The never ending contrasts of Rajasthan

Silver Travel Advisor

by Sue Lord

The journey from Jodphur in the arid desert to lush green Udaipur via the beautiful translucent marble temples of Ranakpur and the impressive fort of Kumbelgarh was both frightening, long and uncomfortable. But the world passing by our car windows was like an exciting film set. I watched, the kids mostly slept with their normal disregard for culture. We saw pilgrims walking (often barefoot) 600 km to Jaisalmer, the women carrying babies with suitcases on their heads and many camels, goats, donkeys and cows being herded by men in dhotis and turbans and children with wild, vertical hair. We also saw and fed monkeys and saw flocks of peacocks and green parrots.

As we approached a busy market with blaring prayer music, trees hung with cheap sparkling bangles and people carrying offerings of marigolds I asked the driver if it was a market for the pilgrims? He said “no, this is a very famous temple”. He stopped and led me towards a motorbike surrounded by women garlanding it and music and a fire pit. “this motorbike” he explained drove around the village all by itself, no petrol, no driver. It is the god that drove it”. I nod, doubtfully.

As we were leaving the driver pulled me over to a group of men each with a whiskey bottle. “This god”, he explained, “does not need food, or flower garlands. He needs only whiskey. They offer it and then they drink it”

At last, a motorcycle driving, whisky drinking god. Truly I have found a god I could worship!

A further long and bumpy drive across the Aravelli hills brought us into Udaipur, one of the top 4 places to visit in the world, according to Traveller Magazine. On a hot and dusty mid afternoon the magic of this fairytale city is not immediately obvious to us: Just another noisy, dirty, city with too many vehicles and animals

We check into our hotel, a nice little haveli near to the main tourist attractions. Although I am tired, the concierge insists on taking me to the restaurant floor. As the lift door opens he shows me a panorama of the city with the lake in front out of wide picture windows and the reason for the city’s reputation starts to become a little more obvious. The view is lovely, the lake palace (now a hotel) sits serenely glowing white like a square wedding cake in the centre of the lake with other palaces dotted around and the Aravelli “hills” (mountains really) forming the horizon. This could be Italy. Excitingly I can also see a glimpse of our next hotel, another converted palace, voted the best hotel in the world a couple of years ago. But more of that later. The view is beautiful by day and even more more stunning by night from the rooftop restaurant when all the lights from the buildings are sparkling and reflected in the lake.

The following morning we visit the city palace with its stunning interior decoration of tiny slivers of mirror and glass set in plaster, and then run the gauntlet of all the hawkers and tuc tuc drivers trying to sell us things, and tramp through the grubby streets to a very odd only-in-India cable car experience.

One of the paradoxes of India that I struggle with is how there is simultaneously some of the most beautiful craftmenship that I have ever seen, both ancient and contemporary and yet on the city streets all the buildings are crumbling into the piles of dirt and refuse already there.

Anyway we arrive at the cable car, buy our ticket from a table in the cafe and go to where the cable car should be moving, but isn’t. It turns out that instead of revolving all the time with neatly spaced out cars, the cable car is stationary until a crowd has formed both at the top and the bottom, and then they send two or 3 cars all at once. We load into the cars and after several more minutes, off we go to appreciate a view from top of the hill.

On the way down, Nick and the kids decide to walk and I come back on the cable car. Our meeting up is somewhat impeded by a group of young boys who send Nick one way, me another and then demand money from both of us for bringing us back together again!

Sometime later back at the haveli, we load all of our luggage and kids into two tuc tucs and head off for the “best hotel in the world”. I’m not sure who decides these things but right now after one long hot day, I’m inclined to agree. The hotel is sublime.

Tastefully converted from a palace and hunting lodge on Lake Pichola, it spreads just 53 massive rooms and suites over 20 acres through airy open marble walkways, beautiful landscaped gardens and watery channels, some of which are swimming pools. We are welcomed with iced rose tea and the whole place is a haven of clean tranquil beauty where every whim has been anticipated in advance. Peacocks call from the lawns and monkeys gambol as we play croquet. If I ever get to heaven (which i think is probably unlikely) it will be like this. Intoxicated by the atmosphere, my little daughter airily informs me that she thinks she will have a massage to ease her aching limbs. I glance at the prices and equally airily inform her that she will not, (heaven doesn’t come cheap) but for a short time this can all be ours.