Photo album:
https://picasaweb.google.com/116253494913081133936/JaipurAgainAndShekawati#5732599332634029426
22/9
We arrived early morning on the train, and made our way straight to our by-now familiar and favourite Pearl Palace hotel for an excessive, greatly appreciated breakfast. We had reserved a room in the nearby Pearl Palace Heritage hotel, that Mr Singh, the owner had proudly presented to us just as we were last leaving Jaipur.
This hotel was a luxury way beyond our needs, at a price only slightly above our resources. The ambient lighting revealed a large room, with a huge double bed, dark wood furniture, heavy framed pictures on the wall, stone carvings and two giant sized wooden doors, decorated with brass elephant spikes. There was air conditioning, a large wall-mounted flat-sceen TV, a computer and wi-fi, a fridge and a bathroom big enough to play polo in.
For some, the historic themed decor may seem too much, and the hotel, in exclusivity, lacked the buzzing atmosphere of its sister hotel, the Pearl Palace, but we had already tasted that, and were in the mood to be pandered in a little care-free luxury.
After a sketchy night's sleep, the three girls were ready to sink into soft pillows and be engulfed by a puffy duvet. They slept until 2:00 when we headed out to battle with rickshaws in negotiation. It was a sellers market - none of them were keen to do the trip, but finally it was agreed with one of them and we squashed in for the climb up the long, bone-shakingly bumpy hill to Nahargarh.
The Tiger Fort at the top was built in 1734, by Maharaja Jai SIng II soon after he founded the city of Jaipur, and later extended. It stood magnificently on top of the hill overlooking the city, and we had often looked up to its inviting silhouette from below. The pink walls and cupolas of a past regal elegance were now crumbling and a home to idle observing monkeys. We were there though, not to see inside of this fort but to capture the setting sun over the city below.
We had a little walk to get to the best view point. Fia and Tamsin hitched a lift on the back of a motorbike, while Jacqui and I paced along behind.
Jaipur, in all its exotic and chaotic, sprawling beauty, was laid out before us. The sun had shaken off its harsh yellow gloss to reveal its warm orange heart, and was playing with the veil of Jaipur's haze. The ummistakeable noise of Indian bustle hovered over the streets in an arabian nights balmy air. As the sun dipped below the end of an urban infinity, a chorus of mosques woke up in a unified call to prayer, as their chance to remind everyone of their subtle presence in a Hindu world.
We had positioned ourselves at the top of a turret, with a beer to wash down the setting sun, and then stayed to eat dinner while evening surreptitiously turned itself into night, and Jaipur into a galaxy of sparkling lights. The city noise though, had no plans to sleep.
23/9
We were up early for a day trip out to Shekawati.
I had noticed an international brand (can't remember which one) coffee house near to the bus station, so thought that we could pick up a quick breakfast there on our way to save time. Unfortunately, though, it was closed and we started to hunt the area for an alternative.
Through the windows of a building we saw people sitting down at tables, in a distinctly restaurant kind of way, though there were no markings on the front of the building to indicate that it was either a hotel or a restaurant. We decided to investigate and entered the front door to find a reception desk. The girl behind was tied up on the phone, but while we were waiting, we noticed a sign to the dining room, so followed it through to a highly institutionalised canteen. We started to wonder whether we were in a hospital, or a school, but before we knew it, one of the elderly waiters, dressed in a dirty white apron, ushered us to a table. We asked if there was anything for breakfast, and without answering he disappeared off, returning with hot cornflakes, omelette, vegetable cutlets chapatis and cups of tea. To avoid putting our breakfast at risk, we waited until we had finished eating before we enquired further, but later discovered that we were in a government rest-house. It was very cheap, but we never really felt sure whether we were supposed to be there or not.
We took a bus from the bus station out to Sika, as a jumping point from where we could hire a taxi to take us around Shekawati - an area renowned for the remains of havelis, one-time lavishly decorated mansions. Our plan, that we had formed after advice from the tourist office in Jaipur, was to head for the tourist office in Sika, where we could firm up on a tour around the area, and get some assistance in finding a vehicle.
From the bus station, though, the short walk that we were expecting, turned into a marathon, and one hour later, dripping with sweat, we were still walking, stopping every now and then to confirm and follow directions. We asked a group of young students. They relished the encounter with us, and competed with each other to give us the clearest directions - each one was interrupted before he had finished by another who was sure he could make it simpler - while we looked on passively. It became confusing, but in any case the banter was brought to a halt, when one suggested that it would be too far to walk - sudenly they all agreed. We gave up, and summoned an auto-rickshaw
The Sika auto-rickshaws had a style of their own - they were longer, more ornately decorated with chrome trimmings, and polished proudly to a sparkle. They also had a double row of seats with the back seats facing backwards - a novelty that Fia and Tamsin embraced like parading royals. He dropped us at a building that was marked "Sika museum". With one foot still in the rickshaw in case he had taken us to the wrong place, we searched further and saw a much smaller sign indicating "Tourist Office"
We ventured inside. A man, that looked like the cleaner, or the caretaker, leapt up from his seat in excitement at the sight of us and shot into a nearby office. Shortly a stout man came out, with eyes that looked in different directions, neither of which was towards the person he was talking to.
"You will be wanting to see the museum?" he asked us.
"Is this the museum?" we asked. "We are looking for the tourist office".
"It is the museum and the tourist office" he said. "You can look through the museum, it has very interesting artifacts". We looked behind us to get a feel for the museum. Everything was in darkness.
He felt the need to clarify. "Today we do not have electricity, but it is not a problem. We can give you a torch". "Um..actually, we really need information from the tourist office. Can you please tell us who is the right person to talk to".
"That is me" he said, offended that we had even considered that the two roles might need two separate people.
We asked about visiting different parts of the Shekawati region. He gave us a little information, but we walked out not much wiser, and worse still had to head back to where we had come from to find a car to take us on the tour.
After a bite to eat, we set off to find a car in one or two places that had been indicated to us. Wherever we walked, the mere mention of hiring a car would bring a miraculously quick and enthusiastic crowd around us - only one of the crowd had a car, but whatever he said, the rest of the crowd agreed whole-heartedly repeating his words and wobbling their heads. It was a painful and frustrating process but we finally found someone who agreed to 7 rupees per kilometre and we set off.
The first stop was Laxmangarh - a peaceful town with an active market. Parallel to the main road was a quieter more suburban-feeling street on which the havelis were.
The Shekawat Rajputs established their kingdom some time in the 18'th century, and ruled it, with a nominal allegiance to Jaipur, up until independence. The wealth of the region however came from the Marwari merchants, descendents from Jodhpur, who settled in the region in the 18'th century as key players in the trade between Gujarat ports and the Ganges valley. In the first part of the 19'th century these merchants became favoured business allies of the British East India company and migrated to the growing ports of Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras where they prospered greatly. Throughout the 19'th and early 20'th century, they built their mansions back home in Shekawati where their families had stayed, commissioning artists to paint impressive frescoes. These lavish houses became an egotistically competitive showpiece of their wealth.
With steps leading up to raised portals lined with pillars, heavy wooden doors sealing arched entrances large enough for an elephant, and fabulously intricate frescoes covering every centimetre of carved stone facades, the past opulence was not difficult to imagine.
Sadly, though, they were mostly in a state of dilapidation. Faded frescos on cracked walls, falling plaster and the fungal clouds of untreated damp characterised a neglected fall from grace. The streets were dusty repositories for broken tiles, mysterious piles of gravel and rubbish. It was hard to imagine that the descendents of the wealth that had created these beautiful masterpieces had lost their interest, allowing them to fall into hands that were either unwilling or unable to maintain their splendour. It seems though that twentieth century Indian wealth is choosing modernity over antiquity, fashion over tradition.
As we left the town, our driver stopped at a strange round-walled fort built up on high. He knew it was something worth stopping at, but couldn't explain to us what it was.
We had to research later to discover that it was Laxmangarh fort, built in 1862 by Rao Raja Laxman Singh, a feudal lord of the Sika region, as his first step to founding the town. Its apparent uniqueness was that it was built on top of scattered rocks, but it was privately owned without access for the public.
We drove onto Fatehpur, with a short stop at a similarly anonymous site, that our driver proudly presented to us but was unable to help us with any clarifying information. It was a stepwell, which became popular from the 11'th to 16'th centuries.
They were initially built in semi-arid regions such as Rajasthan as a means of water storage and irrigation, with their steps providing access to the water. They became more elaborate in architecture when they started to play a social and religious role, mainly involving women as it was they who normally gathered here to collect water.
Fatehpur was a bigger city. We knew of a specific haveli, owned and restored by a French artist, Nadine Le Prince, that we wanted to see, but were keeping our eyes open for others. One opportunity suddenly appeared as we were walking down one of the back-steets, slightly lost in our search for Nadine's. We first saw the promising coloured wall painting of an elephant, and next to it was the ornamentally carved and painted facade of a haveli.
A man, in his vest and dhoti, that had been sitting outside, jumped up, beckoning to us to look inside. We were delighted and followed.
We were led through an entrance foyer, and into the first courtyard. Every wall was amass with frescos, over ornately carved arches, inside decorative insets above doorways, and in between the balustrades below a second floor arcade. Images of hindu gods, mythological stories, elephants, lions and life, were set amongst intricate floral patterned decoration. Heavy carved wooden doors were studded with iron panels and rugged hoop handles. The second courtyard, through a small doorway to protect the honour of the women who traditionally stayed in this part out of sight of the visiting men talking business in the first courtyard, was similarly decorated.
The current inhabitants, however, were clearly not a family with enough wealth to maintain this house in its glory. Aside from fresco'd walls that were stubbirnly resisting the test of time, the haveli was falling into neglect, and the necessities of daily economic survival were taking precedence over preservation of historical architecture.
Doors were left off their hinges, electrical wires hung loosely across walls, rooms off the courtyard were piled with junk and unused, and black clouds of damp had invaded the upper floors. The wife of the family was squatting in the second courtyard, cooking on a fire on the ground, and a baby in torn clothes played in the dirt. The scant lifestyle of a subsistence family had been incongruously superimposed into this once-magnificent shell of affluence.
Our host had been trying to act as a guide, but unfortunately unable to help us with any useful information about the house, either because he was unaware, or because he was unable to communicate it. His skeletal tour was reduced to pointing at random pictures and hailing the name of the depicted god "Krishna!", "Shiva!". When we arrived in the second courtyard, we realised that we were not the first that he had hooked in from the street to see the insides of the haveli. On the wall was a piece of cardboard, on which was hand-written:
"Guided tour: 100 rupees per person". It was strategically placed at the end of the "guided tour", and with no mention made of it at the beginning. He graciously indicated that we would not need to pay for the children and asked for 200 rupees. I gave him 50, smiled and started to walk out. He reluctantly accepted.
Another opportunist appeared a little later when we asked someone for directions to Nadine's haveli. He indicated the way, then after we had thanked him and set off, decided that there was money to be made, overtook us and started to lead the way. The route was along a road that had become flooded with water that was now putrid with sewage, rubbish and one or two dead animals.
We balanced along a ledge at the side of the road, trying to avoid breathing in the dreadful stench, and concentrating hard not to fall in the water. When we arrived, I offered our helpful friend a 10 rupee tip. He refused it and asked for 50 rupees. Disgusted, I withdrew my offer and left him. He was still there waiting when we came out more than an hour later, and followed us back to the car. I made my offer again, and this time, sensing that it wasn't going to get better, he accepted.
Nadine Le Prince had restored her haveli with loving care, and meticulous attention. We were welcomed by a french student who was staying there, and given a comprehensive guided tour, with details of the history, the lifestyles, the rooms, and their usage.
The most intricate paintings reserved for the first courtyard where the head of the household needed to impress his business guests, the room for negotiation, then the room for relaxing after the sealing of the deal, the high security hidden cupboards where money was locked away, the bedrooms, the staff roms and the very pleasant gardens.
We started on a loop back towards Sika, hoping to stop at a temple at Sarahar. The road became more and more rural. Lines of peasant women wrapped in loose richly coloured saris were walking back from the fields in the setting sun, skillfully balancing overwhelmingly large loads on their heads, or herding their insouciant cow back from his day of grazing.
We seemed to be getting deeper and deeper into the coutryside, the road had narrowed to a single lane track, and signposts had become an unnecessary irrelevence. When our driver started to stop to ask directions each time we arrived in small villages, I decided it was time to use the GPS on our phone. We had, in fact, taken a very long route around to Sarahar. We had really appreciated the detour into Shekhawati village life, but I was sure that our driver had deliberately taken this route, purely to boost his days payment by maximising the kilometres driven. When we finally arrived at Sarahar, it was late, and we had no time to get out to see the temple for fear of missing the last bus from Sika back to Jaipur.
24/9
For our last day in Jaipur, we went to the Jamta Manta - an observatory created by the intellectually energetic Jai Singh II in 1728. It looked more like a children's adventure playground with giant concrete sun dials and astronomy measuring devices the size of climbing frames.
It could have been very interesting, but our guide was a total disaster, spouting a complicated, heavy accented rehearsed speech about each construction and then determined to rush onto the next leaving Jacqui and I in total confusion, and helpless to explain or enthuse Fia and Tamsin who looked up at us waiting for some clarification. To make matters worse, it was a searingly hot day. We dashed from shade to shade, but still felt like we were melting in the heat. We left feeling deflated, and vowing (temporarily) never to take a guide again.
We took a cycle rickshaw to the government emporium - 4 floors of local crafts, sold at a higher price than the market places but with a guaranteed quality. We went in to buy bed covers and the colourful Rajasthani wooden puppets, but came out with rugs.
We were by now on a mission though, and trailed the bazaar until we had all we wanted. With bags of purchases piled into the back of a rickshaw, we dumped it all on the desk at the post-office, where a man of few words but extremely fast hands, packed them all carefully into a box, and sewed a sheet cover over it before sealing it romantically with a hot wax stamp. When the parcel arrived in Nerville la Foret back in France, we were told by our friends Eric and Elise that the post office said they had never seen anything like it before.
https://picasaweb.google.com/116253494913081133936/JaipurAgainAndShekawati#5732599332634029426
22/9
We arrived early morning on the train, and made our way straight to our by-now familiar and favourite Pearl Palace hotel for an excessive, greatly appreciated breakfast. We had reserved a room in the nearby Pearl Palace Heritage hotel, that Mr Singh, the owner had proudly presented to us just as we were last leaving Jaipur.
This hotel was a luxury way beyond our needs, at a price only slightly above our resources. The ambient lighting revealed a large room, with a huge double bed, dark wood furniture, heavy framed pictures on the wall, stone carvings and two giant sized wooden doors, decorated with brass elephant spikes. There was air conditioning, a large wall-mounted flat-sceen TV, a computer and wi-fi, a fridge and a bathroom big enough to play polo in.
For some, the historic themed decor may seem too much, and the hotel, in exclusivity, lacked the buzzing atmosphere of its sister hotel, the Pearl Palace, but we had already tasted that, and were in the mood to be pandered in a little care-free luxury.
After a sketchy night's sleep, the three girls were ready to sink into soft pillows and be engulfed by a puffy duvet. They slept until 2:00 when we headed out to battle with rickshaws in negotiation. It was a sellers market - none of them were keen to do the trip, but finally it was agreed with one of them and we squashed in for the climb up the long, bone-shakingly bumpy hill to Nahargarh.
We had a little walk to get to the best view point. Fia and Tamsin hitched a lift on the back of a motorbike, while Jacqui and I paced along behind.
Jaipur, in all its exotic and chaotic, sprawling beauty, was laid out before us. The sun had shaken off its harsh yellow gloss to reveal its warm orange heart, and was playing with the veil of Jaipur's haze. The ummistakeable noise of Indian bustle hovered over the streets in an arabian nights balmy air. As the sun dipped below the end of an urban infinity, a chorus of mosques woke up in a unified call to prayer, as their chance to remind everyone of their subtle presence in a Hindu world.
23/9
We were up early for a day trip out to Shekawati.
I had noticed an international brand (can't remember which one) coffee house near to the bus station, so thought that we could pick up a quick breakfast there on our way to save time. Unfortunately, though, it was closed and we started to hunt the area for an alternative.
Through the windows of a building we saw people sitting down at tables, in a distinctly restaurant kind of way, though there were no markings on the front of the building to indicate that it was either a hotel or a restaurant. We decided to investigate and entered the front door to find a reception desk. The girl behind was tied up on the phone, but while we were waiting, we noticed a sign to the dining room, so followed it through to a highly institutionalised canteen. We started to wonder whether we were in a hospital, or a school, but before we knew it, one of the elderly waiters, dressed in a dirty white apron, ushered us to a table. We asked if there was anything for breakfast, and without answering he disappeared off, returning with hot cornflakes, omelette, vegetable cutlets chapatis and cups of tea. To avoid putting our breakfast at risk, we waited until we had finished eating before we enquired further, but later discovered that we were in a government rest-house. It was very cheap, but we never really felt sure whether we were supposed to be there or not.
From the bus station, though, the short walk that we were expecting, turned into a marathon, and one hour later, dripping with sweat, we were still walking, stopping every now and then to confirm and follow directions. We asked a group of young students. They relished the encounter with us, and competed with each other to give us the clearest directions - each one was interrupted before he had finished by another who was sure he could make it simpler - while we looked on passively. It became confusing, but in any case the banter was brought to a halt, when one suggested that it would be too far to walk - sudenly they all agreed. We gave up, and summoned an auto-rickshaw
The Sika auto-rickshaws had a style of their own - they were longer, more ornately decorated with chrome trimmings, and polished proudly to a sparkle. They also had a double row of seats with the back seats facing backwards - a novelty that Fia and Tamsin embraced like parading royals. He dropped us at a building that was marked "Sika museum". With one foot still in the rickshaw in case he had taken us to the wrong place, we searched further and saw a much smaller sign indicating "Tourist Office"
We ventured inside. A man, that looked like the cleaner, or the caretaker, leapt up from his seat in excitement at the sight of us and shot into a nearby office. Shortly a stout man came out, with eyes that looked in different directions, neither of which was towards the person he was talking to.
"You will be wanting to see the museum?" he asked us.
"Is this the museum?" we asked. "We are looking for the tourist office".
"It is the museum and the tourist office" he said. "You can look through the museum, it has very interesting artifacts". We looked behind us to get a feel for the museum. Everything was in darkness.
He felt the need to clarify. "Today we do not have electricity, but it is not a problem. We can give you a torch". "Um..actually, we really need information from the tourist office. Can you please tell us who is the right person to talk to".
"That is me" he said, offended that we had even considered that the two roles might need two separate people.
We asked about visiting different parts of the Shekawati region. He gave us a little information, but we walked out not much wiser, and worse still had to head back to where we had come from to find a car to take us on the tour.
After a bite to eat, we set off to find a car in one or two places that had been indicated to us. Wherever we walked, the mere mention of hiring a car would bring a miraculously quick and enthusiastic crowd around us - only one of the crowd had a car, but whatever he said, the rest of the crowd agreed whole-heartedly repeating his words and wobbling their heads. It was a painful and frustrating process but we finally found someone who agreed to 7 rupees per kilometre and we set off.
The first stop was Laxmangarh - a peaceful town with an active market. Parallel to the main road was a quieter more suburban-feeling street on which the havelis were.
With steps leading up to raised portals lined with pillars, heavy wooden doors sealing arched entrances large enough for an elephant, and fabulously intricate frescoes covering every centimetre of carved stone facades, the past opulence was not difficult to imagine.
Sadly, though, they were mostly in a state of dilapidation. Faded frescos on cracked walls, falling plaster and the fungal clouds of untreated damp characterised a neglected fall from grace. The streets were dusty repositories for broken tiles, mysterious piles of gravel and rubbish. It was hard to imagine that the descendents of the wealth that had created these beautiful masterpieces had lost their interest, allowing them to fall into hands that were either unwilling or unable to maintain their splendour. It seems though that twentieth century Indian wealth is choosing modernity over antiquity, fashion over tradition.
As we left the town, our driver stopped at a strange round-walled fort built up on high. He knew it was something worth stopping at, but couldn't explain to us what it was.
We had to research later to discover that it was Laxmangarh fort, built in 1862 by Rao Raja Laxman Singh, a feudal lord of the Sika region, as his first step to founding the town. Its apparent uniqueness was that it was built on top of scattered rocks, but it was privately owned without access for the public.
We drove onto Fatehpur, with a short stop at a similarly anonymous site, that our driver proudly presented to us but was unable to help us with any clarifying information. It was a stepwell, which became popular from the 11'th to 16'th centuries.
Fatehpur was a bigger city. We knew of a specific haveli, owned and restored by a French artist, Nadine Le Prince, that we wanted to see, but were keeping our eyes open for others. One opportunity suddenly appeared as we were walking down one of the back-steets, slightly lost in our search for Nadine's. We first saw the promising coloured wall painting of an elephant, and next to it was the ornamentally carved and painted facade of a haveli.
We were led through an entrance foyer, and into the first courtyard. Every wall was amass with frescos, over ornately carved arches, inside decorative insets above doorways, and in between the balustrades below a second floor arcade. Images of hindu gods, mythological stories, elephants, lions and life, were set amongst intricate floral patterned decoration. Heavy carved wooden doors were studded with iron panels and rugged hoop handles. The second courtyard, through a small doorway to protect the honour of the women who traditionally stayed in this part out of sight of the visiting men talking business in the first courtyard, was similarly decorated.
The current inhabitants, however, were clearly not a family with enough wealth to maintain this house in its glory. Aside from fresco'd walls that were stubbirnly resisting the test of time, the haveli was falling into neglect, and the necessities of daily economic survival were taking precedence over preservation of historical architecture.
Our host had been trying to act as a guide, but unfortunately unable to help us with any useful information about the house, either because he was unaware, or because he was unable to communicate it. His skeletal tour was reduced to pointing at random pictures and hailing the name of the depicted god "Krishna!", "Shiva!". When we arrived in the second courtyard, we realised that we were not the first that he had hooked in from the street to see the insides of the haveli. On the wall was a piece of cardboard, on which was hand-written:
"Guided tour: 100 rupees per person". It was strategically placed at the end of the "guided tour", and with no mention made of it at the beginning. He graciously indicated that we would not need to pay for the children and asked for 200 rupees. I gave him 50, smiled and started to walk out. He reluctantly accepted.
Another opportunist appeared a little later when we asked someone for directions to Nadine's haveli. He indicated the way, then after we had thanked him and set off, decided that there was money to be made, overtook us and started to lead the way. The route was along a road that had become flooded with water that was now putrid with sewage, rubbish and one or two dead animals.
Nadine Le Prince had restored her haveli with loving care, and meticulous attention. We were welcomed by a french student who was staying there, and given a comprehensive guided tour, with details of the history, the lifestyles, the rooms, and their usage.
The most intricate paintings reserved for the first courtyard where the head of the household needed to impress his business guests, the room for negotiation, then the room for relaxing after the sealing of the deal, the high security hidden cupboards where money was locked away, the bedrooms, the staff roms and the very pleasant gardens.
We started on a loop back towards Sika, hoping to stop at a temple at Sarahar. The road became more and more rural. Lines of peasant women wrapped in loose richly coloured saris were walking back from the fields in the setting sun, skillfully balancing overwhelmingly large loads on their heads, or herding their insouciant cow back from his day of grazing.
24/9
For our last day in Jaipur, we went to the Jamta Manta - an observatory created by the intellectually energetic Jai Singh II in 1728. It looked more like a children's adventure playground with giant concrete sun dials and astronomy measuring devices the size of climbing frames.
We took a cycle rickshaw to the government emporium - 4 floors of local crafts, sold at a higher price than the market places but with a guaranteed quality. We went in to buy bed covers and the colourful Rajasthani wooden puppets, but came out with rugs.
Couldn't upload photo albums - I'm surprised that I got this far being in the middle of a wilderness in Tibet!
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