" who rely on a car with a driver, it’s fine for young folks, but we can’t handle that kind of stress with buses or trains anymore once you hit a certain age. Even if I’m not the "chochote" type myself...

Where did I "mock the wimps who use a car with a driver"? Where did I contradict the idea that from a certain age, it’s simpler to take a car with a driver? And where did I insinuate that *you* were a wimp??

I don’t understand your comment—there’s nothing in my travel journal that suggests that...

I’m just describing our trip subjectively without comparing it to others. But if we *really* have to read between the lines on this specific topic in what I said, I simply mean that we love traveling this way and we’ll keep doing it as long as we can!

Where did I "mock the wimps who use a car with a driver"? Where did I contradict the idea that from a certain age it’s simpler to take a car with a driver? And where did I insinuate that you were a wimp?

I don’t understand your comment—there’s nothing in my travel journal that suggests that...

I’m just describing our trip subjectively without comparing it to others. But if we *really* have to read between the lines on this specific topic, all I meant was that we love traveling this way and we’ll keep doing it as long as we can!

I clearly can’t write anymore, and I’m really clumsy at expressing what I mean. I’ll reread what I wrote. But from what I recall, I was making a general remark about other threads and discussions between the "supporters" of traveling with a driver and those who believe nothing beats public transport—preferably in the most budget-friendly train class. Implying that to truly experience India, it’s best to avoid cars with drivers. It wasn’t about you at all. On the contrary, I’m a huge admirer of this travel journal and your way of traveling. I’ve already told you that. I’m even more impressed because I feel INCAPABLE (and sorry) of traveling like that anymore...

Otherwise, I also want to tell you that while you advocate for traveling under the conditions you do and lightly mock those "delicate souls" who rely on a car with a driver, it’s fine for youngsters, but we can’t handle that kind of stress with buses or trains past a certain age. I no longer want/can deal with that kind of hassle... Even if I’m not naturally a "delicate soul" by nature.

I just reread myself. I do understand your reaction. I think my brain short-circuited, and I stupidly wrote "you" when I was actually thinking of other people... My thoughts wandered off... I’m truly sorry; please forgive my mistake and my unintentional substitution of the recipient... I can delete my message. Really, I’m losing it—how could I have written "you"?

Come on, come on, it's not that serious! I just didn't really understand that reaction. It's true that on this forum 10-15 years ago, I might have been a bit more passionate about the topic. And even if I still travel this way today, I can understand those who prefer traveling with a driver-guide, even if it's not my idea of travel. Sometimes, I even use their services for part of the trip when it makes sense.

Alright, you softies, get out of your air-conditioned taxi and hop right back on my rickety local bus because the next part is coming!

Day 8, July 31: Jodhpur "The Soul of Rajasthan"

This first full day in Jodhpur gives us time to visit Mehrangarh Fort. Although we can’t wake up at dawn every day to enjoy the cool early morning hours—since we also need to rest from these packed and energy-draining stages, especially for the kids—we get up around 8 AM to be there for the fort’s opening. Here in Jodhpur, it’s not as hot as in Jaisalmer, and the Rajasthan air has cooled slightly after the rain two days ago. Still, the temperature rises quickly, making visits more tiring. After a hearty breakfast of thick banana-chocolate pancakes or scrambled eggs with toast on the rooftop, we set off through the colorful alleys of the Blue City. The last houses, clinging to the rocky hill where Mehrangarh towers 120 meters above the capital of Mārwāṛ, lead to a sandy path. The climb up to the fort isn’t very long, but it’s much harder to tackle than Jaisalmer’s!

We pass families slightly out of breath from the climb—without wanting to stereotype, it’s fair to say that Indians aren’t generally big sports enthusiasts. From the last alley hugging the hill’s foothills, a dry path ascends, then turns at a first landing that already offers a beautiful view, revealing the Umaid Bhawan Palace in the distance, home to Jodhpur’s royal family. A little higher up, we pass the first gate, opening onto a wide path along an inner rampart where five more gates await before reaching the fort’s enclosure. For once, Magali, wearing a Senegalese dress that could easily pass for Indian, takes the lead with the kids, encouraging Théo to walk a bit while I hang back to snap some photos. Just before reaching our destination, we cross a small courtyard on the way up where a Bhopā plays the rāvaṇhatthā on a beautiful rug. Having studied the topic, I expand a bit on what I already mentioned in the Jaisalmer section. This (lower) caste of itinerant musicians from Rajasthan, who serve the Rāikā camel herders, are ritually the only ones allowed to play this archaic one-stringed violin, accompanied by a drone string, while sympathetic strings resonate in its coconut-shell body (like the famous sitar), and bells on the metal-covered wooden neck jingle with the bow’s movement to mark the rhythm. Once a year, the Bhopā play, dance, and recount the epic of Pābūjī Rāthauḍ, the divine sovereign, protector, and healer of camels and herds, for the Rāikā community. You might spot his depiction—always on horseback and armed—in a random alcove in the fort’s walls. The ceremony at the Pābūjī temple in Kolū village, near where we passed by bus about a hundred kilometers from Jodhpur, can last several days. This long epic tale is a local variant of the Rāmāyaṇa, a fundamental Hindu myth. Hence the instrument’s name, meaning "Rāvaṇa’s hand," based on its shape and the name of the king and demon of Laṅkā in that epic. But in this India where young people, drawn to liberalization, social media, and a more mainstream Hinduism, are turning away from local traditions, the ritual is at risk of disappearing. Despite this decline, Pābūjī remains a major regional deity and a vivid figure in Rajasthan’s folklore. For me, in the māyā (the world of illusion—that is, our real world), the sound of this instrument instantly evokes a daydream of goats grazing on the delicate leaves of babūl trees and their turbaned herders in the Thar Desert landscapes... I approach and strike up a conversation with the Bhopā, who’s surprised I know so much about his caste’s history and culture. I mention meeting another well-known Bhopā in Udaipur (whom he knows) who gave me a few rāvaṇhatthā lessons in Jagdish Temple Street during my first trip in 2007. He finally plays a beautiful piece that captivates Théo before we say goodbye and continue on our way. A brief but lovely encounter.

Since we’re a bit early, we take another small path down to some gardens and the starting point of the Flying Fox, a thrilling zipline course over the ramparts that catches Kelyandre’s interest. I go ask about the conditions, schedules, and prices. The very professional and reassuring instructor fills me in—all that’s left is to book a slot. But Kelyandre, usually a big zipline fan, starts feeling a bit nervous when he peeks over the ramparts to see the start of the course... To make matters worse, I tell him I’m sitting this one out to try it myself. To reassure us, we watch a French family take off. But in the end, that completely kills his enthusiasm... After that, we head back up to continue our ordeal (carrying Théo uphill). There’s almost no one around, which is really nice. The palace complex looms above us. We pass through each gate, like mouths leading us deeper into the fortress, until we reach the heart where the ticket booth for the palaces is. "I am the soul of Rajasthan," the building seems to whisper to me.

Day 8, July 31: Jodhpur « The soul of Rajasthan » (continued)

Here we are at last at the ticket counter, buying tickets that aren’t exactly cheap for an Indian site: 600 rupees for adults, though Kelyandre pays half price and Théo gets in free as always. But even for me, who’s entering this fort for the fifth time, I think it’d be a real shame to skip it. In my opinion, Mehrangarh is the most remarkable fort in Rajasthan. Built in the 15th century under the orders of a *Rājpūt* prince from the Rāthauḍ (Rathore) dynasty, Rāo Jodhā, and expanded by subsequent rulers until the 17th century, the fort has withstood turbulent and warlike eras without ever being captured, thanks to its four high and thick walls that line the steep cliffs of the hill. From every angle, the fortress exudes a sense of power and majesty, which is actually one of the meanings of Mehrangarh (literally "My Majesty"), its more obvious translation being "City of the Sun," reflecting the Rathore clan’s ties to the *Rājpūt* of the solar lineage (*sūryavaṃśī*), while those from Jaisalmer belonged to the lunar lineage (*chandravaṃśī*), and those from Gujarat to the fire lineage (*agnivaṃśī*). It does share some similarities with the fort in Jaisalmer, but while it may lack its "desert citadel" charm, it’s far more massive, impressive, sophisticated, and significantly better preserved than its Mārwāṛ predecessor.

Despite its glorious feats of arms and resistance, the fort and the city are said to endure a curse dating back to its very foundation. Royal and religious Hindu sites—and Indian sites more broadly—are almost always explained through founding myths that follow certain patterns. Most often, a *sādhu* (a renunciate hermit who leaves caste society to focus on salvation) lives on the construction site, and depending on the case, the resolution of the dispute can go well or badly. In Mehrangarh’s case, the said *sādhu* wasn’t happy about being driven away and cursed the fort. As is common in these myths, a brave hero sacrifices themselves to break the spell: here, it’s a local from Jodhpur who volunteers to be buried alive in the foundation (usually, it’s the architect who suffers this fate). But the curse is said to have still manifested at times, notably causing the death of one of the Maharajas who fell from the ramparts under the influence of opium. It’s customary to appease the vengeful *sādhu* with offerings at the shrine dedicated to him. Despite this, it’s said that his anger still strikes: it’s blamed for the drought affecting the Jodhpur region and the deaths of many visitors to the site...

Passing through one of the gates serves as a grim reminder of another macabre part of its history: the handprints of fifteen princesses who, following the death of their sovereign husband, immolated themselves by fire, as per *Rājpūt* tradition, in a *satī*, an "act of truth"—or rather, "sacrifice." Let’s hope we make it out of this visit unscathed...

The rest is ultimately less frightening and even quite enjoyable. The high-quality audio guide, the same one since 2007, whose French voice reminds me of a sort of Stéphane Bern butchering Indian words, immerses me in the fort’s fascinating history. We walk through the various palaces: Motī Mahal with its colorful stained glass, the opulent Phūl Mahal that served as a performance hall, the Shīsh Mahal with its mirrors, and finally the Thakhat Vilās, blending Indian and European styles that the 19th-century Maharajas adored. A real taste for over-the-top kitsch! The route takes us through wonderful courtyards and alleys, where the sculptures in the windows and walls—especially in the *zenānā* (as its name accidentally suggests, the part of the palace reserved solely for... the ladies)—are of exceptionally fine detail. At the end of the visit, the museum is less essential, but medieval object enthusiasts will find plenty to admire in the weapons, costumes, paintings, and kitschy palanquins. I even have to chase after Théo, who slips past the security barrier and starts causing chaos in a room full of particularly frilly palanquins adorned with very Christian-looking cherubs—a testament to the late Maharajas’ admiration for European art. I get a mild scolding from the guard in military uniform: "Sorry sir, sorry..."

Finally, the palace heights offer extraordinary views of Jodhpur from every angle, including the cenotaph of Maharaja Jaswant Singh II, opportunistically nicknamed the "mini-Taj Mahal." A final little encounter with an Indian family and their kids in the last courtyard, and the exit path inevitably takes us through the fort’s market, where the shops only sell approved, non-negotiable handicrafts. Magali can’t resist a beautiful yellow and blue scarf for 2,500 rupees, with the vendor assuring us it’s a rare piece we won’t find anywhere else but in the fort. We leave the place for good through the same gates we entered, still dazzled by the visit. Could Jodhpur truly be the soul of Rajasthan—the city that best encapsulates the spirit of the "Land of Kings" in all its facets?

Day 8, July 31: Jodhpur « The soul of Rajasthan » (continued)

This very pleasant visit still whetted our appetite, and we’re already dreaming of the coolness and mouthwatering dishes at Janta Sweet Home! As we leave via the access road for vehicles, we take a rickshaw and ask the driver to drop us off at Ghaṇṭā Ghar, the Clock Tower market. From there, we continue on foot along Nai Sarak to browse a few shops. Ironically, in the very first shop we enter, we find the same supposedly rare scarf we saw at the fort. When we ask the vendor, he initially quotes...100 rupees! I suggest it might be a lower-quality imitation, but comparing them proves my optimistic hypothesis wrong: it’s exactly the same! “Oh, the thief!” we exclaim, feeling betrayed. Seeing how worked up we are about the item, the vendor approaches with a big smile, urging us to take it. “No thanks, this is our first shop—we’ll look around and come back if we don’t find anything better...” Besides, the few other shops we visit on the avenue confirm the scam. We can’t believe we got taken in so easily like rookies—and had the proof right away. It leaves a bitter taste in our mouths. Maybe it’s the fort’s famous curse...

With a little perspective, we realize there are worse curses—and the specialties at Janta Sweet Home, which we’re nearing, will make us forget this minor hiccup. We’re once again warmly welcomed by the server, who recognizes us, and we feast on the various dishes we order. Magali orders a royal kachori, which she enjoys but doesn’t find as good as the one the street vendor sold us through the bus window. Once again full, we make a quick stop at the Bandhani shop, where Magali spots two beautiful Indian outfits she keeps in mind. As we leave, we hail a rickshaw, and when the driver hears our destination, he claims to know the guard at our hotel. He takes us back safely, greeting his friend, and we head straight for a well-deserved nap.

Back in the hotel lobby, I realize my phone is missing... “Damn, it must’ve slipped out of my pocket and stayed in the rickshaw!” I rush outside, but it’s gone. I ask the guard if he saw his friend leave. We spot him about twenty meters away. He tries calling the driver, but he doesn’t hear it. I run, shouting “Stop! Stop!” but the rickshaw keeps moving farther away, and he can’t hear me. The scene from the bus in Jaisalmer the day before replays almost identically in a different setting: I think it’s really hopeless because the vehicle’s brief stops in the alley’s twists give me false hope before it speeds off again... Even though it’s desperate, I can’t give up—the loss of my phone would be disastrous. I run like a madman, waving and yelling. Unfortunately, he’s reaching the end of the street—it’s too far, it’s over... As I keep my eyes on the green and yellow auto-rickshaw pulling away, I think he knows the guard and might return it to the hotel, but there’s no guarantee... Suddenly, I notice he’s stuck in traffic at the alley’s bottleneck. This is my chance! Adrenaline makes me sprint almost as fast as Usain Bolt! He’s stuck—the traffic is heavy in the old city’s narrow lanes, but he could leave any second... I’m on the verge of stopping for a few seconds to catch my breath, but I resist. I keep running at full speed while the rickshaw miraculously stays put. And after this frantic chase, I finally reach him! I can hardly believe it, but I’m calling out to the driver, who frowns when he sees me. After explaining the situation, I find my phone on the back seat. He sincerely apologizes, realizing he didn’t hear his friend’s call, but I couldn’t possibly blame him—it’s not his fault, and the main thing is I got my precious phone back. Out of breath and sweaty, I return to the hotel as slowly as I left in a hurry, and find Magali, who, though happy about the outcome, doesn’t fully grasp the extent of the feat I just pulled off... No matter—I’m relieved, and the nap will be even more restorative.

Magali and the kids loved Mandore Garden so much yesterday that we plan to go back this evening! So when we wake up as the afternoon starts winding down, we pack our essentials and leave our haveli. Since we have more time this time and we’re not the type to travel like pampered tourists in air-conditioned taxis (an essential reference...), we decide to take a local minibus to Mandore Garden. This lets us soak in the old city’s atmosphere again first. Plus, it’s way cheaper and much more fun! Near Ghaṇṭā Ghar, we ask passersby where the stop for Mandore is. They tell us to take bus 1, which leaves at the junction of Ghaṇṭā Ghar and Nai Sarak. But in the end, we have to walk the whole avenue because the stop is near our beloved Janta Sweet Home, where a bus 1 is just leaving... We don’t wait long before another one arrives. There aren’t many people on board, which is nice, and we pay next to nothing for the four of us. However, the bus gets stuck in traffic, stops to refuel, hits a pedestrian (thankfully not seriously, but it requires a stop), and makes roadside stops—needless to say, it takes a bit longer than the rickshaw did yesterday... When it finally arrives, we realize it took an hour to cover the 9 kilometers. But we have time and enjoy being immersed in Indian life.

We enter and quickly pass through the park’s monkey-infested areas, revisiting the cenotaphs where the fading light casts a different, more mysterious glow than yesterday. We venture deeper to explore the back section we couldn’t visit yesterday, all the way to the large lake at the end of the park. On our way back, we’re joined by Indian families, more numerous at this late hour. Colorful garlands light up along the paths and fountains as daylight fades. A steep path leads up the hill that once served as a lookout for the old Mandore fort, of which little remains... We grab sticks to fend off any aggressive monkeys and climb the few dozen steps to the summit, which serves as a sunset viewpoint (okay, that sounds too Québécois—I’ll say “sunset point” next time like everyone else). The sunset over the gardens in the last glimmers of daylight is stunning. In the background, there’s that indescribable mystical atmosphere of India transitioning between day and night, while ritual music echoes below. We follow the sound of the music back down and realize it’s coming from Mandore Garden’s only temple, dedicated to the elephant god Gaṇesh, judging by the large effigy in the sanctuary’s center, where dozens of pilgrims dance in a trance, even on the entrance steps. I don’t know if it’s a special occasion or a regular ritual, but I blend into the crowd to take a few photos.

It’s now pitch dark, and we briefly consider eating at one of the park’s restaurants. I’m not feeling it—my stomach is making *glug-glug* noises, but not in a good way... It’s urgent to find a bathroom. Some visitors point us toward the park entrance, which we cross at a brisk but controlled pace, me clenching as hard as I can. I’m sweating, and my intestines are under attack. I’ve faced this situation a few times in India and always come out on top. So I hold on! Near the cenotaphs, there’s a small food stall where the owners tell me it’s a bit farther. It’s getting really tough, but I can see the small building. It’s not very clean, but in these circumstances, we’re not picky at all. I push myself to the limit, and when I finally reach the door and lock it, I know the hell I just endured is already a distant memory... Maybe the fort’s aura struck me again—between the curse cast by its hermit and the sacrifice that sporadically protects the city.

We take a rickshaw back this time (a little pampering doesn’t hurt). We have a light dinner on the hotel’s rooftop to enjoy its amazing nighttime city view and the huge bats that impress the kids so much. As this day comes to an end, I conclude that for many reasons, blue Jodhpur is truly the soul of Rajasthan. With these musings, it’s time for everyone to hit the hay...

the handprints of the fifteen princesses who, following their death, immolated themselves by fire

But whose story, whose story, Mickaël!? 😕

the same scarf that was supposedly only available at the fort, which after asking the seller costs at first...100 rupees! I suggest it must be a lower-quality imitation, but the comparison test disproves my optimistic hypothesis: it’s exactly the same!

Now that’s funny! YOU got scammed!? So just imagine us, fooled at every street corner, ready to fry like pakoras

Thanks Kate, what would I do without your corrections? It actually let me reread the three posts I put up late last night and fix the many other mistakes, omissions, and inaccuracies...

Yeah, we got totally ripped off, but we have mitigating circumstances! The seller swore we wouldn’t find this supposedly handmade scarf anywhere else. We hesitated to check, but since we weren’t coming back to the fort, we risked missing out. We knew there might be a chance it was available elsewhere in town, but we couldn’t verify, so we took the "risk"... But never in a million years did we imagine it cost 20 to 25 times more than in town! 😅😅

Jean-Marie,

Before your message that I reacted to, I hadn’t seen that you’d posted another one earlier where you shared an experience similar to mine—it ended up at the bottom of the fourth page. So I only saw the posts at the start of the fifth! With this new context, your comment seems way less abrupt than I first took it to be. Thrown in like that, I couldn’t figure out why you were saying that!

Otherwise, my experience with the rickshaw and the bus really does sound like yours—and the one I go on to describe in Jodhpur! It must be a common tale among India adventurers 😄

Jean-Marie,

Before your message that I reacted to, I hadn’t seen that you’d posted another one earlier where you shared a similar experience to mine—it ended up at the bottom of the fourth page. So I only saw the posts at the start of the fifth! With this new context, your comment makes a lot more sense and seems way less abrupt than I first thought! Thrown in like that, I couldn’t figure out why you were saying that!

Otherwise, my experience with the rickshaw and the bus really does sound like yours—and the one I describe later in Jodhpur! It must be a common tale among India adventurers 😄

Of course, I noticed you’d quickly reacted to what was just a little postscript to the long comment I’d just sent you—and about which you hadn’t reacted at all... But none of that really matters.

Day 9, August 1st: Jodhpur "A Chill Day in the Blue City"

Last night, the fort’s curse—whose energy radiates right behind our windows—struck again. We heard a thud, then a scream and Kelyandre’s cries, which woke us up. He usually has a restless sleep and tosses around a lot. At home, it rarely causes any issues, but in these big, high beds with thick, soft mattresses and no edge protection, he fell and his head hit the metal nightstand before landing on the floor... Thankfully, it was more scary than harmful! We got up in the morning for our last rooftop breakfast. For our final day in Jodhpur, we planned a more relaxed day. The program: wandering through the old city and doing some necessary—and fun—shopping. Just a short walk from the hotel, we first visited Tūrjī kā Jhālrā, a stunning stepwell in the heart of the Blue City, built in the mid-18th century. There wasn’t a soul in sight, so we took our time descending the somewhat pyramidal set of steps leading down to the basin. This allowed us to admire up close this architectural marvel, an rājpūt with intricately carved walls that vaguely resemble those of Mehrangarh.



We then wandered through the blue alleys at random, where the residents—mostly from Brāhmaṇ castes, the highest in the Hindu socio-religious hierarchy—live with one foot in the 21st century and the other in a much older past. If it weren’t for the vehicles clogging the streets, the electrical installations, and the smartphones, you could almost feel like you’d traveled a few centuries back in time, seeing residents in traditional clothes, goats inside old buildings, and animal-drawn carts transporting various goods. By the way, Kelyandre, who’s been incredibly lucky today, stepped right into a huge pile of fresh cow dung. We were a bit annoyed for him (literally covered in it) because we weren’t sure how to handle this unexpected situation. We considered going back to the hotel when I spotted a woman cleaning the front of her old house with a hose—it was divine intervention! I showed her Kelyandre’s foot and made it clear that her hose would be a lifesaver. Kelyandre placed his foot in the small gutter in front of the house while the kind woman rinsed off his cow dung-covered flip-flop. In seconds, his foot was wet but good as new! After all, cow dung is sacred to Hindus, just like their milk.

Among the morning’s essential errands, we bought some powdered milk, which we were running low on, at a small shop. I also had a 2000-rupee note left over from my 2018 trip to Tamil Nadu, which became obsolete after Prime Minister-Narendra Modi decided in 2023 to reprint new notes to combat the black market. Indians were asked to exchange their 500- and 1000-rupee notes, while the 2000-rupee note—created just eight years earlier—was completely phased out. Since the start of this trip, I’ve been trying to offload it, but it’s been refused every time, even though online sources say it’s still legal until summer 2025... Since Ahmedabad, I’ve been told to go to a State Bank of India branch (India’s largest bank). But here in Jodhpur, shopkeepers told me to go to the post office. First, I was sent to a small post office in the Blue City... which then directed me to a larger post office near the train station... which in turn sent me to a State Bank of India branch near Ghaṇṭā Ghar. The staff made me wait a long time, only to finally tell me the transaction wasn’t possible there... However, they gave me the address of a bill exchanger and his number. I left him a WhatsApp message and scheduled an afternoon meet-up. Far from annoying us, this gave us the chance to explore neighborhoods we didn’t know. Along the way, we passed by the big Bandhani clothing store where Magali finally caved and bought two beautiful Indian outfits that suit her perfectly. The prices were fixed, between 1500 and 2000 rupees each. My mom, who wanted me to bring her back a nice “Indian tunic,” gave me incomprehensible descriptions over the phone, and the salespeople kept pulling out kurtī after kurtī, whose photos I sent her via WhatsApp—none of which matched what she had in mind...



To wrap up this long morning of walking, we stopped again at Ghaṇṭā Ghar to grab a bite at Shri Mishrilal, another legendary spot in Jodhpur where people come to enjoy kachauḍī and other fried snacks, delicious Mārwāḍ pastries, and especially their famous mākhaniyā lassī, a thick lassi made with yogurt, cream, cashews, raisins, saffron, and rose water—a meal in itself! The place is super popular, the prices are great, and the small room is always packed.

We returned to the hotel for a nap, stopping to buy water bottles, cookies, and bananas along the way. After a few minutes of rest, I left my crew to relax and headed out alone to meet the bill exchanger, whose name and address I had scribbled on a piece of paper: “Birla Ji Note Wala, Sojati Gate.” Sojati Gate is between Janta Sweet Home, where we’d eaten twice, and the train station. Without Théo, it took me less than fifteen minutes on foot to reach the restaurant. For the first time, I felt the rhythm and sensations of my solo travels again! I continued toward Sojati Gate, an old city gate in front of a small square with a sculpture that summed up our state of mind: “I love Jodhpur.”

I turned around, asked the nearby shopkeepers, but no one knew this Mr. Birla... I insisted, specifying that he was a “note wala” (literally “bill guy”). Finally, one of them caught on and led me to a small shop that wasn’t far at all. Mr. Birla, a charming old man who’d been waiting for me, welcomed me into the back of his shop. He explained that it had only been a short time since banks stopped exchanging old notes, but he knew financial networks where these bills could be reinjected or collectors who’d take them. I handed him my 2000-rupee note, and he gave me 1600 rupees in return. It’s better than nothing—it deepened my understanding of India and let me enjoy my last solo moments, taking a detour through a beautiful traditional neighborhood with bustling alleys before returning to Ghaṇṭā Ghar, the Blue City, and the hotel.



Magali and I started packing our suitcases because our train to Falna leaves at 6 AM tomorrow—it’s going to be a short night... We set off for our last meal at another Jodhpur institution, Vijay Restaurant, which is also in the old city, so not far to walk.

We took one last stroll through the blue alleys, and before eating, we visited the Kunj Bihārī Temple, a temple dedicated to Kriṣṇa that’s extremely popular in Jodhpur and nearly 250 years old. As the fading daylight made the temple lights sparkle, illuminating the whole street, we left our sandals at the bottom and climbed the steps barefoot to a large open courtyard surrounded by domes, with the main temple at its center.



We explored the exterior while Théo ran around, and I explained to Magali and Kelyandre the meaning of the symbols and figures around us. Kelyandre soaked up the information to earn points in his scavenger hunt. For a moment, we were a bit stunned: as I was showing Magali a pictorial representation of Mīrā, a medieval Rajasthani poetess and saint revered across India for her unwavering devotion to Kriṣṇa, she told me that just minutes before, Théo had rushed up to her saying, “It’s Mīrā!” We wondered how that was possible, but before Magali could start imagining that Théo might be a reincarnation of Kriṣṇa, I guessed that a temple devotee must have taught him the name while Théo was staring at the image! Nearby, a staircase led down to the edge of the courtyard, and a pujārī (a priest who performs temple rituals) greeted us and invited us downstairs to a small basement. It was a small temple dedicated to the great Shiva, aptly named Pātāleshwar, the God of the Underground. It’s common for other deities to have small sanctuaries in temples, as Hindu gods are always complementary: masculine and feminine, benevolent and wrathful, creators and destroyers... Hinduism is divided into two main currents, Shaivism and Vaishnavism (though it’s infinitely more complex than that), and in this temple dedicated to Vishnu’s most illustrious avatar, his brother-in-law Shiva has a space for his followers. Shiva is often represented as a liṅga, a phallic symbol representing passive masculine energy, which always emerges from a yonī, the vulva symbolizing active feminine energy (shakti). Together, they symbolize the totality of the cosmos and its creation. The ritual involves pouring water or milk over the liṅga, but the brāhmaṇ explained that during the monsoon season, this sanctuary’s particularity is that it sometimes gets flooded by rainwater, resulting in a natural pūjā. The priest then tied a red bracelet around my wrist, a sign that I’d completed the pūjā and was now protected by the deity. We thanked the priest and went back up to visit the Kriṣṇa temple, where a few devotees were prostrating themselves in prayer before a lavish altar, to the frenetic sound of bells. Throughout the temple, devotees were very welcoming, eager to explain things and chat a bit.



After this peaceful moment of reflection, we descended the steps and headed to Vijay Restaurant, just across the street. A waiter who spoke only Hindi seated us. The vibe was completely different here—it wasn’t one of our usual modern, air-conditioned family restaurants with an extensive menu, but a much simpler, more traditional eatery that suited the pious expectations of this very religious neighborhood. It serves high-quality vegetarian Rajasthani cuisine, and you can even order half-portions. We ordered various flatbreads (no rice here—it’s not a common side dish in Rajasthan), dāl dishes, panīr (cheese), and the famous gulāb jāmun masālā, the savory version of the famous dessert, which only exists here. I savored these less common recipes. Théo didn’t eat much—just some yogurt and bits of flatbread—and the others enjoyed it too, though they were a bit less enthusiastic than me. It was a tad too spicy for them, and they still preferred the family restaurants we usually frequented. I paid the modest bill, and we returned to the hotel for our last blue dreams under the influence of Mehrangarh Fort. Tomorrow, we’ll be in a completely different environment for what we’ve planned as one of the highlights of our trip: the Jawai Bandh leopard sanctuary, which already has us dreaming of nature and adventure.

Jodhpur 😃😃😃 Mehrangarh Fort 😃😃😃 Shops at Mehrangarh Fort 🤮 Ghanṭā Ghar Bazaar 😃😃 Mandore Garden 😃😃😃 Tūrji kā Jhalrā Stepwell

Jodhpur Heritage Haveli 😃😃😃 Janta Sweet Home Restaurant 😃😃😃 Shri Mishrilal Restaurant 😃😃😃 Vijay Restaurant 😃😃 Bandhani Designers 😃😃

Well, I just caught up by reading 3 or 4 "episodes." I almost chimed in several times but held back to avoid taking up too much space. I’ve lived through things *exactly* like what you describe... Especially the phone lost/dropped from a pocket in a rickshaw—hours of suspense for me—and another time on a local bus. When I get around my area, it’s always on a rickety local bus, never by car unless it’s with one of my friends. And I always say the same thing: it’s honestly a moment of pure joy because there are no windows (no glass), the speed, the bumps, the jolts—I feel like I’m on a carnival ride, like the "death train" or "the caterpillar" from my childhood/teen years.

I’ve been to Jodhpur three times, staying in the same haveli, and I think it’s the same one as yours based on your description. I love that city!

Théo rushed ahead saying, « It’s Mīrā! ». We’re wondering how that’s possible, but before Magali starts imagining Théo might be a reincarnation of Kriṣṇa, I figure a temple devotee must’ve taught him the name while Théo was staring at the image!

Oh no, not at all... I told you Théo’s an old soul.

it’s absolutely a moment of pure joy because there’s no window (no glass), the speed, the bumps, and the jolts—it feels like I’m on a fairground ride, like the "death train" or "the caterpillar" from my childhood/teen years.

Exactly!

I’ve been to Jodhpur three times, staying in the same haveli, and I get the feeling it’s the same one as yours based on your description.

Honestly, they all look alike. The rooftop and the view seemed identical to the ones I’d seen before. The difference was that the rooms were much better than what I was used to.

I love this city!

As a group, Jodhpur was our favorite city of the trip. I didn’t like it much the first time in 2007, but I really enjoyed it on my later visits in the 2010s. Looking back, the difference in perception was due to the circumstances of the trip—who I was with (or not), the accommodation, etc. Objectively, Jodhpur might be a little less charming than Udaipur, but it’s still an incredible city. Like I’ve said before, I think it’s the soul of Rajasthan.

I’ll take this opportunity to mention that I’ve added my reviews for Jodhpur.

Collectively speaking, Jodhpur was our favorite city of the trip

From what I’ve read, I think I "missed out" on Jodhpur. Literally speaking, I really did miss out because we decided to spend our 3 nights in a village 30 km away! It was a choice—a desire for countryside to take a break—and we don’t regret it. But apart from one day in Jodhpur city… bad fries that made me sick… a lassi that wasn’t good… a scam when buying spices… 😕 As you said, we’ll have to go back, hoping for different circumstances, staying right in the city (or doing a copy-paste of Pagal’s stay 😛)

As I mentioned earlier, the idea of skipping a place can have different reasons. The moods of our travel companions, being sick, or having a bad experience can change how we see a place.

But in your case, one of the reasons is indeed that you stayed 30 km from Jodhpur. It’s not necessarily a bad choice—it’s just a different one. We did that countryside stop between Jodhpur and Udaipur, which I’ll cover in the next part of the journal. It allowed us to stay in both cities while also having a deep rural experience.

Of course, it all depends on how much time you have, and anyway, you can’t see everything—you have to make choices. It took me five trips to Rajasthan to realize I’d missed some spots.

I’m sure your mention of Jodhpur makes us feel a bit of FOMO, but as you rightly said, circumstances can really change how we see a place.

And without wanting to pressure you into a long or overly detailed explanation, could you clarify this line from your journal that caught my eye?

For my part, in the māyā (the world of illusion—that is, our real world)

For Hindus, the material world we live in is actually an illusion, the māyā. In contrast, pure reality is achieved by progressing into "the beyond."

Here, I used the term māyā to contrast the origin myth of this musical instrument with my more prosaic perception of reality. But since, for Hindus, reality is illusion and vice versa, it creates a lovely stylistic twist that intertwines and muddles the logic. There you go 😊

Alright. Thanks! It does seem to me there are some similarities with the Platonic view of the world. Anyway, I’ll let you continue your travel journal in peace.