around the lake and cringed as our driver crammed the large car down the tiny path that led to our hotel. Had the car been any bigger or the alley any smaller, we would’ve needed a giant pot of Vaseline to get there. We were enthusiastically greeted by our German host who escorted us to our spotless and spacious room. Dumping our bags, we ventured to the rooftop café with lovely views overlooking the lake, the main ghat on the opposite shore, (with locals washing their clothes and bathing) and further down, the old palace. If you ask Jen, the view was merely a backdrop for the foamy vision of beauty that was her first real cappuccino in weeks. I guess Nescafe doesn’t quite cut it.Refreshed and caffeinated, we ventured out to visit the town. The first thing that struck us was how much cleaner Udaipur was compared to many of the cities we had visited recently. The “touts” even seemed friendlier and less invasive. The Udaipurians seemed very proud of the fact that Octopussy was filmed here and every hotel in town had nightly screenings of the Bond flick. We opted for a traditional performance of dance, music, and marionettes instead. The performance was held in a beautiful old haveli that had originally been built to host visiting dignitaries. The courtyard was adorned with ornate stone carving and had been furnished with a plethora of colourful cushions for the audience to lounge on. We felt a little vulnerable in our “front row cushions” when a lady with 10 water pots balanced precariously on her head was dancing rather vigorously right in front of us.
Our visit to the palace, (yes… another one!) was also an exposé on how grandiose an Indian wedding can get. The aviation minister was marrying off his daughter with a party of some 4000 guests, Bollywood stars included. The celebrations, like all good Indian weddings were to last three days. The preparations saw dozens of trees dripping with flower garlands, a huge stage for the entertainment and dancing, 2 jumbotron screens, countless tables filling the various courtyards, and several small armies setting it all up…. and this was just for day 1! Apparently somebody forgot to add our names to the guest list…. Kelvin where are you when we need you?
The palace itself was as beautiful as any we had seen on the journey with many a jewelled room and courtyard. The peacock courtyard in particular carried a sad story. The Raj’s daughter had been mistakenly betrothed to different men in the neighbouring kingdoms; in order to avoid certain war, she killed herself. The heartbroken Raj commissioned a courtyard of brightly coloured peacock mosaics in her memory.
After the palace we wandered around and did some shopping. Amongst the loot: some old framed b & w photographs, a couple of skirts, and some charms for Jen’s souvenir charm bracelet. We scored the best table at a great restaurant overlooking the lake.
Bellies full, we were ushered off to sleep by the throbbing bhangra beat of a neighbouring wedding and awoke to the rhythmic wap, wap, wap, of the ladies beating their laundry down at the ghats. Another day, another palace. This time it was the Raj’s abandoned hunting lodge; “the monsoon palace”, perched atop a rugged mountain peak. There was a Bollywood crew setting up for some event,
hanging 
neglected palace. The view of the city below and the sunset framed by the layers of the surrounding mountains was breathtaking. Flying around the bends all the way down the mountain, our autorickshaw driver was determined to avoid the brakes in an effort build up enough speed to get us as far as possible wbaubles and fabric everywhere; it actually looked pretty cool filling the shell of this abandoned andithout the engine. Much to our surprise, we actually did end up firing it up, although it seemed like he had built up enough velocity to get us back to Delhi
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