Between chaos, blue and royalty
Prolog – On the Road to Jodhpur
Hardly have we set our sights on Jodhpur when India once again shows us that it knows no limits — least of all in traffic. What moves, honks, and pushes here is a spectacle somewhere between courage and chaos.
Today it’s not only the camels but especially the trucks that make us hold our breath. A single concert of horns, dust, and confusion — and in the middle of it all, our driver, calm as a Zen master. “Look at these trucks,” he laughs. “No taillights, no number plate — but music from the horn!”
Camels by the roadside, honking trucks — India’s roads are a theatre of their own. An endless dance of dust, noise, and life.
Driving in the right direction? For many, it seems more like a suggestion than a rule. Motorbikes, cars, even trucks come straight toward us on the express freeway — wrong-way drivers, perfectly self-assured.
And as if that weren’t enough, cows wander across the lanes or have made themselves comfortable right in the middle of the road.
“If you can drive in India, you can drive anywhere.”
We can only agree with Binny. Oh yes — there is an official vehicle inspection here, too. But a little bakshish can work wonders.
Soon the scenery changes — fields stretch out beside the road, lush and green from irrigation. Women stand knee-deep in the water, harvesting water chestnuts that grow beneath the surface.
I had no idea how they were gathered until I saw those bent figures, silent and focused, one with the rhythm of nature.
Images of patience — quiet, archaic, almost timeless.
My fitness watch nags: Move! 166 steps, please. And as if Binny could hear it, he pulls over for a break.
“Clean restrooms, safe food,” he promises. We sit in the garden and help ourselves to the buffet. I ask Binny whether his lamb is spicy or medium — but before he can answer, I see the beads of sweat on his forehead. Medium looks different.
Spicy lamb, Binny’s smile, and a hint of spice in the air — India tastes like courage, heat, and curiosity.
Arriving in Royal Style — Taj Umaid Bhawan Palace
Majestic, the palace rises from red sandstone — a place suspended between past and present.
There is no program scheduled for today. What awaits us at check-in is a performance in its own right: dancers, drummers, a rain of petals. “We want you to feel like a king and a queen,” says the hostess. Mission accomplished.
The Umaid Bhawan Palace — a vast sandstone edifice — is considered one of the largest private residences in the world. Commissioned in 1929 by Maharaja Umaid Singh as a drought-relief project, it took sixteen years to complete: 347 rooms, designed by the British architect Henry Vaughan Lanchester — a symbiosis of Indo-Saracenic style, Neoclassicism, and Art Deco.
To this day, the palace belongs to the royal family of Jodhpur. Part of the building is operated by the Taj Group as a hotel — a royal home for a while.
Welcome ceremony at the Taj Umaid Bhawan — drums, petals, music. And Ishpreet, greeting us with a radiant smile. A moment of grace — and Indian warmth.
A Day in Blue
Morning drapes Jodhpur in a soft haze — a breath of blue across the city.
Our guide, Mr. Rawi, greets us with a gentle “Namaste.” His voice is quiet, almost shy, yet it carries far. As we settle into the car, he smiles and notes that all of us — Rawi, Binny, Reinhold, and I — are dressed in blue. Fitting, for the city itself.
We drive up to Mehrangarh Fort, which towers high above the city — a crown of stone. From here, the view stretches across a sea of houses shimmering in every shade of blue — once the color of the Brahmins, now a quiet tribute to Jodhpur itself.
The blue seems to breathe, as if it were reflecting the sky — boundless, calm, eternal.
View over Jodhpur’s blue rooftops — and Mr. Rawi, our gentle guide, whose calm voice weaves stories of history and heaven.
Mehrangarh — Fortress Above the Clouds
Built in the 15th century by Rao Jodha, the fort rises 120 meters above the city — a monument of stone, history, and pride. Seven gates lead inside, each erected to commemorate a victorious battle.
It’s Sunday, the last day of the festive season. Crowds everywhere. At the elevator to the fort, even patience queues up. Reinhold struggles with the heat, I with my claustrophobia.
“These are not crowds,” Mr. Rawi smiles. “Now it’s only beginning.”
He takes our pace into account and guides us gently against the flow — through quieter chambers. It works. Somehow.
Power turned to stone, rising above the clouds. Walls like stories, gates like chapters — and in between, life that simply moves on.
Jaswant Thada — The Taj of Marwar
Carved from white marble, the memorial rests quietly above a small lake. They call it the “Taj Mahal of Marwar.” Built in 1899 by Maharaja Sardar Singh in honor of his father, it is a place of remembrance — and of beauty.
According to legend, during a royal ceremony a peacock flew into the funeral pyre. A memorial was built for him here as well — a white shimmer between sky and water, peace made visible.
Hours at the Hotel
The Taj Umaid Bhawan Hotel is the ultimate stage of good taste. We have a light lunch — Reinhold now battle-hardened against every chili. Butter Chicken? No problem anymore. I stay with vegetables.
In the afternoon: tea time by the fountain, accompanied by soft music.
Tea time at the Taj — and in the middle of it, Manisha’s laughter. India cannot only be seen — it must be felt.
Later, we join a palace tour and even glimpse the Maharani Suite, designed for the beautiful Badan Kanwar — 450 square meters of elegance. If I left my phone in the dining room, I wouldn’t hear it ring from the bathroom at the other end.
Among the suite’s former guests: Prince Charles, the Dalai Lama, Naomi Campbell, Shakira. You could say that even silence breathes luxury here.
In the evening, the kind Ishpreet leads us to the Maharaja’s vintage cars. We’re not allowed inside the exhibition hall — only to look through wide glass windows at the shining classics: Rolls-Royce, Cadillac, Ford, Mercedes. Shadows of the past, still gleaming in the dim light.
Palace corridors full of light, marble floors steeped in history, voices fading into space. Luxury that doesn’t need to speak — it simply breathes.
When the sun sets behind Jodhpur, the palace turns into a fairytale of light and stone. The gardens lie still, the domes glow in the gold of night — a royal farewell to the day.
Epilogue – The Road Ahead
Jodhpur fades behind us, its walls and rooftops still shimmering in blue.
The desert gives way to hills, and the air feels lighter, cooler, full of promise.
Tomorrow we travel south, toward marble temples and quiet valleys – toward Ranakpur, where silence has learned to speak in stone.
Next stop: Udaipur – City of Lakes, Reflections and Dreams
Back to: Jaipur – Between Flower Rain and Street Noise
About Edith: 70 plus – and more curious than ever. On wanderlust-knows-no-age.com she writes about journeys, memories, and the moments in between – poetic, honest, and always with a wink.
At her side: Reinhold – tireless navigator, impatient calm, and faithful guardian of the picnic bag.