Through Jodhpur’s winding alleyways moves a procession of women dressed in flowing red, pink and gold. The warm hues, symbolising fertility and prosperity, flare against the blue stone buildings of the old town. Drums and joyous chants announce the procession’s arrival from afar, its rhythm mixing with heady incense, and the streets glow with earthen lamps as daylight fades. Tonight marks the first evening of the 15-day Ghudla festival, one of the most colourful celebrations in one of the most colourful corners of the world.
I think of the words of my guide, Laxman Singh, who, 12 hours earlier, had led me up a steep, winding path to share his sunrise rituals at the humble and otherwise deserted hilltop Mahadev Temple on the outskirts of the White City of Udaipur. “Why would I ever leave Rajasthan? There is nowhere more beautiful on Earth.”

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Rajasthan is home to a palette-full of “colour cities”. On its eastern side sits the bustling state capital of Jaipur, home to the famous Hawa Mahal palace. The Pink City’s uniform rosy wash dates to 1876, when Maharaja Ram Singh II ordered the city repainted to welcome Britain’s Prince Albert and Queen Victoria. To the far west lies the golden desert city of Jaisalmer – and between them, the beguiling, blue-tinted Jodhpur and the majestic Udaipur, luminous in white.

Also known as the City of Lakes, Udaipur is only a 75-minute flight south of Delhi, the capital city defined by the rich red sandstone of its trio of Unesco-recognised historic wonders: Humayun’s Tomb, the Qutb Minar Complex and the Red Fort Complex. Founded in 1559 as the capital of the Mewar kingdom, Udaipur rose alongside Lake Pichola in pale marble and white sandstone, materials long associated with peace and nobility.
The outline of the regal City Palace casts long, bright reflections across the blue lake. It was home to four centuries of rulers who left their architectural imprint. On an island in the lake sits Jag Mandir Palace, a cooling summer escape surrounded by water as still as a painted landscape.
Historically, the city’s white palette also had a practical purpose: to cool the buildings from the heat of the Rajasthani sun. Escape the old town’s horn heavy throng by crossing the Chandpole pedestrian bridge and you’ll reach the Cheerwa neighbourhood. Cooler, stiller, its pale-hued alleyways and trinket shops feel immune to the city’s hustle and heat.



From this historic hub, the water flows 15km east to Udai Sagar Lake, where we greet sunset with the chants and candlelight of an evening aarti ceremony at the Raffles Udaipur . Laxman Singh, who is a guest services ambassador at the property, explains on our hike the next day that the aarti symbolises the removal of darkness; a chance to pay gratitude at the day’s end. A popular wedding destination, the hotel is surrounded by fountains and mazes, in the centre of its own 8.5-hectare private island. It’s a fairytale escape, and among the most glamorous in a multitude of luxury properties that have opened surrounding Udaipur in recent years.

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Some 85km to the north lies Kumbhalgarh Fort, a 15th-century, Unesco-recognised, hilltop complex likened to the Great Wall of India – and an alternative to Jaipur’s more visited Amber Fort. Remote and rugged, it makes a fitting approach to Jodhpur, the Blue City, where I discover the buzzing historic core little changed, with few modern inroads since my last visit a decade earlier.

Credit: ©AG RAAS

Credit: ©AG RAAS

Credit: ©AG RAAS
This time, I take up residence at an 18th-century haveli townhouse, Raas Jodhpur , once home to prominent Rajput (warrior community) family. The only luxury hotel within the old walled city, the property’s centuries-old red sandstone holds a sense of soul lacking in modern concrete constructions.
“The art of Rajput architecture really came out of stone,” Raas Hotels founder Nikhilendra Singh tells me. “Stone has a different energy, an instinctive, tactile, mouldable presence. Stone is from the earth.”
Outside its towering gates, Jodhpur’s uniform blue tone began as a caste marker, signalling higher status households, before its cooling benefits became clear and the entire low-rise maze was painted the colour of Shiva – a tradition diligently followed to this day. “Every year we repaint our homes out of pride,” says Ram Niwas, a yoga teacher turned tour guide, stopping to point out the intricate jali latticework above nearly every doorway.

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No two buildings are the same shade. From deep-sea aqua to pale morning sky, faded pastel and cyan, the city reads as a soothing patchwork: it’s best appreciated from the turrets of the hilltop Mehrangarh Fort, once the seat of the Kingdom of Marwar. It’s only from this height that the power of a single, shared hue becomes clear – a city shaped as much by belief and climate as by colour itself.

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Houses on the Venetian lagoon island of Burano are painted in vivid, contrasting shades, a tradition said to have helped fishermen find their way home through fog. Today, strict rules govern the palette, preserving the island’s charm.

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Chinese Mainland Kashgar’s old town is defined by earth‑toned buildings of mud brick, timber and local stone, giving its lanes a cohesive sandy hue – shaped by climate and tradition and rooted in centuries‑old local heritage.

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In Gamcheon Culture Village, tightly stacked homes form a patchwork of pastel. What began as practical post-wartime housing has become one of Busan’s most recognisable sights.

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Whitewashed houses are built directly into towering limestone cliffs, with overhangs that double as rooftops. The restrained palette lets the dramatic, rock-wedged architecture take centre-stage.