Jodhpur is a city alive with color. It’s known as the “Blue City,” but people get crazy with all sorts of colors. The havelis look like they’re edged and swirled with wedding cake icing. Crumbling archways open into fantastical magentas and greens, and you get a glimpse of women hanging up their filmy saris in a rainbow line.
The Mehrangarh fort is spectacular and rambles over a mountain overlooking the city. There are grand rooms arrayed in stained glass and mosaics, where fat maharajas would pile themselves onto silken cushions and watch their concubines dance.
We met an old man with a glorious mustache, who told us that the maharaja had 344 concubines. I said, “Wow, that’s almost one concubine for every day of the year!” He chuckled heartily, and then proceeded to expound on the virtues of opium. “It is good for the sex!” said he. I took his picture. He was very jolly.
Our room at the Singhvi Haveli was like a little corner of the palace plucked from the hilltop and placed in the blue heart of the city. We felt like faded royalty, domed with glass mosaics and peacocks and hemmed in by carved wood. At all times of the day or night, stepping out on the rooftop terrace was magical. Perched high above the rooftops, you feel like you’re sailing, and the flashing blue corners of the city glow purple at sunset.
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