Relaxation at a premium in Rajasthan — Sam Phipps

**The Thar desert offers escape from Rajasthan’s busy cities**

A line from the Beatrix Potter classic Peter Rabbit came to mind after our brief, shocking stay at the Gouri Heritage Haveli hotel in Jodphur. Above the picture of a drenched Peter, it goes something like: “The watering can would have been a very good place to hide if it had not been full of water.”

The hotel would have been a very good place to stay if it had not caught fire.

We had arrived the night before, straight off the train from Jaisalmer. The place had everything: delicious food at the rooftop restaurant with the dark bulk of Jodphur Fort looming a mile away, friendly staff, low prices.

For a while I thought the pre-dawn commotion was supplies being delivered to the kitchen but the shouts were growing louder and more urgent. Something smelled wrong too. We got out of bed and opened the door. A young woman in pyjamas rushed past and shouted: “We’ve got to go, there’s a fire!” Her partner stood nearby, stuffing possessions into a rucksack. To our left across an open walkway a wide section of the stone and wooden building was in flames and people were rushing up and down the stairs with buckets of water.

**Stone carving outside one of Jaisalmer’s Jain temples**

We reckoned we had time to get dressed and cram our own things away, which we did before joining the couple on the flat roof to our right. It was too high, maybe five metres, to descend without likely injury but at least we wouldn’t be trapped. The flames were close to the top of the stairs, although it looked like the fire was only on our level, so if we made the first bit we should be able to get out. And that’s what we did - the four of us, sticking close together, went down the few, dark flights and out onto the street. It was not yet 6am and still dark.

The episode lasted perhaps 15 minutes but felt a lot longer. No one was hurt but it was scary that staff cared more about putting out the fire than evacuating guests. Taking fright, we upgraded to a luxury hotel on the edge of town.

Only 36 hours earlier we heard news that Clunie’s mother Jane had died peacefully at home in Edinburgh. She was 99, with 13 grandchildren, including our three adult ones, and 15 great-grandchildren. It came as a shock.

On what would turn out to be her last day, we had seen the sun rise in the Thar desert after a camel ride and overnight camp. She was a great lover of life, full of generosity and kindness but also mischief. Clunie’s siblings have encouraged us to stay away and we have managed to contribute in some ways from afar. The funeral is due in early January on her beloved Isle of Wight, a few days after we’re back.

The fire was our second hotel crisis in a row. In Jaisalmer we got involved in a dispute between a former employee of the family that ran the guesthouse inside the fort that we thought we were staying at. He picked us up at the train station and took us to another hotel outside the old wall - he was passing theirs off as his, hijacking their website and emails and using photos and reviews of the real thing. He gave some garbled explanation about problems at the genuine one.

Later that day we bumped into the owners. They told us what was going on and we checked out of the wrong hotel before we’d even spent a night there. Our new room was barely a leap across the alley from the unique carvings of a Jain temple roof.

The family had tried for months to get the police involved but they weren’t interested - until we agreed to write a statement explaining what happened to us. I had to ride on the back of their son’s motorbike to three separate police stations in Jaisalmer, a helmet-less and hair-raising ride, to verify the details. Two days later the police resolved it and the case was trumpeted in the local press, an easy win for the authorities and local tourism. The family are delighted but I don’t know what the consequences will be for the dodgy hotelier.

**Rooftops inside the fort of Jaisalmer, the Golden City**

In Jodphur you have to be careful looking at the trademark blue facades, which are often enhanced by intricate stonework. The same goes for Bikaner in the north of Rajasthan, although the equivalent there is red sandstone. As in most of India’s urban spaces the streets are a free-for-all and pavements are non-existent.

It’s a reverse of the official new hierarchy in the UK, where vulnerable road users are given priority. Here lorries, buses and cars dominate, with motorbikes and scooters darting about all over the place. There’s no distinction between overtaking and undertaking - taking is taking - and some of the scariest moments come from underpowered overtaking. Tuk-tuk trips are like high-speed dodgem rides, only with pedestrians and vehicles of all sizes added to the entertainment. Cyclists have become relatively rare, which looks like a big change from 20 or 30 years ago.

For all that, the dicey driving is surprisingly anger-less. Amid the chaos, I’ve never yet seen verbal or physical aggression.

**Restoration work in the old centre of Bikaner**

Rajasthan is proud of its martial past and weapon making - “we have never been conquered, including by the British,” one guide told me.” The fort cities, overlooking vast desert plains, are testament to this. It’s also famous for something else - sumptuous and brightly coloured fabrics and textiles. These contrast with and soften the harshness of the terrain.

The ups and downs of this trip have sometimes felt like almost too much drama. Next stop Goa - maybe things will be more straightforward there.