I’m not sure where the expression came from but at least in this case, the best was saved for last. Yesterday (Thursday) we flew from Jaipur to Udaipur early in the morning. Security here at airports is extremely tight. You can’t get into the airport building without your passport. Then you hang a tag on your hand luggage that has to be stamped, along with your boarding pass, once you’ve passed through security. Then, at the gate, the bags are checked again, to be sure they have the security stamp. Planes are old, the stewardesses impolite, the flights are late, the terminals dirty. You try to ignore all that in anticipation of getting to your destination.
Udaipur, a small city of only 150,000, is the capital of the state of Rajasthan. Because of several lakes – all manmade – the city is known as the Venice of India. It has spectacular sunrises and sunsets and is a favorite honeymoon destination. The city was founded in 1159 by Maharana Udai Singh, who was known as a great warrior. It is said that it’s defenders would rather die than surrender and the women of such warriors would commit suicide rather than be captured. Unlike other Hindu kings, the Maharanas of Undaipur never married a daughter to a Mogul emperor and so are known for their independence and are considered the first among equals. The royal, Mewar (Maharana) family is among the oldest in the world and can trace its family tree back 76 generations to the year 569.The city looks like any other Indian city we’ve been in except not so crowded and it does have an air of some prosperity.
We are staying here at the Lake Palace Hotel, world famous for its location in the middle of the main city lake, Lake Pechola. To get to the hotel, one passes through security at the embankment and then boards a boat that shuttles back and forth from shore to the hotel. We were greeted in grand tradition by a uniformed doorman who met us at the dock with a ceremonial umbrella. He accompanied us up the red carpeted steps to the hotel lobby and as we approached, we were showered with rose petals from the storey above the hotel entrance. Inside, we all were honored with the traditional bindi spot on our foreheads and slumped down in the sumptuous lobby where we were served glasses of watermelon juice while we waited for our rooms. It was all very low-key-grand.
The hotel is one of two on the lake, both originally built as summer palaces for the Maharanas, and still owned by the Mewar family. It’s probably the most beautiful hotel I’ve seen. Although substantial renovated by the Taj hotel chain in the 1960’s, the main spaces are still elaborate in the Maharana tradition: sleek fabrics, many pillows, marble everywhere and room borders outlined in embedded strips of colored glass. My room is furnished in a strange (but elaborate) combination I might call Edwardian/Indian, with a built in window seat, many pillows, lamp shades with glass-ball fringe, furniture with horn inlays and marble floors. It’s the only hotel where I have been presented with a pillow and quilt menu: contoured cervical, micro-fibre, natural wool, natural lamb’s wool, aromatherapy, down, shredded foam – take your pick.
At check in, I received a message that the event planner to the court of the Maharana had called and wanted to get in touch with me. (My friends, the Fords, in Baltimore, had tried to arrange an introduction for me with the Maharana, who is a friend of theirs.)The hotel called her back and after some delay, I finally spoke with her. She insisted that our whole group attend a reception in the City Palace for the inauguration of a collection of textiles designed by the Maharana’s daughter, the Princess Mala (as she is familiarly known). The collection was dedicated to her father, the Maharana, and he would attend as a guest of honor. I could meet him then. By the time we got to the reception, held in a rather small space in a shop in the City Palace, we were all very tired and so we didn’t stay long. The reception was intended to sell these fabrics, many of them very beautiful, and Jodi, the event planner and my contact, insisted I buy something. It was not an intimate affair but more of a presentation and elaborate sales pitch. We left before the Maharana arrived (if he ever did) but I met the princess and she was kind enough to pose for a photograph with me. (Her diamond earrings were at least a half inch in diameter).
Before the reception, our outing for the day was a tour through the City Palace, a complex that includes five palaces built by the Maharanas through the years and all interconnected. The rooms were small, the passageways tiny (for security) and there were many steps and levels. The spaces were interesting and I took many pictures but by the time we finished, I was thoroughly beat and ready to go back to the hotel. But the combination of luxuries, both in the City Palace and in the hotel, has certainly made this (near) end the best,
Now for some miscellaneous thoughts and observations. Out of the group of 18 on the tour, only John and Tom and I have avoided Delhi belly. I’m not sure why. I’ve tried to be careful about what I eat and although I’ve sampled Indian cuisine, much of it really good and not too spicy, I’ve not gone overboard. The moderation may have paid off. And it’s only Friday; I suppose there’s still time for me to join those who take home their illness as a memory of this trip. Chad will certainly have a unique souvenir. Yesterday, while we were getting luggage from the bus, he scrapped his forehead on the compartment door and cut a gash about three inches long. It bled profusely. John, the plastic surgeon, treated the wound and Chad, good sport that he is, just took it all in stride. He said a scar across his forehead this late in his life didn’t worry him at all. He’d given up vanity. Back in Ranthambhore, David lost one of his hearing aids, an investment he’d just made a month or so ago. Fortunately, he’d dropped it in the bus and it rolled forward, where Anil found it. David was relieved and thrilled. William is elusive. He doesn’t seem to want to participate in our activities, often staying behind in our hotel while we make a jaunt to yet another palace or temple. Mark, the anesthesiologist from New York, seemed really nice when I first me him but has since made some comments that were weird, making me understand that I don’t really know him at all. Dennis has been uncharacteristically detached and quiet. Something may be bothering him. Or maybe he’s still feeling the effects of being sick (which is also uncharacteristic of him). And yesterday, I had a scotoma, a brilliant spot in my field of vision that vibrates in rapidly moving jagged lines and grows until it affects the whole eye. Since I’ve had these before – although not often – I wasn’t unduly alarmed and it wore off and disappeared after about an hour.
India is a country of extremes. At one end, there’s the opulence of this hotel, representative of a time when money was not an object. At the other end, there’s the cripple on the street who holds out his hand for a few precious rupees. It’s also mostly drab and gray but punctuated by the intense color of a sari or luscious bougainvillea. India is crowded and pushy, everyone trying to get into that very small space that might provide an advantage. And yet the people are mostly modest and accepting and friendly. And India is obviously very old, even ancient, its bloodlines deep and endless. I’m very glad I decided (at the very last moment) to come here. And at the same time, I’ll be equally glad to get home.
Today we’re off to a Jain temple. The bus ride is predicted to be three hours each way. Stay tuned.
Udaipur, a small city of only 150,000, is the capital of the state of Rajasthan. Because of several lakes – all manmade – the city is known as the Venice of India. It has spectacular sunrises and sunsets and is a favorite honeymoon destination. The city was founded in 1159 by Maharana Udai Singh, who was known as a great warrior. It is said that it’s defenders would rather die than surrender and the women of such warriors would commit suicide rather than be captured. Unlike other Hindu kings, the Maharanas of Undaipur never married a daughter to a Mogul emperor and so are known for their independence and are considered the first among equals. The royal, Mewar (Maharana) family is among the oldest in the world and can trace its family tree back 76 generations to the year 569.The city looks like any other Indian city we’ve been in except not so crowded and it does have an air of some prosperity.
We are staying here at the Lake Palace Hotel, world famous for its location in the middle of the main city lake, Lake Pechola. To get to the hotel, one passes through security at the embankment and then boards a boat that shuttles back and forth from shore to the hotel. We were greeted in grand tradition by a uniformed doorman who met us at the dock with a ceremonial umbrella. He accompanied us up the red carpeted steps to the hotel lobby and as we approached, we were showered with rose petals from the storey above the hotel entrance. Inside, we all were honored with the traditional bindi spot on our foreheads and slumped down in the sumptuous lobby where we were served glasses of watermelon juice while we waited for our rooms. It was all very low-key-grand.
The hotel is one of two on the lake, both originally built as summer palaces for the Maharanas, and still owned by the Mewar family. It’s probably the most beautiful hotel I’ve seen. Although substantial renovated by the Taj hotel chain in the 1960’s, the main spaces are still elaborate in the Maharana tradition: sleek fabrics, many pillows, marble everywhere and room borders outlined in embedded strips of colored glass. My room is furnished in a strange (but elaborate) combination I might call Edwardian/Indian, with a built in window seat, many pillows, lamp shades with glass-ball fringe, furniture with horn inlays and marble floors. It’s the only hotel where I have been presented with a pillow and quilt menu: contoured cervical, micro-fibre, natural wool, natural lamb’s wool, aromatherapy, down, shredded foam – take your pick.
At check in, I received a message that the event planner to the court of the Maharana had called and wanted to get in touch with me. (My friends, the Fords, in Baltimore, had tried to arrange an introduction for me with the Maharana, who is a friend of theirs.)The hotel called her back and after some delay, I finally spoke with her. She insisted that our whole group attend a reception in the City Palace for the inauguration of a collection of textiles designed by the Maharana’s daughter, the Princess Mala (as she is familiarly known). The collection was dedicated to her father, the Maharana, and he would attend as a guest of honor. I could meet him then. By the time we got to the reception, held in a rather small space in a shop in the City Palace, we were all very tired and so we didn’t stay long. The reception was intended to sell these fabrics, many of them very beautiful, and Jodi, the event planner and my contact, insisted I buy something. It was not an intimate affair but more of a presentation and elaborate sales pitch. We left before the Maharana arrived (if he ever did) but I met the princess and she was kind enough to pose for a photograph with me. (Her diamond earrings were at least a half inch in diameter).
Before the reception, our outing for the day was a tour through the City Palace, a complex that includes five palaces built by the Maharanas through the years and all interconnected. The rooms were small, the passageways tiny (for security) and there were many steps and levels. The spaces were interesting and I took many pictures but by the time we finished, I was thoroughly beat and ready to go back to the hotel. But the combination of luxuries, both in the City Palace and in the hotel, has certainly made this (near) end the best,
Now for some miscellaneous thoughts and observations. Out of the group of 18 on the tour, only John and Tom and I have avoided Delhi belly. I’m not sure why. I’ve tried to be careful about what I eat and although I’ve sampled Indian cuisine, much of it really good and not too spicy, I’ve not gone overboard. The moderation may have paid off. And it’s only Friday; I suppose there’s still time for me to join those who take home their illness as a memory of this trip. Chad will certainly have a unique souvenir. Yesterday, while we were getting luggage from the bus, he scrapped his forehead on the compartment door and cut a gash about three inches long. It bled profusely. John, the plastic surgeon, treated the wound and Chad, good sport that he is, just took it all in stride. He said a scar across his forehead this late in his life didn’t worry him at all. He’d given up vanity. Back in Ranthambhore, David lost one of his hearing aids, an investment he’d just made a month or so ago. Fortunately, he’d dropped it in the bus and it rolled forward, where Anil found it. David was relieved and thrilled. William is elusive. He doesn’t seem to want to participate in our activities, often staying behind in our hotel while we make a jaunt to yet another palace or temple. Mark, the anesthesiologist from New York, seemed really nice when I first me him but has since made some comments that were weird, making me understand that I don’t really know him at all. Dennis has been uncharacteristically detached and quiet. Something may be bothering him. Or maybe he’s still feeling the effects of being sick (which is also uncharacteristic of him). And yesterday, I had a scotoma, a brilliant spot in my field of vision that vibrates in rapidly moving jagged lines and grows until it affects the whole eye. Since I’ve had these before – although not often – I wasn’t unduly alarmed and it wore off and disappeared after about an hour.
India is a country of extremes. At one end, there’s the opulence of this hotel, representative of a time when money was not an object. At the other end, there’s the cripple on the street who holds out his hand for a few precious rupees. It’s also mostly drab and gray but punctuated by the intense color of a sari or luscious bougainvillea. India is crowded and pushy, everyone trying to get into that very small space that might provide an advantage. And yet the people are mostly modest and accepting and friendly. And India is obviously very old, even ancient, its bloodlines deep and endless. I’m very glad I decided (at the very last moment) to come here. And at the same time, I’ll be equally glad to get home.
Today we’re off to a Jain temple. The bus ride is predicted to be three hours each way. Stay tuned.
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