Jaipur, India
Morning comes and with it another new guide. Devendra is originally from Shimla, a British colonial town in the foothills of the Himalayas and is erudite, urbane and charming. In a dapper suit and designer sunglasses he's a knowledgeable and enjoyable companion for the day.
Kamal loads us all into the car and we set off into the old city of Jaipur through the Moon Gate and drive along the Rajpath (King's Highway) to head out to Amber, the original royal city which dates from the 11th century, and is about 6km out of town.
First stop however is the fabled Palace of the Winds (Hawa Mahal), an elaborate facade behind which royal women could watch the hustle and bustle of city life without showing their faces. Such a photographed and fabulous monument must surely be located in some huge square but no, I'm stunned to find it's just sandwiched on an ordinary city street, between various shops. Outside, rather useless snake charmers alternate between trying to coax their sleepy cobras into life and chatting on their mobile phones.
We drive on past Jal Mahal (the lake palace) on Man Singh lake and view atop the hills various forts standing proud with city walls creeping up the mountainsides to them. For over ten miles the walls encircle the old city and Devendra tells us they're the longest continuous walls after the Great Wall of China.
Soon we come to the Amber Fort and are treated to an elephant ride. While we wait Coman spots the legend 'Elephantfamily.org' painted on a wall. It's the charity that his friend and ex-colleague Caroline Casey in Ireland had been involved with, doing her marathon elephant trek across India. Sadly, we are told they closed their office here a few months ago.
Anarkali, our elephant (named after both a queen and a fruit), takes us up the Royal Path to enter the Amber Fort and we have mixed feelings as we ride. It's an enjoyable experience to enter the breathtaking court as kings once did but hard to witness these majestic creatures be directed by some mahouts through hitting them on the head with sticks. We take a moment to thank Anarkali by stroking her trunk which she curls in gratitude and then continue into the series of buildings that make up the complex.
The Amber Fort is huge and incredible, set on a hill against a clear blue sky after yesterday's rain and cloud. Vast palaces with staggering architecture, a beautiful garden laid out in an intricate design, a hall of mirrors second only to Versailles and below it all a floating garden on a lake. But the lake is now just an expanse of parched earth, testament to the failing monsoons which have kept the lake dry since 2003.
As we walk around Devendra is a fountain of stories telling us how a few centuries ago, the Maharajah heard that spies had been sent by a rival king to see if the palaces were truly as jaw dropping as rumoured and if so, to destroy them. So he coated them all with whitewash to hide the designs, the spies thought their own king's were prettier and so left without vandalising them - meaning we can still revel in their beauty today.
We hear of concubines and wives, secret walkways for seduction, intrigue and murder and are unsurprised to learn that many films have been shot here including 'Veer' ('Warrior'), a spectacular epic that's going to be the most expensive Bollywood movie ever made upon its release later this year. And as we wander around we wonder how all these people with their grand stories really lived. We ask Devendra to show us the secret places where tourists rarely go and he takes us down a darkened passage out of which we step into the royal loo. Yep, this is where the maharajah's let it all out. And it still smells.
From the Fort we are taken to a textile factory (groan) but this proves rather more fruitful than our previous detours to 'emporiums'. First we get shown how to print our own design onto cotton and then we have a look at rugs. We get the same old spiel but lo and behold the prices are half what they were in Delhi. And this time we take the plunge and buy a large pashmina rug to be shipped back home. Some hard bargaining means we also get a very hefty discount on tailored shirts, made that afternoon to our own fitting and specifications, and Coman even gets a peach silk and pashmina scarf to look dapper as he wanders to work in Kings Cross.
Devendra takes us to lunch in glorious hot sunshine, sitting in the garden at the Pink City restaurant. We share a vegetarian meal and he introduces us to chach, a lighter lassi, flavoured with garam masala. It's good for cleansing the digestion and burning calories, or so we are told. We need it as our burgeoning waistlines are testament to the high fat content of the north Indian diet. We'll be paying for this trip in more ways than one.
Over lunch we discuss Indian politics, global recession, climate change, arranged marriages (he's one of the few who married for love) and more, including the kites that fill the sky. They are flown in practice for Makar Sakranti, the kite festival on January 14th, which marks the beginning of the sun's passage towards the Tropic of Capricorn, coinciding with harvest time, and is a major festival in Jaipur.
But there are often fatalities. Not only do kids fall off rooftops as they fly them but it is common to try and slash through the strings of rival's kites. To do this people coat the thread with crushed glass. Devendra tells us that his father was on a scooter last year when a kite swooped down and the string slashed his throat. He had eight stitches and only just survived. And sure enough we later see a scooter rider sweep his hand across his face to knock a string away as a kite flashes across the road.
After lunch we visit the City Palace. Another breathtaking building where the current Maharaja, the Queen and the Jaipur royal family still live, it is also a museum, and cannily a venue they hire out. In the central courtyard they are readying for a society wedding which will take place after sunset. Chairs are being brought out to surround the Palace of Audience which dominates the courtyard and in which the wedding will take place. There's obviously a buffet planned as signs are waiting to be placed - mocktails, tea cakes, tacos, Chinese snacks - and various others let the guests know what they can expect.
In the opulent inner halls sit balconies and thrones, gold ceilings and ancient carpets. The walls are lined with representations of maharajahs past who all seem to have been vastly overweight and with a penchant for wearing dresses with skirts that hang wide over their enormous behinds.
Two gigantic silver urns, in the Guinness World Records for being the largest single items of silver on the planet and each capable of storing 900 gallons, have pride of place. They were built so a 19th century maharajah could travel to England, appeasing the holy scholars who decreed that all foreign water was poisonous and allowing him to take enough water from the Ganges to keep him going. Rumour has it the naughty king filled them both with finest scotch for the journey home.
In the art galleries we are browsing for pictures to buy when there is a sudden intake of breath from those around us. "Look," says Devendra, "it's the Queen". And sure enough, a diminutive woman with a regal presence, surrounded by courtiers has entered the gallery. Everyone bows with a awe, but Coman and I cheerily nod our heads and smile, Coman putting his hands together and saying 'Namaste' in greeting, and the Queen very graciously bows to us and smiles back. Bless her. She obviously recognises a pair of fellow queens when she sees them.
Following our royal seal of approval we enter Jantar Mantar (translation: Instrument Formula), an alfresco astronomical observatory built in the 18th century by Jai Singh II, who was both a scientist and deeply astrologically minded, a subject that rules Hindu's lives. The instruments are large and complex and resemble nothing so much as a park full of modern art. Devendra explains in detail how some of the huge contraptions measure the movement of the sun and the stars, the equinoxes and the position of Jaipur upon the earth in relation to the heavens. Fascinating stuff but far too complicated for us to understand. They look pretty though.
As we leave the royal grounds Devendra tells us he knows of a better place to buy paintings without so much of a tourist mark-up. So off we trot.
The junior artist from the collective asks our names and writes them in miniature on a piece of rice. Making smalltalk he asks, "Are you married", which is a question we have been asked almost every day by people since we arrived. Homosexuality is still a huge taboo in Indian society (although the current progressive government is making steps towards gay rights) and people don't conceive of us being married to each other. They mean do we both have wives back in England. But since we got hitched to each other just over a year ago it feels a bit weird for us to say, "no, we're not married" when we're sat there next to each other with our wedding rings on. There's a pause and I volunteer, "It's complicated." The artist pauses for a moment thinking this through and then moves on to show us paintings of various gods.
We talk of the Trinity - Brahma, the creator, Vishnu, the protector and Shiva, the destroyer. Or as the artist claims; Generator, Operator, Destroyer - GOD. But apparently westerners prefer Ganesh and we do almost buy a beautiful painting of the elephant god, but instead with Devendra's tales of courtly life at the Amber Fort ringing in our ears we are swayed by some incredible Rajasthani paintings of 17th century life.
At this point, sensing a sale, the master artist takes over and starts producing various artwork and then winks and tells us he has something "under the counter". Suddenly pictures from the Kama Sutra are thrust before us, explicit in the extreme, yet beautifully done. The final one he shows us depicts two men.
We decline and go back to the paintings of Rajasthan and Coman and I discuss, in a rather married fashion, which pictures should adorn our walls and more to the point what we can afford, having just blown a big hole in our budget by buying a rug we need to ship back home.
The penny drops and the master artist laughs knowingly. "He has expensive tastes" he says of Coman, as I get out a credit card. Hands are shaken, deals are struck and we are given two extra, smaller paintings to sweeten the deal. Everyone is happy except our bank manager.
Devendra hasn't finished with us though and as dusk is falling we travel back down the Rajpath which is chaotic as rush hour is in full swing. The Rajpath is Jaipur's equivalent of Oxford Street but much longer with vast colonnades of pink buildings stretching as far as the eye can see, all with shops underneath the arches selling everything imaginable. Horns are blaring, traffic is insane, temples seem to have sprung up everywhere and food stalls are erected in the middle of the street around which the sea of vehicles swerve.
We stop finally at a gem stone factory. We tell Devendra we have no intention of buying anything but are given a whistlestop tour nonetheless. The owner can't quite believe we're flying back out the door within five minutes of arriving without being tempted by the rings, necklaces, brooches, bracelets and more on display. "But what about something for your lady," he pleads. Will you tell him, or shall I?
Exhausted, we are done. It's been a hugely enjoyable, not to mention expensive, day and as we reach the hotel we bid Devendra and Kamal goodbye. Now we just need to wait for our shirts to be delivered as promised and we can head out to dinner.
