The long dusty pot-holed road to the grandeur of Jaipur - Saturday, January 26

India's Independence Day 2013 has been a most memorable day. We knew the route to Jaipur would be long, but I could not have imagined how much I would wish I had taken dramamine or slathered my right side with sun protection. Fortunately, we did know it would likely be at least 5 hours to our lunch stop, so  we packed snacks and a fine hotel banana and limited our liquid intake. There was not a spot on the way we would have wanted to make a bathroom stop, so you can imagine our literal relief in reaching the Chomu Palace [Heritage Hotel] by 2. I anticipated a low-picture day and looked forward to a short blog. But no.

Sunday 4:55 a.m. as I write this: Peacocks in the hotel garden are making me think of Winter Park!

After another sorry breakfast in Bikaner, we said farewell to the [late] maharajah, his photos, portraits and trophies, and headed south.

Nearby we found a gaggle of schoolgirls ready for Independence Day celebration.

Then on to the state road, a major route between Bikaner and Jaipur. I expected potholes and rough sections of the road and heavy-duty "sleeping policemen" but not in the quantity we found them. I expected congestion but never like this; it wasn't uncommon on a divided roadway to have a vehicle coming toward us. I've come to think of driving in India as a form of dance. A modern one, in which improvisation is the constant and there's one consistent form of communication: a tap on the horn. We are so grateful to have total confidence in our driver. Kenneth, sitting in the front seat, was totally exhausted from watching all this, and it was definitely too "exciting' for him to nod off for long.

I continued clicking away the whole way, figuring the camel carts will disappear soon. A common site was incredibly loaded giant "bags" of grain, pulled by camel, tractor, truck.

It wasn't a big surprise when we found one vehicle with giant load on its side on the roadside.  Of course we shared the road with cows, camels, goats, sheep, and these guys (wart hogs?). A driver can never be in too much of a hurry, as the animals know their rights!

We passed many big schools on the way. Just a sample:

Roadside views were familiar: village after village after village with small makeshift-looking vendor spaces lining the road on both sides, and throngs of people - even more than usual - shopping.

Irrigation provides a dramatic contrast in this desert region, and bright green crops dotted sections of the way. They seemed random, and I'd like to know know about water allocation decisions and the economics of crop production.

The temp was 50 in Bikaner and probably rose to the low 70s mid-day. The sky was generally blue, but there was a definite haze over the landscape; you can imagine that after 4+ months of no rain, it doesn't take much to kick up the sand. A few times it was hard to see ahead.

The sun was incredibly strong. I sat behind the driver and even when the sun refused to rise above the car - ever - and my right side was broiling, I couldn't bear to switch sides since he had to endure it too. I wore my hat in the car, but that provided limited protection. Here's my self-portrait; it gives a pretty accurate idea of the brightness!

The trip got more interesting as the driver stopped twice to ask people directions to our lunch spot! No GPS in this car.

Seeing Indian highway construction up close was definitely an awesome experience. This was our first clue. You've already observed how critical the shoulders are to negotiating traffic here, so seeing these sections, with a 1' drop off on the side was "interesting." In a few villages/small towns a new "bypass" was being raised down the center of the road, with cut-outs for cars to cross under. It made me think of I-75 in N Georgia and other places where the impact on the communities was significant. Of course no work was being done on this holiday, so I suppose it could have been worse. But generally the process seemed to have little order to it.

The congestion was the worst and most frequent and slowest to resolve that we've seen yet.

Congestion wasn't just cars, but also people. A family of 4 on a motorbike for 2. A tuk-tuk for 3 with 6 or 8 squeezed in. A small vehicle with men hanging on the back - and going at least 30 mph. You can understand that we stayed alert all day! 

K and the driver are such good lookouts that I could never let go of the camera. When they signaled a good shot I needed to be ready, as it never lasted longer than a second.

We rejoiced when we found a big green sign with an arrow pointing to Chomu, and slogged our way through the crowds to Chomu Palace. I had read in the book that there is a great variety in the quality of the heritage hotels (those built in former palaces, etc.) and we have certainly seen that already. We are grateful not to be staying here, but we did have an edible lunch: cream of vegetable soup and macaroni and cheese with corn and spinach. Weird, but edible. With enough salt, it tasted pretty good. And we were certainly hungry at 2. Afterwards we toured with a guide. While it's easy to imagine a point when this might have been fairly splendid, maintenance has been minimal. The room they were proudest of, with at-one-time fine decoration on ceilings and walls, is now protected from outdoors only by a reed-slat blind across the ceiling to-floor courtyard opening. Feathers around the carpet indicated pigeons had found their way in anyway. The guy was eager to take our picture in the maharajah/maharina's seats. It continues to be fascinating to hear them pronounce maharaja as 2 syllables!

We were grateful for the respite - for us and for the driver, but ready to move on at 3. I knew wonderful things were ahead. But first, I loved this bus message just outside the hotel gate. 

Coming into Jaipur at last, one of the new sights was street-side barbering. It was a big day for barbers; we had seen several at work in port-a-potty-size cubicles along the road, but I failed to catch one in a photo.

Just 5 minutes after passing the barber, we were at the gates of the Rambagh Palace hotel, one of the grand Taj properties. Our planner had told us we must really splurge for this experience. Oh my, oh my. After inspecting inside the hood and under the car, security lowered the metal pylons blocking the entry and we drove through the park area to the entry. There the gentleman with the umbrella escorted me up the steps to the point where the young woman cast rose petals on my path. The turbanned fellow opened the door for us. And the young women put the tikka mark on our foreheads. Then we sat in most comfortable chairs in the lobby to go over plans with the local travel rep, fill in forms, etc.

 The rose petal girl led us to our room, where a video about the Taj palace hotels was running on the wall tv. We sat while she explained features of the room and reminded us a history tour of the property would begin at 5:30. As she began, the doorbell rang and this fellow brought welcome drinks (I think they said it was lychee juice with lemon and herbs) - but why pink? It was sweet and refreshing. And the luggage fellows placed our bags on fine wood shelves easily accessible for both of us - a lifetime first.

The room is Grand, indeed. I couldn't stop shooting details, including the bin with fresh newspapers and magazines. (This is another time when I'm so glad we just got the awful total-package price and not a breakdown of the cost of the elements!)  I haven't thought up a detail they missed, from night lights to a single orchid blossom on the stack of washcloths. Even two kinds of robes for each of us - soft silky ones or plush/soft terry ones. Evening turn-down brought a tiny tray with an extra bottle of hand lotion, a rose petal, and a Keats quote: O magic sleep...great key to golden palaces! A mysterious sound at 8 turned out to be the doorbell, with a woman asking if we needed our fruit or tea refreshed. What a contrast to the streets outside. What a contrast to the Bikaner accommodations.

A short shut-eye time for K, and we were off to tour. The halls are the most beautiful I've ever been in, from carpet to wall covering (or is it painting?), with insets picturing the maharajahs - each one different, it seems.

The tour began with the lobby portraits of the most recent maharajahs and the history of the hotel property...a fascinating but sad story which I'm sure is available on Google but too complex for this space.

After the introduction we went outdoors while it was still light, and came to appreciate the extent of the 47 acres (similar in size to Mead Gardens, K said). Like the inside, every detail seemed perfect - though it was too bad they had to put netting over the new plantings to protect them.  The spa building is extraordinary, from the decorated elephants at the entry to the sitar player in the garden (and it's chilly!!). Indoor and outdoor pools. Tented massage tents in the garden.

As dust came we looked back at the hotel and appreciated the building's size.

A little train brought in by the maharajah is now a casual-dining restaurant site.

Of course a big moon came up to complete the picture as we neared the end of the tour on the terrace where the royalty had their afternoon tea and evening coffee. At 7 musicians will come to play and braziers [?] with warming fire will be set out by tables on the grass.  We can skip the Indian music, we know. Of course the tour actually ended in the elegant bar.  We could've had an alcoholic drink - since the hotel copied our passports - but Indian residents can't. There's a 2-day dry period around the holiday!!

Instead, we chose an hour of much-needed R&R. I had persuaded K we should make a reservation for what I'm calling Our Last Indian Dinner Ever. We've come to accept that the food just isn't meant to be non-hot/spicy, and we cannot enjoy hot. But I wanted to experience this landmark restaurant with its Indian-only cuisine. The space was a palace dining room, known for the dinners for 80 at one long table - with one server for each guest and simultaneous presentations of courses. Dishes and flatware and drinking cups were solid gold of course; ours were only plate. Fresco paintings just below the ceilings were done by an Italian prisoner of war. Alabaster lamps in the corners were custom-designed. I could go on and on - but won't. The service of course was exceptional. The chef came out at the end to visit. We enjoyed our food - almost all non-spicy, thanks to the server's guidance. And we look forward to returning to the Western world at mealtime from now on.

Pictured here: The room, the table, the service, the closing finger bowl, and one of the servers ready to offer us the herbs Indians chew to refresh their mouth at the end of a meal.

No time for the Times for K back in the room - now 10:45. And no blogging for me 'til the wee hours (I slept 5!!). We accept exhaustion and are thrilled to have such a comfortable bed.