‘The Palace of Bundi, even in broad daylight, is such a palace as men built for themselves in uneasy dreams, the work of goblins rather than of men.’ So said Rudyard Kipling of Bundi Palace. Also known as Garh Palace, it was home to the rulers of Bundi for centuries.
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What is it that makes so many doors and windows beg to be photographed? Is it that they intrigue us by hinting at what might lie beyond, if we were to open them? Or more simply, that they provide decoration and interest to what would otherwise be blank walls?
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Until I visited, all my images of New Jersey came from song lyrics - Paul Simon's traffic-clogged turnpike and Bruce Springsteen's urban working class childhood.
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There was something special about Takayama. I could feel it in the air as soon as I stepped off the train – crisp, fresh mountain air, so refreshing after the heat of Kyoto.
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The road twisted and turned up the mountain, winding through what seemed to be quite ancient woodland, and emerged on to the grasslands above. The crumbling hulk of the monument loomed above us, the last wisps of cloud just drifting away.
