We left Mandawa for Samode Village around lunchtime and maybe somewhat morbidly discussed the possibility of it all going horribly wrong on one of these long desert road trips. Breakneck speed combined with the crazy overtaking and multiple hazards (the usual, plus the odd bright red, pink or yellow scarf that’s been blown clean off the head of a female motorbike passenger) make it weirdly exhilarating from the backseat. We’re constantly craning our necks to see what’s coming flying at us next – which is exactly how I’d describe our arrival at Samode Palace about three hours after leaving Mandawa.

After a few tight squeezes between trucks carrying loads of concrete blocks or enormous bags of grain (they don’t seem to freight much else between towns in Rajasthan) and wrong turns down one-way winding village lanes, we finally pulled up at the grand entrance to the Palace, finding ourselves at the bottom of a huge sweeping staircase in one of the most beautiful gardens on earth (lawn porn is an understatement). There were sprawling teacup roses and the yellow walls of the palace and its stone bollards were laced with India’s signature floral – the bright crimson creeping bougainvillea (which grows prolifically and wildly along the country highways too, making a lolly-like pink blur as you’re speeding by).

Samode Palace is almost five hundred years old and set in the rugged Aravali Hills of the Sherkhawati region. Originally built as a rajput fort, a nobleman by the name of Rawal Berisal had it converted into an extravagantly-designed palace during the early nineteenth century. Prettily decorated with incredibly detailed frescoes, the floral patterned murals tell stories of young maidens and their sweethearts, with peacocks, lions, tigers and elephants adding a dramatic, colourful blend of Hindu and Muslim influence to the outrageously beautiful painted tiles, glass and carved (camel) bone work.

Once we’d dropped our gear in our suite we were given a tour of the Palace by an elderly gentleman wearing a traditional white kurta and a bright red turban. He had great English and his grey moustache looked nearly as old as the Palace, twisted stylishly at both ends. He explained the dedicated and very specialist workmanship involved in creating the palace’s crowning glory – the hand-painted Darbar Hall and the Sheesh Mahal (House of Mirrors). With its many thousands of rubies, emeralds and sapphires embedded in silver to give a magical, glassy mirror effect, it was absolutely magnificent and completely overwhelming.

Given its grandeur it’s not surprising big block bookings of tourists flock to see the Palace nearly every day of the week. Because we were travelling on our own and not part of a (grossly over-priced) tour company, we were kindly invited to join the welcoming ceremony the staff were holding for a busload of French and American travellers who’d arrived from Jaipur the same day. The pageantry was out-of-this-world, with the hulking great silhouette of the palace and the fort ruins completely lit up with fireworks. There was a guard of honour formed by eight camels, rangoli stretching all the way up the main staircase and round all the fountains in each of the courtyards, and singing and dancing to traditional strings and drums. Afterwards, from the balcony of our suite, we were treated to a perfect view of local folk dancing – the jangling of the bells tied round the dancers’ ankles timed perfectly with the beating drums of the ballad tunes.

Taking in a royal spectacle of this scale is hungry and thirsty work and our thalis (which were enormous) of mutton, chicken, lentils and chick peas were hoovered up pretty quick, washed down with a gigantic bright red sangria served in a glass the size of a goldfish bowl. It was to die for!

The next day was huge. Fitting a city the size of Jaipur into just a handful of hours was always going to be optimistic but we made a good fist of it, leaving fairly early after breakfast for the Pink City. Our driver, Mr Singh, a softly-spoken man smartly dressed in a crisp white safari suit, collected us from the Palace entrance and tutored us along the way in Jaipuri history and the city’s main sites and monuments, including the Nahargarh and Amber forts, and the serenely beautiful and very picturesque Jal Mahal, the floating palace.

Jaipur’s population is just over three million and with all the tourists jumbled in it’s a melting pot of yelling, beeping, cameras, traffic – everyone aiming for the prized money shot or best deal. I absolutely loved the drive as we entered the city – so many gorgeous little vignettes of street vendors selling sweet bakery goods from their stands (the twisted deep-fried bright yellow pastries of all shapes and sizes emitting the most amazingly sweet sugary smells through the car air con!), stalls covered in thousands of fragrant garlands (mala) and buckets of petals ready-to-go for offerings, adornment or worship, plus sarees and block-print clothing and textiles as far as the eye could see.

And in amongst all this the most serene of them all – humble elephants padding alongside the traffic, their faces and trunks painted in decorative pastel Hindi patterns. Gentle ‘Madonna’ and her mahout charge came upon us out of nowhere, and after a few extra-special-trunk-cuddles we were completely in love with her enormous frame and the longest eyelashes you’ve ever seen. What a beauty!

In the confusing maze of narrow lanes stuffed with crowds and bikes, we stumbled across the best of the best in dusty, charming decades-old shops, rummaging through old photo negatives, prints, books and coins. We learnt pretty quickly how to politely rebuff the hundreds of hawkers so eager to sell you anything that wasn’t nailed down – the many silver and gem merchants being the hardest to shake by a long shot.

Weaving in and out of the crowds were the notorious crazy Indian dogs as well as smelly pigs completely coated in mud! Jit was able to sidle up next to a bunch of guys at a men’s urinal smack bang in the middle of the street. You can imagine the smell. As strange as it sounds, I do really love the smell of India. It’s one you just cannot put your finger on. You like it but find it strangely, grossly unattractive at the same time. The flowers, pastries, urine, exhaust fumes all blend together giving off this richly potent cloud of smoky, exotic and spicy – there’s nothing quite like it. One minute a beautiful burning sandal or cedarwood incense, the next you’re hit in the nostrils, both barrels, with a gut-wrenchingly offensive pungent sulphur-come-sewerage kind of something or other. It’s full on but over and done with in a couple of breaths… and then you’re completely distracted by the next thing and forgotten clean about it.

I think the hardest part of Jaipur was the haggling. Being together as long as we have we think we’ve mastered the knack of being able to tell what the other is thinking without having to say much. When etiquette requires it, it might only be a quick flick of the eye to know what’s meant (usually ‘let’s get the hell out of here!’). Not so with haggling. No amount of practise at home before we left was going to cut it for the real deal. For starters, we didn’t bargain on the fact our code didn’t cover all possible scenarios. The code (if I was interested in something I’d say to Jit “I don’t love it”) didn’t quite work when a vendor is offering up loads upon loads of things I-absolutely-do-not-want, and in a flap I’m exclaiming “no thanks I don’t love it, I don’t love it!” confusing Jit big time. Best Actress is not coming my way any time soon, because when I did see something I loved I couldn’t help but let everyone know around me that I did.

Of all the things I definitely wanted to leave Jaipur with, it was at least one saree. We spent a good couple of hours traipsing round and round the markets waiting for ‘the one’ to miraculously fall from the sky – there were just so many to choose from. Close to giving up, we (actually Jit – hot, dog-tired and completely bored out of his tree) suddenly came across a mysterious door looking like it had to have something interesting happening behind it – it was a bit like an entrance to a hive with plenty of to-ing and fro-ing. The shop also had a security guard – a good sign – and a big cabinet just inside the door where we could see everyone going in had to leave their shoes. This could be it! And man what a treasure trove it was. It turned out to be a very high end salon for young brides and their parents to travel to from all parts of Rajasthan to select their bridal gowns and wedding party wear. Upstairs was a long narrow mirrored hall, a bit like a catwalk with great big long benches down either side, behind which there were rows and rows of shelves of the most exquisite sarees and lehengas, and salesmen to help guide you through the selection process. A group of them took a very keen interest in dressing up the ‘white maharani from New Zealand’ like a doll in the charming, colourful and very expensive silks, and it got quite comical when some of the fathers and uncles with the other groups of customers chimed in with their opinions on what they thought was the right colour and style for me too! At one point the head heckler’s sassy wife jokingly piped up in Hindi “Hey, you’ve only got one to help today, focus focus!”

So that’s how I found my favourite saree in all of Jaipur. It’s gorgeous, under-stated and sophisticated in peach and gold, with an embroidered navy blue and mint green trim. Now I need to learn how to put it on properly – the guys at the store made it look so goddam easy!

With the shopping in Jodhpur and now Jaipur, plus the trinkets and momentos we’d picked up along the way, we now had quite the haul and not much room for it, so when we left the Palace for Ranthambore this morning, we circled back to Jaipur to see a courier about shipping another box home. It was a bit of a trick to find the small office in the second storey of a mall off one of the main streets, but we eventually did and after a chaotic Python-esque scene of four men (including our driver) taking almost an hour and a half to decide what might be the best sized box, then once we had everything in it, all four wrestling with more packing tape you’ve seen in your life to get it as secure as possible for its long journey home. At one stage I was offered a job by the head honcho after anxiously watching the clock and getting quite bolshy with how I thought it’d best be done! Before we left and after all the handshakes there were a couple of snaps taken with us – apparently we were the first foreigners in their tiny office. I’m not sure this bodes well for our box of treasures but once again I’m hoping the white rat comes through for us!

And after another long day being bounced around the backseat of a car, maniacally overtaking all and sundry (today I spotted a sign above one of the lanes at one of the many toll bridges for ’Cycles, Rickshaws, Animal-Driven Carts), and narrowly missing tired, hot locals trudging along on foot, here we are finally in Sawai Madhopur – a page in our Indian adventure torn straight from Kipling’s Jungle Book!