In the pink city, far from being in the pink…. but I managed to stay strong enough to walk around and visit the sights…. though not really the bazaars and markets, I only saw those from the rickshaw. The heat is not so bad, the wind has picked up….
Windows have always been my favourites and I truly had a chance to knock myself out!
It’s a fairytale, I’m still lost in some ancient desert epic, one thousand and one nights…. and constantly stunned trying to imagine that people not only survived in these places without fridges, aircon, running water (not to mention wifi), but in some areas, in some periods, even thrived, waged wars, traded, conquered, dreamed big. The omnipresent hilltop forts tell about raiding armies and battlefields, with sands and rocks and the all-consuming desert trying to eat up everything. The streets of the pink city tells about royal comforts, harems, riches, heavy brocades and gentle music, as well as brisk trade in the shophouses, sprawling markets, camel caravans coming and going, a swirl of languages, dresses and colours. And least that’s how I imagine it. That’s what it still looks like.
Some royal grandeur in pink
Actually the buildings were only painted pink 160 years ago, to welcome the Prince of Wales. And then it stuck. Now everyone in the old city is required by law to keep the faded orange colour.
All is well, and I really enjoy a lot of places, moments…. but I’m really tired and homesick. No pink glasses.