Being a refugee

Udaipur, Friday 1 March 2013

My visit to Jodhpur was fleeting at best. I arrived off the overnight sleeper bus from Jaisalmer at around four in the morning and left on another sleeper bus at 10.15pm that night. I landed on the footpath somewhere in Jodhpur in the darkness, along with a few other backpackers and local people. When you use the private buses rather than the usual government buses, you generally end up being deposited at one of their offices somewhere in the city, or at the private bus station, rather than the municipal bus station. For this reason, it's often difficult to establish where in the city you are, and whether you need a tuk-tuk to reach your hotel. On this occasion, the other tourists invited me to share a tuk-tuk with them to their hotel, and I took them up on it. Better than figuring out a plan of my own in the dark. 

They were from Chile, and were staying near the Clock Tower, the main landmark in the old city area of Jodhpur. They invited me to wait in their hotel if I wanted, but I opted to stay in the tuk-tuk and head for the main train station instead... I knew I'd be able to leave my bag there in the cloakroom for the day and could wait there until it was daylight. Pulling into the forecourt outside the train station, the scene before me was like something you've seen in a disaster movie, with refugees lying all over the floor outside in the darkness... people waiting for trains later in the morning, or perhaps just sleeping there anyway. 

Inside was no different. I picked my way through the sleeping bodies of old men in their baggy white trousers and turbans, young men in their jeans, whole families including young children... the whole shebang was here. I used the loo (only 5 rupees) and found myself a seat for the duration. I listened to some music, cat-napped, people-watched and waited. Gradually, as the night turned to morning, people began to awaken and stir. I checked my bag into the cloakroom and crossed the street in the new light of day to a street-side restaurant across the road - high time for a chai.  

By around 9am, the travel agencies within the station forecourt were opening, and I booked my bus for that evening. Now I was free to head out into the city, starting, as usual, with a haggle with a tuk-tuk driver. My guidebook gave the impression it was only a few km to the fort, and I was reluctant to accept the driver's price, which seemed very high for such a short trip. I showed him (and the other drivers who had by then inevitably gathered round) the guidebook map and explained that I thought it was closer. Anyway, once we set off I realised how far it was out round the city and up, up, up the winding road climbing ever higher above the city. By the time we reached the fort entrance, I figured he'd earned his 100 rupees or whatever it was. He offered to wait for me while I visited, but I wanted to be free to set my own time, even if it meant a faff getting a tuk-tuk later. 

I got lucky... there was a music festival happening that day and the next, and there were traditional folk music and dance groups performing throughout the day at various points around the fort, so I was able to watch them for a bit along the way. As always, I enjoyed wandering around with the audioguide, picturing it all in my mind's eye in its heyday and imagining the battles that had played out around its walls. 

The views out over Jodhpur from the fort ramparts were superb... lots of the houses and buildings in the city are painted blue, the colour traditionally associated with the high Brahmin class. The surrounding countryside was spectacular in itself, with hills dotted with scrubby desert plantation.  (There are some pics in the previous Jodhpur post.)

Leaving the fort by the back entrance, I found myself in the old city streets, several km from the Clock Tower, and picked up a tuk-tuk to this landmark. It was enjoyable poking about in these old streets, with shops that weren't dominated by tourist tat. Passing a mosque, I came upon a procession of Muslim men and boys and watched it go by from a shop doorway. Police officers made up the head and tail, complete with their sticks to hand. It was all good-natured, though.

I was in search of some blue houses and lanes to photograph, and it didn't take long to find some, with the residents more than happy to pose for a quick snap.

I also had the pleasure of eating the best omelette I've ever had. I stopped at a shop near the old gate into the bazaar area around the Clock Tower, just to make a few reservations for Mount Abu. When I hung up, the shopkeeper asked if I was hungry, and offered me an omelette. It was none other than the Omelette Shop, as recommended by Lonely Planet. I've never been a great lover of omelettes, but the masala cheese gorgeousness, served between a few pieces of warmed white loaf bread, sitting on a small chair on the roadside, was bliss. 

While up at the fort, I'd spotted the grand palace which houses a museum, the majaraja's residence, and a hotel, and decided it'd make a good spot for a late afternoon tea. Now to get a tuk-tuk. I went up to the first one I saw after coming out of the tourist bazaar and showed him in the guidebook where I wanted to go. He was busy chatting on his mobile phone but we agreed a price and I got in. He hung up after a few minutes, but then made another call not long after. As I understand it, yakking on the phone while driving is a crime here, as at home - and with tuk-tuks already feeling like a precarious ride, I wasn't happy about his lack of attention. He took me to the wrong place initially - clearly hadn't been listening to me at all. But we got to the palace in the end. Unfortunately, there was no getting in for a tea. It was dinner by reservation only. Great. I'd just spent 100 rupees getting there and was going to have to spend another 100 to get back. One of those things.

Got a few pics of the building from the outside, and the greener side of Jodhpur sprawling out below it, and got back in the tuk-tuk. But the cretin was back on the phone again. I tapped him on the shoulder and gestured for him to hang up. He nodded but drove on still yakking. I lost my patience with him and insisted that he pulled over, and got out. He wasn't getting another 100 rupees out of me to sit and yak on the phone, not paying attention to the road. He looked quite shocked but went on his way. Great, Jaki. Now what? You're in the middle of nowhere, several km out of town. So what's the plan? I walked to the next roundabout and asked a shopkeeper which was the way back to town. He suggested crossing over to a petrol station on the other side of the roundabout, where I could get a bus. There were a few fellas waiting, and they told me which bus to get. Only cost me 10 rupees or something.

By this stage, there was time for a quick wander round the old town again, before heading back to the train station area for some food and to wait for my bus. Nature called, and I went into the station to use their loo again. This time, the attendant wasn't for letting me in.

'Your toilet is in first-class waiting room,' he said, pointing into the station concourse. 

I looked at the other women in the queue that I'd initially tried to join. They were apparently not holders of first-class tickets and certainly weren't middle-class in appearance, but there was nothing wrong with this general class toilet (by Indian standards, anyway) and I was happy to use it. Just then, the tuk-tuk driver who'd taken me up to the fort earlier appeared and heard the attendant repeat his instruction to me. He joined in the pointing to the first-class waiting room inside.

'But I'm not taking a train,' I protested, not feeling I'd any more right to go in there than the other women.

'So what?' the tuk-tuk driver said. 'Just use it. This is India.'

Hilarious! I laughed the whole way into the first-class toilet. And there ended Jodhpur.