Udaipur is like being in a snow globe without the snow – a precious little European-like oasis of hills and narrow lanes surrounding a huge lake that's tucked into the high mountains of Rajasthan all encapsulated in a small bubble for our viewing pleasure. It's just one beautiful kaleidoscopic archway after another separated by exquisitely hand painted walls and art galleries at every step. Every day the sun smiles and warmly embraces its townfolk and at night the stars woo for their attention. It feels like somewhere in the world's history the romance of Venice took a wrong turn and had a head-on with the charm of San Francisco - it even has the speeding mopeds, hormone-ridden glaring boys, tormenting shop keepers, and high speed internet shops too! But wait, there's also marauding puppeteers, roaming trubadors, ladies who dance on glass, and of course, the requisite smiling cow. It's funny to think that the only reason we originally came was because Helen's best friends gave us a night at the Lake Palace Hotel as a wedding gift (which, believe me, we'll get to later).

Upon our arrival, little did we know our hotel, The Rang Niwas Palace, is owned by the current Maharaja's uncle: the incredibly elegant Mr. Ajun Singh. We were also pretty happy to find that our new residence was actually part of the old palace grounds. Evidently, after Indira Gandhi's government decided the royal family had too much property, most of their land was confiscated and divided amongst the poor and their royal facilities portioned out to the family. Mr. Singh (sitting) was given the Rang Niwas and instantly he became the first of his family for over 1000 years to actually have a job. A charming man if there ever was one, Mr. Singh is the picture of displaced royalty. A great warrior, Mr. Singh's great-great 27-generations-ago-somethingafather (in the painting) is rumored to have sliced a man from the tip of his head to his crotch in one fell stroke of his sword.

I feel I have to make a note here that the reason we keep showing our hotels and the staff is because when we get to a new place it is our new home and invaritably they are our first friends. Luckily, we've been blessed with superb hotel karma. After we "made the cut" the restaurant manager, Prabu, invited us to his village for dinner. The bucolic drive was just a glimpse of what was in store for us. We walked door-to-door, met and had chai with every single man, woman, child, dog, cow, goat, and chicken in the county. Helen and I felt like "Branjelina" leading a rapidly accumulating parade of laughing children who were constantly vying for our affection. The festivities culminated with us having supper at Prabu's house...except he and his family regularly fast on Tuesdays so it was just us westerners porking through their daily bread while they stood and watched us scarf. Note: The very small baby had been born that morning so we became the first official picture takers of the little bundle of joy (first column, 4th row down).