Jaipur

The train arrived into Jaipur roughly on time, however not the station. We sat for over an hour tantalisingly close, much to the dismay of the rickshaw driver who had been sent by my hotel to pick me up (a nice benefit to pre booking accomodation, although i sometimes think its more of an assurance by the hotel that they get your buisness and are not coersed into another hotel by a rickshaw driver, anyway it seems mutually benaficial). Eventually I made my way out the station and was greeted by my driver, he showed me to his rickshaw, named the 'Pussy Wagon', this was reconfirmed by the presence of the slogan in large pink lettering on the back window.

I was soon being given the hard sell for tours of the city, wondering now if maybe the drivers offered the hotels free guest pick ups in the hope they could score an over priced day tour. Trying to explain that I was only there for one day only seemed to encourage him and push harder, i gave a reasonably non commital answer and remained silent till we arrived. I had booked into the Sunder Palace, and whilst it wasn't a palace it was not far off! I was shown to one of the nicest rooms I had been in since my arrival in India, and by no means the most expensive either. I grabbed a fresh lime soda on the roof and tried to get my bearings in this huge, pink, city.

I started walking towards the walled, old city and after 30 minutes of walking only then realised the true scale of this city, with a population of over 4 million it shouldn't really have been surprising! After passing a kfc, a mcdonalds and the ice cream shaped Raj Minder cinema I finally reached the huge pink walls of the old city (the city was painted pink to celebrate the visit of the Prince of Wales, not Charles, and they decided to keep it that way). Nearly the whole of the old city is now dedicated to the art of shopping, the streets are lined with every kind of shop imaginable, all set out neatly in there own little areas, they also have what many other indian towns and cities do not, pavements. As these are slighty raised it means they are free even from the motorcyclists too lazy to walk the 4 extra steps to a shopfront or the cheeky rickshaw driver in a hurry. No sooner had I entered this great marketplace when I was bombarded by offers of guided tours by cycle rickshaw drivers, which locals call helicopters (something which at first caused me much confusion). The sun was starting to set and whilst i wouldn't normally indulge in these activities I soon found myself being whisked around the streets and allies of Jaipur in the back of my 'helicopter'. After an hour we arrived back on the street to the hotel, which was uphill, during the journey I could tell he was maybe having to work a little harder than for his average fare, so I decided to give him a reprieve and get out and walk the rest...I shouldn't have. He now went on about how much hard work he had done over the last hour, something I couldn't deny, and maybe a little extra would be nice, then proceeded to ask for double the set fare. After 5 more minutes of haggling we agreed on a new price, walking away I realised I should have just stuck to my guns but when you find yourself getting irrate over 20 pence sometimes you have to wonder if its worth it!

In the morning I rolled out of my extremely comfortable bed and wandered up to the roof for breakfast where I got absorbed into a loud frenchmans conversation/sermon on the state of rubbish in the streets, railways, countryside and generally everywhere in India. His congragation seemed about as interested as you can be with a problem that is well beyond the resolve of any mortal man and I engrossed myself in the local newspaper (an article on the food and drink to be consumed at the london olympics, and I quote "that bolus of starchy white sugar paste, the snot of the Gods, tongued only grudgingly from its ridged brown cocoon" or the creme egg as its more commonly known and "a mid strength lager taste sensation that can only be compared to drinking elite athletes urine out of a rinsed baked bean can" or simply put Heinaken, they certainly have a way with words these Indians).

I doged past the rickshaw driver come tour guides and headed into the old city under my own steam. The heart of the old city containing most of the cities sites, the usual palaces and gardens but Jaipur also had a gem under the name of Janter Manter. This is one of five observatories built in the same style but arguably the most impressive, a 40 meter sun dial dominates the garden and to be honest the other dials and planitary alignment devices look more like pieces of abstract art than anything else. Understandably popular the numerous tour guides all try their hand at coaxing you with their knowledge for a fee. Due to the concentration of tourists and guides I found you were very rarelly out of earshot of one giving their textbook commentary so I just eavesdropped, a small victory for my wallet I decided.

After that I ticked off another palace which name eludes me, probably lost forever after the hefty bang on the head I gave myself entering through a stone doorway, inventing a new expletive at the same time.

I returned to my hotel for an early night, keen to get to my luxury birthday treat hotel in Ranthambore I had booked the first train available at the sacrifice of a/c or even sleeper class, no tomorrow I was to have my first experience in second class sitting!