Jaipur, India

The 'pink city' of Jaipur, capital of Rajasthan, was given its colourful moniker by a 19th century British governor whose colour palette was somewhat limited. Dusty terracotta would have been more appropriate, but the snappier Pink has stuck. A (relatively) prosperous city of four million people it's the fastest growing city in India and a world-leader in gems, textiles, printing and foreign currency exchanges.

Our hotel, Shahpura House, is a grand four-storey pavilion and a designated 'heritage hotel'. These are usually old palaces or regal residences converted into hotels, full of character and charm that give tourists a taste of what life was like before Hiltons, Sheratons and the rest started providing uniform experiences around the globe.

Sure enough the building is gorgeous, lots of rooms with brightly tiled walls, paintings, antique furniture, pretty archways, elegant lamps and ancient spears and shields adorning the walls. Ah, how life must have been in the Raj!!

We are shown to a balcony overlooking the pool and a big key is produced and turned in a padlock that locks a door with stained glass panels. This is our suite, a gorgeous marble floored and spacious period-piece boudoir with chaise longues, dark wood furniture, the most enormous bath and through some sheer curtains a four-poster bed draped with silk hanging... which is facing a huge LCD flatscreen TV and minibar.

Intrigued to learn the history of the place and what royal personages once slept here we are somewhat taken aback to learn it was built in the 1950s for a local family and turned into a hotel about 20 years ago. So much for sleeping in a regal palace, this has suddenly become more facsimile than factual. We switch on the TV and grab a kit kat from the minibar.

Dinner is to be taken on the roof, which due to the time of year (and the fact it had been raining just before we arrived) is decked out with canopies to convert the space into a dining room, with patio heaters to keep us all warm. In amongst the decorated arches and alcoves are various occupied tables and a rather bored-looking troop of musicians playing away.

We order our food and as we do so a coachload of German tourists file in, identical bindis marked on their foreheads and strings of orange flowers draped around their necks. A few of the more middle-aged men look uncomfortable with their adornment, even more so when the band springs to life and two young dancing girls appear to start swaying, whirling and balancing stuff on their head with direct attention paid to these big-tipping daddies. Some of the older ones look like they could have a seizure.

When our bill arrives it's accompanied with a customer service questionnaire, requesting "Your valuable conception about the food flavour, delicious and taste of food". Umm. We duly fill it in, resisting the temptation to sub-edit as we do so. Sadly our rajasthani lamb sula had never arrived, with a somewhat random substitution of garlic chicken appearing instead. Close, but no cigar. Three stars.

We get up to leave, just as the puppet show starts. The Germans are obviously in for a long night.

But it seems puppet shows and dancing are the entertainment du jour in Jaipur. The following night in search of something more local we seek out a restaurant we have been recommended as a great place to eat. Spice Court has, as promised, wonderful glass-top tables under which lay compartments full of spices. But it's a rather soulless and deserted place and obviously still aimed more at tourists than locals although a few do drift in as the evening progresses. Despite the spartan atmosphere the food is excellent - shabanam curry (mushroom and pea), mutton rogan josh, stuffed tomato curry and garlic naans, all washed down with Kingfisher beer.

Afterwards, whilst the house band are setting up, a puppet show is being readied, and laid out on the ground various traditional Rajasthani puppets are on display, about to be brought to life. Seeing as we're leaving, we go and have a looked at them and Coman, ever open to opportunity, suggests they'd make great souvenirs. Some deft negotiation later and we hop into a tuk tuk carrying three puppets, hoping the remaining customers enjoy the slightly reduced cast-list of their show.

As we get into the tuk tuk the restaurant strictly instruct us not to pay the tuk tuk driver more than 60 rupees for the ride back to the hotel, which seems a bit churlish being less than a pound. However we are used by now to the relative values and the instructions not to appear flash, so we decide to take the advice on board.

We weave through the streets with the wind whistling through the tuk tuk, getting colder by the second. It's obvious after a while that the driver is confused, pausing to ask for directions a few times. Oh great, we're lost on the back of a strange tuktuk with no idea where our hotel is, or any way of communicating with them! But after ten minutes Shahpura House comes into view and we reward the driver with 80 rupees. Strangely he doesn't seem that thrilled by our generosity. Obviously we're not flash enough for him.