Salim takes us to see the town clock, it is in the shoe-menders' quarter, where a calf chews on a piece of cardboard, in quiet comtemplation. We stop once more to photo the mounted steam engine outside Jodhpur main railway station.
On the road to Udaipur, we stop off to visit a dhurrie rug-maker. His loom is set up in an open sided building with a low thatched roof. The weaver is sat on the floor by the loom and he shows us how to use a tool to press the weft into place. He is very courteous, with a lovely quiet dignity. He makes us feel very welcome as his guests and a conversation takes place between us all - Salim joins us too. Views are exchanged on life, philosphy and politics. In the yard, there are happy noises coming from two little girls who are playing on a swing. Afterwards, the weaver and his sons show us a selection of the rugs. All are very beautiful, with their wonderfully coloured natural dyes. The two sons bring out tie dye shawls, coloured with intricate designs of spots, through hundreds of tiny twisted knots that have been hand sewn in to the fabrics. These are fresh from production and the cotton knots are still in place and ready to be pulled out. But we feel a bit spent out and can't justify another purchase, so H offers him some money in our thanks for his hospitality. This he gently refuses, saying that we are his guests and he will not take our money.
Further on down the road, we visit a Jain temple, where a priest dressed in red shows us around. He tells us that it is constructed so that only 4 deities can ever be viewed from one place. Also that a pillar is intentionally built wonky because nothing should ever be too perfect. We quietly differ on both these points, as H lines up 5 deities in his sight. We don't think perfect could ever be a good description. What with over 1000 pillars and all that ornamentation, it is one over-egged pudding to say the least.
Walk over to look at the old temple nearby, stopping off to watch wild monkeys and are invited to pose for a photo amidst a group of young girls.
Salim drives us up a winding mountain road. It is beautifully lush and green with occasional streams running down the hillsides.
Eventually, he pulls into a small open restaurant, where we are offered a 'buffet' variety of dishes in earthen-ware heated pots - veg curry, chicken curry, dal, rice, All good, apart from dessert - a bowl of greasy semolina, which we pass on.
Continue our drive through the hills, encountering an idyllic pool, where buffallo are bathing and a baby donkey rolls on its back in the sand before a stunning mountain backdrop. Seems to be a cue for a photo. As soon as we step out of the car, three gypsy women appear from nowhere, loud, bouncy and demanding money. One of them tucks her skirts through her legs and walks on her hands. H shells out some money and we dive back in the car, shell-shocked! Where the heck did that come from!
Next stop is to photo large bats, hanging in a tree like a random collection of folding umbrellas. A man in the car in front tells Salim that there has been a 'bomb-blast' in Delhi.
Onto the dual carriageway, where women graze herds of cattle on the central reservation. A group of lads try to jump start a tuk-tuk, pushing it the wrong way up the dual carriageway. Three small boys struggle to get a large wheeled cart over the central reservation.
A large group of people are celebrating a wedding in one village. The scenery is so beautiful, it seems such a pity all the villages are filthy and ill-kempt, strewn with rubbish.
In Udaipur, Salim points out to us the statue of a horse, which saved a maharaja's life by jumping to safety, after it had been badly injured. According to H, the statue has a strangely human looking set of pink genitalia - I didn't notice that myself.
Into Udaipur old quarter and the streets are tiny and claustrophobic. We step past a stinking sewer to reach the hotel entrance. It's all a bit of a come down after what we've got used to. Salim leaves us, with a warning that if we meet any friendly young men, who invite us to visit their 'uncle's shop', we must be on our guard. We risk a common ruse of being given drugged tea and getting robbed.
The hotel room is spacious and clean, but we both hate it on sight because it feels hemmed in on all sides by other buildings. We would much rather have been stopping up in the mountains.
The hotel boys who carry our bags up to our room cram us all into a tiny lift which goes up one floor and stops 18" short. The lad nearest the gates opens the gates,climbs out and closes them again, so the button can be pressed and lift continues the remainder of the way. Meanwhile the other lad, for whatever reason (neither of us can fathom), crams his head between the lift wall and H's back.
Afterwards, we take a walk up the street to check out a leather shop, where H is hopeful he might find an engineering bag. There is something almost, but sadly, not quite what he is after. So we go and stand by the lakeside, but its all rather stinky and filthy so we don't linger for long and return for dinner in the roof top restaurant. This too proves to be unssuccessful and we are re-directed downstairs to avoid mosquitos.
Tonight both of us are feeling very tired. The relentless travelling is starting to catch up with us and our discretionary filters are switched off. This leads to some extremely funny and very rude conversations, which unfortunately now my filter is up and running again, really don't bear repeating! :-)
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