The Bramins painted their houses blue to keep away the insects and to keep cool in the summer and so, that is supposedly why Jodhpur is called the Blue City. There were bits of it that were blue, although not as much blue as hoped for. Still, a wonder as we dodged those cows, dogs, tuk tuks and mopeds whilst winding our way through the fascinating alleyways.
Merirangarth Fort. Caught in the tide of shoving, pushing crowds heading for the exit. Passing through the last archway just above head height were the ghostly impressions of three small red handprints. The custom of Sati is where a widow joins her husband’s funeral pyre, sometimes more than one widow and the concubines. These three hundred year old red handprints survive to tell their fate. We left the fort after an absorbing and moving day.
Six fifteen in the morning. The ‘express’ coach to Jaisalmer. Driving erratically through the countryside. Stopping constantly, picking up and dropping off more and more passengers who filled every possible space on the coach, even perching around the driver.
Not quite National Express!
Eight hours later - Jaisalmer, welcome to the desert!
