Day 11 - Udaipur

Salim picks us up at 10am and takes us to a bank for cash.  Huge sigh of relief when my card works at last!
He then takes us for a lovely peaceful start to the day, having a wander around a very pretty park.  At the gateway, a coconut seller expertly takes the top off two coconuts and makes a hole in each to insert a drinking straw. Delicious.
The walk in the park is lovely, amongst attractive fountains, flowers, trees and the usual endearing cheeky chipmunks.  It is a good serene start to our day.  In the midst of the park is a seller of memory cards, which is handy, and H is able to get an 8mb top up for his camera.
We then go to post some heavy items home.  There's our spices, my marble coasters, H's engine lamp and a book.  Over the road from the Post Office is a small cuboid concrete shop unit, which specialises in wrapping parcels.  A cadboard box that looks too small, but turns out to be just big enough is unearthed and Salim helps us to squeeze everything in. 
The woman then goes to work tailoring a snug fitting cotton jacket to wrap the package.  The open side is hand-stiched into place and blobs of sealing wax applied to all the seams.  While this is going on, Salim goes to queue for us in the Post Office.  He calls us on H's mobile to say he will be at the front in just 5 mins and we dash across the road to get the package sent off.
It's all been thirsty work, so next Salim takes us to a roadside stand, where freshly juiced orange and pineapple are served.  It is fabbly good!
Salim takes us to visit the town's zoo.  We wander along a path, through a park in the heat of the middle of the day.  People are crashed out asleep on the footpaths and a tractor driver lies zonked out across the seat and tops of the wheels of his tractor.  At the side of the path, H is excited to spot a 15" guage railway track and the quest is on to track it to its source.  En route, meeting a colony of spider monkeys.
Eventually, we come across the station and for a minimal sum, are able to board the train and off we go! - Very exciting!
The engine is a converted tractor- chain drive it turns out.  We find this out a few minutes into our trip, when the chain breaks and we peter quietly to a halt.  We exchange some chat with our fellow passengers and then hop out to take a look at the damage.  It doesn't look like this is going to be an instant fix, so we decide to cut our losses and fnish the journey on foot.  Not sure if we ever do find out quite how we were meant to get into the zoo, but we did get to see the train again later on and this time photographed it as it went over a crossing.
We exit the park and enter the vintage car museum, with its fab collection of beautifully restored and cared for cars of maharajas.  I expecially like the solar powered tricycle.  Late lunch in the round restaurant that's in the middle of the museum - a thali served by quietly courteous staff - delish!

Salim meets us.  He's on a quest to find the elusive leather engineering bag H is after and drops us into a couple of possible places, but it continues to elude us.  Also a jewellery store, where a sapphire bracelet catches my eye.  Only £2k - bargain! - Maybe not today though!
We visit the lakeside to photo the palace, then go back to the hotel, so we can use the internet and check on our travel plans.
In the evening, we go to watch traditional dancers in the museum opposite the hotel.  It is a fantastic show - Salim's recommendation is as good as ever.
H slammed his finger in the bedrrom door, which was not so good - crushed, throbbing and bleeding profusely! 

Day 10 Jodhpur to Udaipur

Hotel may be a palace, but the breakfast is terrible - unpleasant tasting boiled eggs with tired bananas.  Our stomachs are a bit iffy today, so we stoke up mainly on immodium.

Salim takes us to see the town clock, it is in the shoe-menders' quarter, where a calf chews on a piece of cardboard, in quiet comtemplation.  We stop once more to photo the mounted steam engine outside Jodhpur main railway station.

On the road to Udaipur, we stop off to visit a dhurrie rug-maker.  His loom is set up in an open sided building with a low thatched roof.  The weaver is sat on the floor by the loom and he shows us how to use a tool to press the weft into place.  He is very courteous, with a lovely quiet dignity.  He makes us feel very welcome as his guests and a conversation takes place between us all - Salim joins us too.  Views are exchanged on life, philosphy and politics.  In the yard, there are happy noises coming from two little girls who are playing on a swing. Afterwards, the weaver and his sons show us a selection of the rugs.  All are very beautiful, with their wonderfully coloured natural dyes.  The two sons bring out tie dye shawls, coloured with intricate designs of spots, through hundreds of tiny twisted knots that have been hand sewn in to the fabrics.  These are fresh from production and the cotton knots are still in place and ready to be pulled out.  But we feel a bit spent out and can't justify another purchase, so H offers him some money in our thanks for his hospitality.  This he gently refuses, saying that we are his guests and he will not take our money.

Further on down the road, we visit a Jain temple, where a priest dressed in red shows us around.  He tells us that it is constructed so that only 4 deities can ever be viewed from one place.  Also that a pillar is intentionally built wonky because nothing should ever be too perfect.  We quietly differ on both these points, as H lines up 5 deities in his sight.  We don't think perfect could ever be a good description.  What with over 1000 pillars and all that ornamentation, it is one over-egged pudding to say the least.

Walk over to look at the old temple nearby, stopping off to watch wild monkeys and are invited to pose for a photo amidst a group of young girls.

Salim drives us up a winding mountain road.  It is beautifully lush and green with occasional streams running down the hillsides.

Eventually, he pulls into a small open restaurant, where we are offered a 'buffet' variety of dishes in earthen-ware heated pots - veg curry, chicken curry, dal, rice, All good, apart from dessert - a bowl of greasy semolina, which we pass on.

Continue our drive through the hills, encountering an idyllic pool, where buffallo are bathing and a baby donkey rolls on its back in the sand before a stunning mountain backdrop.  Seems to be a cue for a photo.  As soon as we step out of the car, three gypsy women appear from nowhere, loud, bouncy and demanding money.  One of them tucks her skirts through her legs and walks on her hands.  H shells out some money and we dive back in the car, shell-shocked!  Where the heck did that come from!

Next stop is to photo large bats, hanging in a tree like a random collection of folding umbrellas.  A man in the car in front tells Salim that there has been a 'bomb-blast' in Delhi.

Onto the dual carriageway, where women graze herds of cattle on the central reservation.  A group of lads try to jump start a tuk-tuk, pushing it the wrong way up the dual carriageway.  Three small boys struggle to get a large wheeled cart over the central reservation.

A large group of people are celebrating a wedding in one village.  The scenery is so beautiful, it seems such a pity all the villages are filthy and ill-kempt, strewn with rubbish.

In Udaipur, Salim points out to us the statue of a horse, which saved a maharaja's life by jumping to safety, after it had been badly injured.  According to H, the statue has a strangely human looking set of pink genitalia - I didn't notice that myself.

Into Udaipur old quarter and the streets are tiny and claustrophobic.  We step past a stinking sewer to reach the hotel entrance.  It's all a bit of a come down after what we've got used to.  Salim leaves us, with a warning that if we meet any friendly young men, who invite us to visit their 'uncle's shop', we must be on our guard.  We risk a common ruse of being given drugged tea and getting robbed.

 The hotel room is spacious and clean, but we both hate it on sight because it feels hemmed in on all sides by other buildings.  We would much rather have been stopping up in the mountains.

The hotel boys who carry our bags up to our room cram us all into a tiny lift which goes up one floor and stops 18" short.  The lad nearest the gates opens the gates,climbs out and closes them again, so the button can be pressed and lift continues the remainder of the way.  Meanwhile the other lad, for whatever reason (neither of us can fathom), crams his head between the lift wall and H's back.

Afterwards, we take a walk up the street to check out a leather shop, where H is hopeful he might find an engineering bag.  There is something almost, but sadly, not quite what he is after.  So we go and stand by the lakeside, but its all rather stinky and filthy so we don't linger for long and return for dinner in the roof top restaurant.  This too proves to be unssuccessful and we are re-directed downstairs to avoid mosquitos.

Tonight both of us are feeling very tired.  The relentless travelling is starting to catch up with us and our discretionary filters are switched off.  This leads to some extremely funny and very rude conversations, which unfortunately now my filter is up and running again, really don't bear repeating! :-)

Day 9 Pushkar to Jodhpur

Salim drives us along country roads, which he knows we enjoy more than the highways.  We stop off at a car wash, where a coach is being thoroughly cleaned, so Salim can oil the squeaky hinges on his car doors.
Drive on through farms, where the chocolatey coloured goats look really pretty, especially the ones with leopard spot markings.
The road quality is extremely variable.  In some places, flood water has carried away the road surface completely, resulting in huge pot holes, which the car does not absorb too well.
We pass through toll gates, one with a long barrier, operated by a length of string.  It is heavily counter-weighted at one end and the string is held at the other end by a man who is laid back with his foot on the window sill.
Salim relates a tale of when he was caught speeding while taking guests to a wedding.  He pretended to be a police officer, and fortunately, it worked and they let him off.
En-route, he decides to change our hotel reservation to a place he thinks we will prefer.  He suggests I speak to the office and say that the suggestion was made to us by another traveller, but in the end, he shouts the office junior into submission, and looks very pleased with himself.
We arrive in time for lunch at our palatial-style hotel.  It is rather church like inside, with a roof top restaurant.  Quick eat and out to the hill top fort with amazing views across the Blue City.
We queue at the entrance for tickets and both H and I get our bums felt in the crowd.
We are given an audio presentation to take round with us.  It is a little long winded here and there, but at least we can fast forward the pompous bits.
The indian tourists are an exhuberant and lively bunch and it seems we are of as much interest to some of them as the palace itself.  The fort is high and impressive and the tour takes us right up to the top, finishing with a walk across the battlements, where a family ask us to be in a photo with them, and we all hold hands.
Salim picks us up and takes us to an art shop, where H and I agree we will not allow each other to buy anything, but as ever, it goes awry.  I end up purchasing an exquisite hand-painted tableau pf elephants and feel twice as guilty because H manages to keep his nerve and not buy a silk velvet picture of camels.
At the side of the road though, H is lucky to spot and engine lamp on a bric a brac stall.  He buys it for 555R.  Bargain!
Salim then tries to take us to an antique emporium, but I am too frightened for the state of my bank balance and beg for clemency.  Instead we go to a spice shop, where we are given a variety of samples to smell and of course, cannot resist making a few purchases.
Time for dinner and Salim takes us to his favourite thali restaurant.  There are so many servers bringing food to our table, the whole performance is positively theatrical.  We enjoy the drama of seeing each colourful contribution added to our trays.  It is a fun and colourful meal in a lively atmosphere - and if that weren't enough, we can see the happenings in the traffic outside!
Back outside, we dice with death crossing the road.  Night traffic is really scary, because many cars and bikes don't bother with lights.  What with that and the odd cow lying peacefully in the shadows....
Back to the hotel for a much needed shower and early night!

Day 8 - Pushkar

Salim drops us off with Verra at a market.  We are warned against pick-pockets.

Verra escorts us to the Brahmin temple, where we leave our shoes and cameras and join him on the stairs up to the centre of the temple, where Verra shows us the floor tiles inscribed with memorials and set with silver coins.

We queue to see the shrine, where people hand over money and are given sweets and flowers in return.  We are jostled by the crowd and a hand slips around my waist, feeling suspiciously like it is in search of a pocket.

Sugar sweets, made with Holy water and flower petals litter the floor, making it sticky and a perfect feeding ground for bees, which have built their nest on the outside of the shrine itself.

Verra leads us up a flight of staris, so we can see out across the city where over 500 temples serve their own communities.  This is a place of massive pilgrimage, the only Brahmin temple in the world.  Verra takes us down to the underground shrine to see Shiva and then we go to the shrine for Ganesh.

At this point, Verra sees we are getting very warm and sits us down to rest in the shade.  We watch as a young man gets concerned when his camera is confiscated by police.

As we walk back out, down the stairs, a voice behind me says "Madam, madam, please", to attract my attention.  He then asks to knock a cricket from the back of my dress.  I thank him.  "It would bite your butt", he smiles.

We continue through the market, with its brilliantly coloured gypsy dresses and leather bags, which Verra says are actually only made of paper and would disintegrate in water.  Through an archway and the tunnel, that was the resting place of the Maharaja's guards and we come out among the ghats at the lakeside.  The remnants of a funeral pyre smoulder on one of the ghats.

We walk across the ghats that are divided by small shrines.   A dog appears in the doorway of one, which he evidently considers to be his own personal kennel.  People are bathing in the lake, preparing to go for prayer.  Young men in big groups are having a lot of noisy fun.  It's surpising to see that the women are also  stripping down completely.

We are brought to a priest, who sits crossed legged before a silver tray.  He explains the significance of yellow, red, water, rice and sugar and invites us to receive a ritual, so that we can pray for good karma and good luck for our loved ones.

He takes us into the shrine, where we sit in semi darkness, the only light coming in through the tiny doorway.  The priest (looks a lot like john Tickle), leads the ceremony with chanting and then asks us to repeat words after him.  This requires a lot of concentration and things go a little awry as we stumble over some of the longer words, but the occasion is unexpectedly moving.

I give blessings to Toby, Rosie and Paul.  And then special blessings for my Dad.  A tear splashes down from my closed eyes onto the stone floor and the priest tells me I must not be sad, only joyful, because I am wishing Dad much joy.

Flowers and other items from the priest's tray are put into our hands to give as offerings and we are given Bhindi spots on our foreheads to wish us good luck, health and good things in life.  Grains of rice are stuck into the bhindi spots.

Back out on the lakeside, we sit quietly dazed and elated by the experience.  We are brought a drink and sit quietly, taking in the sight of the long-tailed monkeys on a building nearby.  Massive numbers of pigeons are on the steps, feeding on the corn offerings.

Verra ties the ends of our flower neck garlands for us.  A cluster of women stand and stare openly at us.  I put my hands together and say 'namaste' to them and am rewarded by their delighted smiles, waves and friendly return of my greeting.

We walk up through more market stalls, to look into a Shiva temple, which we are not allowed to enter.  Then we go to the Sikh temple, where we are welcomed by a gently smiling elderly man, who assists in transforming my sash to a shawl, draping it around my shoulders for me.

We cross the shallow, cooling foot pool and climb the steps to the shrine, where a priest sits within.  It is all  cool pale marble, with dark blue carpet flooring and a traditional shrine, where a black and red digital display of the date and time, sits inconguously next to the deity.

The doors are of beautifully carved deep golden wood.  We walk around the balcony which is wonderfully serene.  Verra tells us that the temple was built in a very short time, due to the combined effrots of the Sikh community.

Continue on to a Salim rendez-vous point, where Verra introduces us to his friend, who's quite a wag, a jewellery maker with a face for Bollywood.  He is convinced that he recognises me from Goa, back in 2007, when he was in Candolim.

Salim arrives with damage to his car doors.  He blames himself, says he was hurrying and brushed up against a truck.

Back at the hotel we swim in the pool, use the internet and then have dinner.  Our quiet and gentle waiter comes and sits with us and asks, "Please, tell me all about England," and sits there evidently enjoying everything we can find to say.

 Salim picks us up to go and watch the sunset.  He does not want to take us to the Sunset Cafe, because Verra is not with us,  Instead, he takes us to the hilltop temple.  We walk halfway up, to a viewing area, where we all just relax and enjoy the tranquility and each others company.  Salim is wearing white cotton, because it is Friday.  He is very at ease and tells us funny stories about his encounters with lizards, which he hates.  The one on a light bulb, in a hostel, he threw water at, causing the light bulb to explode.  The one that got in his car air conditioning on a long journey, so he had to drive all the way back to Delhi to get it removed.

A man with a terrible stringed instrument and a loud grating voice storms in on us, shattering the peace and then demands money for his unwanted performance.  The three of us exchange furtive grimaces and smiles.  Salim gives him 10R and explains that we don't want to have his music, but would rather enjoy the quietness.  The man ponders this for a while, and then decides to try giving us another tune.  This time, I give him another 10R in an attempt to get rid of him, but he wants money from H too, so H has to cough up as well.

Even then, the man lingers pensively nearby for some time before finally giving up.

Salim tells us that it takes a lot of leaning to be able to play that instrument well.  I reply this it is a pity the player evidently hasn't begun learning yet then!

We watch as the sun goes down and the city lights come up across Pushkar.  It is a really lovely, special moment, being able to enjoy Salim's company in this relaxed mood.  One of the best evenings of the holiday in fact!

Day 7 - Jaipur to Pushkar + camel riding

Our journey to Pushkar - 3 hours' drive on fairly peaceful roads.  It is mostly uneventful, apart from when Salim throws some coins into a shrine in the central reservation and realises too late that a woman is squatted there in prayer and the coins have probably hit her.  He is horrifed and makes gestures of apology to Allah.  We both laugh our heads off and then Salim enjoys the funny side of it too.

The roads takes us through the area where marble blocks are cut into slabs.  We see the massive blocks of marble, being brought in on lorries.  The dust is terrible, it must be awful for the health of people who live here.

Salim and I chat about our children.  He says his wife has called to say she is having the usual morning problems with the children not being able to find their right clothes for school, using their tiffin boxes as footballs, ruining shoes and pleading stomach aches to scive school.

Salim tells us that he cannot write English because he had to leave school and work when he was young.  But he has picked up spoken English as he has gone along and now wants to make a better future for his children.  It is why he works so hard, and he feels frustrated by their unwillingness to make the best of their opportunities.

On arrival in Pushkar, we stop off to arrange a camel ride.  H is up for 3 hours, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to stand it, so we agree on two riding camels and a third one with a cart for respite.

We are dropped at our hotel, with the memorable words, 'your camels will be outside the hotel to pick you up at 4pm.'  Has to be one of the best things anyone has ever said to me!

Our hotel room is lovely and airy, with marble bathroom, bedroom, atrium and a round sitting room, which overlooks the gardens. 

Our camels are waiting at 4 as promised, with Salim there to photo us and see us off.  First H gets on - his camel is pretty amenable, then its my turn.  "Lean back please," they tell it to stand and it is furious and roars its annoyance.  It takes some persuading, but eventually, the back legs go up followed by the front and accompanied by yet more angry roaring.  It's up - and I'm very relieved to still be in the saddle.

Off we go following the cart, taking a turn that leads us through houses and gardens, where little girls wave and shout hello to us, very excited and smiley.  My camel (Grumpy) seems to have a severe itch on his neck and keeps trying to get to it with his front foot.  Harry's camel (Greedy) goes for as much road side greenery as it can grab to eat. 

The camel men riding on the cart start to chat with us.  We come up with our usual line about being Aunt and Nephew.  They ask me if I am married and I say 'no', and then they abruptly stop and escort H's camel to the side of the road, where it is made to sit down.  Harry asks what is happening, but neither of them answers.  One of them then climbs on the saddle behind H, and they get up and jog off ahead, out of sight.

This, I find rather disconcerting!  "Oh dear, here I am with a complete stranger, in a foreign land, where no-one will heed my screams", says a voice in my head, but I quiet it, reasoning the Salim would never put us into any danger.

H feels anxious about the situation too, and looks back over his shoulder to see if I am ok.

We go through a farm, where a dog sits blissfully upright in a tub of water and is given a shower.  A boy of about 12 blows me a sultry kiss and passing truck drivers make lewd gestures at me.

We stop outside a farm gate and a pretty young girl comes out of the enclosure with a jug of water and chats vivaciously with the driver, while he drinks.  We continue and catch up eventually with H, spotting kingfishers, weaver bird nests and a very colourful tractor.

We dismount at a shrine by a holy lake and sit on the steps, drinking in the serene atmoshere.  Our camels sit down and their heads flop down the ground, looking like someone has let the air out of them.  Then we climb up on the cart (my back and "Mr 3 hours' ride Billmore's" squishy bits have spent enough time now in the saddle thank you very much), and continue to the sand dunes.  We pass a cluster of people and a large collection of goats, which have been brought down from grazing in the surrounding hills.

We climb a sand dune, to watch the sunset.  A dog, who is clearly longing to play tries to engage H in some sand-kicking.  The camels sit peacefully regurgitating and chewing.  Being out there in the desert with the camel men, local people, goats, camels and dog is amazing and beautiful.

Its starting to get dusky now as we climb back onto the cart.  The camel is furious and throws a huge indignant wobbly one at being expected to move.  One of our riding camels (Grumpy) is given to a pair of Japanese tourists, so they can have one each.  Just Greedy is following the cart now, his lip wobbling, grabbing any passing bit of vegetation he can get hold of.  He is wonderful - I think my love of elephants may yet move on to camels.

Salim is waiting for us in the darkness back at our hotel.  We ask him to come and have a drink with us in the restaurant and shortly afterwards,  Verra, our Brahmin guide for tomorrow also joins us, together with his son Sale.  Salim introduces Verra to us as his friend and brother.

Salim explains that he will not escort us himself in Pushkar tomorrow.  He says there would be repurcussions the next time, from aggressive local tourist guides and he does not want to get beaten up.  He says that Verra is very well known and that people will see we are with him and will not harm us because he is a Brahmin.

Back in our room, we do a massive batch of washing and spread it out to dry in the sunroom.

 

Day 6 - Jaipur

Just as well on waking that we don't know what sort of a day is in store, or we might not have the courage to face it!

Breaky in the elaborate dining room is a bizarre assortment of silver containers with hard boiled eggs on a bed of salt, dosas with paneer and chilly, potatoes and green peppers fried in oil etc.

Salim meets us and introduces us to today's guide - Rajeesh, who is charming and smiley and we take to him right away.

Pink City
We drive into the Pink City and Rajeesh explains to us the rule of 9s.  The lucky number 9 has been used as a base for the nine sections of the city.  Frontages are 108 ft apart - a multiple of 9.  Jaipur is so much nicer and more porsperous looking than Agra.  Even the tuk-tuks are way up market.  We spot a pimp-my-tuk-tuk version, with buttoned upholstery.  H is happy to spot a stretch tuk-tuk and later on, an artic tuk-tuk.

Amber Fort
Out of the city, we climb a lush green hill and descend to a lakeside, where the Amber Fort sits impressively above us.  A man with an elepahnt out for a walk strolls toward us.  (Personally, I still think it is easier to walk a dog).  Salim takes us to the drop off point, where we queue at a platform for our elephant ride up to the fort.

The elephants stand in rank, waiting to be called forward.  Climbing aboard is mercifully easier than it looks and off we sway in line.  'Lean back please', says our driver.  Our elephant is young and seems weary.  It's a real pity the driver uses a sharp metal tool to hit a raw spot behind the elephant's ear to spur it on.

A couple of larger elephants over-take us, but we are in no hurry.  Hawkers are everywhere - but Rajeesh has advised us to ignore them and we do so.  Up at the top, Rajeesh takes my camera and photos us on the elephant.  Our driver also takes our photos, lending us his turban, which we feel (slightly reluctantly) obliged to put on. 

After disembarking, Rajeesh commences our tour with a visit to the palace temple.  We remove our shoes and hand our cameras to the man by the entrance.  Ganesh, the bringer of good luck, sits over the doorway Rajeesh touches the floor with his fingers and walks to the front, where he rings a bell, to clear his mind of outside thoughts.

The temple is decorated with white marble, apart from two lush green banana leaves in green marble, brought over from Italy, which frame the entrance to the shrine.  The temple is fragrant with rose petals and there is a food offering smeared across the picture of a deity (which does seem rather childish and very messy).

We retrieve our shoes and have to pay for the return of our cameras (ah well, nothing in India is free, as they say).

Up into the first courtyard, (it's late and I'm getting tired to go into details - but the pictures tell the story.)

We are shown the area where the Raja sat in judgement of disputes between his subjects.  The screens through which his wives could view this taking place.  The Turkish bath, with boiler and steam room.  The private rooms of the family, decorated with mirrors, to be cool in summer and warm in winter.  The terrace, where the Raja was entertained by dancing girls.  The old palace, where the 12 wives of the Raja lived.  The platform, from which the Raja would enjoy viewing the jealous squabbles that broke out amongst his wives.  (Hardly surprising they would fall out, considering the dull lives they had to lead.)

We exited the palace down a slope, where beggars are eagerly waiting for us.  Salim is waiting with the car, and we head into the town, stopping off to photograph the restaurant on the lake.  There is a scuffle with a small boy with a fabric bag, who, it turns out, wants to show us his magic. We agree and sit on a low wall to watch the preformance.  He is excellent and performs with dramatic flair, making coins drop out of our noses and ears.  We love it and tip him well, putting a smile on his serious little face.

Now we go to see a fabric warehouse and are handed over to the proprietor.  He shows us how fabrics are block-printed, telling us that he supplies fabrics to Monsoon, and then talks us out of a lot of money!

A bedset, a wall hanging, a quilt cover, a shawl and an outfit.  The funniest moment is when I'm in a dark corner with the tailor and his measuring tape, and there is a power cut.  We are plunged into complete darkness and I reach for my purse to make sure it is safe.  H, meanwhile is reaching for something else to make sure it is safe, because at this very moment, he is stripped down to his pants in a small cubicle, with a strange man kneeling in front of him!

I choose the fabric for my outfit.  Next they try tempting me with saris, but I manage to hold out on that.  I'm wondering what they've done with H, as we've been separated for quite a while, and find him in the scarf corner, sat cross legged on cushions and being plied with pashminas.

A sweet cardammom tea is brought out and we close the deal, only to be taken downstairs to visit the brother's carpet shop!  I know this is a bad idea and inevitably crack and buy a rug.

On the way out as we pass the rug loom, I ask a question about how the design is produced and a very nice man explains to us how the threads are knotted and the pattern plotted out row by row on squared paper.

For lunch, we are taken to a restaurant with big pictures of scenes in Jaipur across one wall.  Onwards to see and photograph the iconic landmark Pink Facade and then to the astrology museum.  As we cross the road, two snake charmers at my feet whip the lids off their pots and two fed up looking cobras rise up, almost giving me a seizure!

Into the Palace, where the royal family currently resides.  We view a display of royal clothing, and the courtyard with 4 season doorways.  There are men in white costumes with red turbans, who are desperate for us to have our photos taken with them - and then pay them for the privilege.

The royal family is in residence, we can tell by the multi-coloured ('pride'- says Harry) flag.  The different colours signifying kingdoms that have been conquered.  The smaller version, signifying that the raja is more than just a man, but a man and a quarter.

There is a lovely open area, with arched ceilings and chandeliers, containing the silver vessels that carried Ganges water for the Royal baths to be taken when travelling abroad.  In the Royal Hall, we are shown the largest chandelier in the world. (Can't help thinking of that Only Fools and Horses episode.)

We step back out of all this perfection and opulence to its stark contrast with the poverty outside.

Salim drops us into a jewellery shop, but I'm horrified by how much I have already spent today, and this time remain resolute in not buying anything,  a small triumph, that I'm  ridiculously proud of.

On to see the memorial Ghats of the Rajas.  We are the last visitors of the day, so it is delightfully tranquil.  A woman is in the compound doing her washing at the well.

Salim returns us to the hotel, where we are sorry to have to part with lovely Rajeesh.  We tip him well.

Time for a quick freshen up and off to our ayurvedic massage.  We are both taken into the same room, with just a shower curtain between us, flapping in the breeze from a fan to protect our modesty!

We are told to strip completely and tiny gauze pubic hammoocks, tied with strings are put onto us.

It is a very novel experience, particularly for H, who hasn't been touched in that part of his anatomy by a man since he was a baby!

The massage beds are substantial, being made of a dark wood.  My treatments starts with me sitting on a stool for head massage and progresses to full body, with hot oil, missing surprisingly few places out.  My feet tickle like crazy, but all else is fine.  There are an awful lot of slapping noises coming from H's side of the curtain and I'm anxious whether he will survive it.

We finish up feeling wonderfully relaxed.  Harry feels invigorated, and I've gone sleepy, we go up to the roof terrace for dinner - How fab is that!

There's a band that includes a squeezebox, a sitar and a singing boy and two dancers.  One is very energetic and dressed in orange, the other more lack-lustre, in red.  Perhaps a mother and daughter? 

The french party at the next table are celebrating a birthday and singing 'Bonne anniversaire a tu.'

H has pizza for dinner.

I have halva for dessert - a strange sweet, milky concoction.  I think it includes cabbage.  Don't eat very much of it.

Our clothes, ordered this morning are delivered to our hotel.  There's two shirts for H and my outfit.

Great will wear it tomorrow.

Must go now or I'll fall asleep.

Night, night!

Day 5 - Agra - Taj Mahal

Up at 05.15am to go and to see the Taj Mahal at dawn.

Salim introduces us to our tour guide, who comes in the car with us.  We head for the Taj in pre-dawn almost darkness.  Arriving at the drop-off point, we are offered the choice of tuk-tuk or rickshaw, but decide we'd rather walk down the peaceful paths, where dogs lie in slumber.  Up to the queue for security checks - one for ladies, one for men, while our guide fetches our tickets and brings bottles of water to us.

We enter the courtyard with its surrounding red stone builidings.  Through a doorway, we catch a glimpse of the Taj.  It looks unreal, like the floating backdrop of a stage.

At last, we walk through a gateway and there before us is the amazing ethereal presence of the Taj, cool and graceful in the fragile dawn light.

Our guide invites us to stand on a bench and pose for a photo, that will make us look like we are holding the Taj in our hands.

He sits us down to look from a distance and talks to us about the history of the Taj - but I'm afraid I am beginning to get impatient.  I want to get much closer and am feeling jealous of people who are already up there, walking around on it.  I want to be there too, being part of it and drinking in its presence.

Eventually, I get fidgetty and we are allowed to move on, leaving our shoes in the 'shoe library', we mount the stairs that take us up onto the Taj.  At last, we get to see first hand how beautiful it is, how breath-taking the patterns and flowers.  The amazing Suri script from the Koran, which H loves.  Although, he does feel that the man who built it 'must have been a bit daft to do all this just for one bird - and a dead one at that'!

It is an extraordinary feeling to be with something so immense and elaborate and yet so seemingly perfect down to the last detail.

We enter the dim light of the crypt.  Voices echo around the round room.  Our guide uses a torch to show us how some of the stones are translucent - the cornellian and the marble.

We walk round to the river, which flows gently, carrying clumps of green weeds and vegetation, brought down by the monsoon rains.

The far bank of the river is misty and mysterious in the dawning light.  We walk over to what is termed 'The Guest House', where our guide, ever eager to supervise the taking of a good photo, suggests we walk toward and away from the archway, so that we can see the image of the Taj unfold and fold again.

As the dawn light intensifies, the Taj takes on a golden glow and some of the precious stones begin to shimmer.  The guide leaves us to enjoy ourselves quietly and we sit watching as the light continues to change and green parrots fly around us.

We walk back out, stopping off at the 'Diana' seat, where the guide won't take no for an answer from H and insists he will be photo'd there whether he likes it or not.  This guy is good - he can even manage to make the usually stubborn H cave in under pressure!

We say our final goodbye, looking back through a tiny wooden doorway.  Then H asks if we can have cycle rickshaws to take us back to the car.  Our drivers walk at first, pushing us up the slight gradient.  Once they are on the flat, they hop aboard and start to pedal.

There is a terrible smell and I realise it is most probably my rickshaw driver, who looks like he hasn't used much soap and water for some considerable time.

Our guide says that he wants us to see how the Taj was made, which roughly translates as, he wants to take us to a place where inlay products are made, where it is hoped we will buy some.

It is actually very interesting to see how the marble is cut and the jewels are shaped to make the inlays.  The proprietor tells us that his family did the inlay work on the Taj and have continued to specialse in this work over 7 generations.  We are then shown a series of marble inlay table tops 'Which we can ship over to England for you'.(most helpful)

Finally, I crack and choose and elephant, which I'm not sure I would have ever felt the need to own, without all this support.  Subsequently I change my mind exchange for a set of coasters, (slightly more useful) which I pay £50 for.  (Hmm, silly me).

Back to the hotel for breakfast, then at 11am, Salim picks us up for the next leg of our journey, to Jaipur.  Heading out of town, we reach a cross-roads, where a combination of lorries, cars, tuk-tuks, motorbikes and cows have formed such a dense tangle, the police have to intervene.  It seems that everyone from every direction has just kept pushing forward, creating stalemate all round, but with a little supervision, gaps are created and we make it through. 

We pass a lake where buffalo are enjoyng a swim.  Salim tells us that the buffalo are very important, being the providers of milk, cheese and curd.  There are lorries, packed with people all standing up, which Salim tells us are the illegal alternative to buses.  H is also chuffed to see our first stretch tuk-tuks and also lorries with exposed front engines.

It is 212km to Jaipur, but once we are on the toll roads, it is an easy drive.   Salim asks if we would like to visit the Red Fort, but we elect to keep the time for visiting the Monkey Temple at Jaipur, later on.  Out in the countryside, there is seldom an absence of people along the road sides, groups of women in brillant coloured sari's look so stunning en masse, like groups of birds with exotic plumage.  Some of them carry huge bundles of greenery back from the fields, on their heads. 

At one point, Salim, who's trying to organise train tickets for the next leg of our tour, pulls over into a layby to talk on his mobile.  A dignified elderly man with a big umbrella in his hand walks over to the car and peers long and hard into the windows with unabashed curiosity.

We stop off for lunch, where I'm pleased to buy a Taj fridge magnet for my collection.  H buys a leather journal and a Holy Cow magnet for the Llanfair messroom fridge.

The last part of the journey includes a deluge of rain and I pity the man who is travelling clinging on to the outside of the back of a bus.  It is raining so hard, we can barely see out with wipers on double speed and narrowly miss hitting a goat, which nonchalantly wanders in the road ahead of us.

The rain is way too heavy for us to make our visit to the Monkey Temple and we carry on into Jaipur, stopping off to go and book an ayurvedic massage for ourselves, for tomorrow night.  Then on to Shahpura House Hotel, www.shahpurahouse.com, which is breath-takingly beautiful.  We're formally welcomed with a drink and a talk about the hotel, before being shown to our room.

First things first, we decide to take a dip in the outdoor hotel pool.  It is fab swimming out there in the pouring rain and an attendant comes and switches on the underwater pool lights for us.

Quick shower and change and time for dinner in the restaurant, which is more ornate than a gypsy caravan.  The waiters look fab in their turbans, waist coats and jodhpurs.  My dinner is a little strange though - a small number of tiny dumplings in a thin yellow sauce.

Day 4 - Delhi to Agra

I waken a tad too early (5.30am).  Go to inspect my eye in the bathroom mirror in the hope that all will be over and better now.  I am therefore horrified to discover a great big squashy cushion under my left eye.  I'm really not an attractive sight to inflict on India today.

Downstairs to breaky, where H ploughs his way through a strangely miscellaneous assortment of salad sandwiches, hard boiled eggs, fried bread rolls and some other peculiarities, whilst I have a cheese omelette.

We check out and head into the street to meet Salim, who's parked up a few yards away.  It's very quiet at this time in the morning - none of the shops have opened up yet.  Salim has a couple of suggestions for some more sight-seeing before we leave Delhi.

Humayan's Tomb
It is lovely and quiet here, being amongst the first visitors of the day to the red sandstone tomb, with white marble decoration.  Clusters of brilliant green parrots are at large and cheeky little chipmunks scatter along the paths.

Lotus Temple
Heading out of Delhi, Salim stops so we can photo the Lotus Temple.  Sadly, it's closed on a Monday, so we can't visit, but it's terribly impressive - a kind of Sydney Opera House, but with symmetry.

Shiva Shrine
Back on the road again, we head out of Delhi, with a top off to see a road-side Shiva shrine and statue.

Akbar's Mausoleum, Sikandra (son of Humayan)
We wander along the red sandstone walkways, with their mini 'levadas'.  There are more lively parrots here and some antelope graze in the lush green grounds.  Families play hide and seek in the cloisters of the mausoleum and seem to thoroughly enjoy their leisure time.  It appears we are a bit of a novelty here and people take photos of us.

Back on the road again.  The mad-cap capers of drivers, motorcyclists, cows, goats, dogs and people has a strangely sleep-inducing effect.  It seems bizarre how we both nod off with all that chaos going on around us. Maybe it is information overload and our brains are short-circuiting

We break unexpectedly for lunch at the Miramar roadside hotel, where a monkey in a frilly dress is made to jump up and down excitedly on the driveway and a snake-charmer tries to entice a rather tired looking cobra.

Into Agra, the traffic becomes even more fraught and aggressive and for a tense moment, Salim and a lorry driver exchange angry eye contact and I wonder if it's going to come to fisticuffs.

As we enter Agra, we are both disappointed by the sheer filth and squalor of it all.  It lacks any of the usual redeeming charm of India - and even though there are the amazing sights of the Taj Mahal and Red Forte, all else is a bit of a bum-boil.  We understand now why we are only scheduled to stop here for one night.

Hotel is of a good standard though - the usual troop of people accompanies us up to our room and all require tipping.  We stop in to dine in the downstairs restaurant.