Mumbai to Udaipur

The snores of strangers lullabied us on the sleeper train, oddly soporific despite the awkwardness of having a full-grown man 3 feet away from you: there was a terrible moment in the morning when the man across the berth from me woke, at the very moment I was looking at him. I say moment, but it was more like 2.6 hours.

We bought some mango juice for a young girl asking for money - she wasn't at all grateful. "Beggars can't be choosers", Lissy told her, cringingly fittingly. Bid farewell to the Salvation Army and the creepy man searching for Bollywood extras.

We had a brill lunch - including some Indian ice cream, which was surprisingly tasty - at the Bombay Gymkhana club with Mrs Gill, before heading to the airport in the afternoon.

The slow clap of a lady across the aisle built up (the already massive) tension as we prepared for lift-off, our propellored craft trundling to the landing strip with the trustworthiness of a "full body massage" in a Bombay backstreet.

Fortunately I coaxed myself into a twix-induced sugar high as we rattled into the clouds - behind us lay "south India" (as categorised by LP) in its patchwork entirety, and the prevalent head-wobble which had wormed itself into our subconscious; before us lay the golden lands of Rajasthan, and the innumerable spectacles/surprises/scams it held for us.

"No chappati, no chai, no woman no cry" heralded our arrival in Udaipur and this state of princes, as spoken by our taxi driver. I think he was simply, genuinely insane - hilarious, but mad. He took a shine to us, suggesting we tour Rajasthan together/be best friends.

The pace with which we legged it into our hotel - the fantastic Sargam Sadan - was unprecedented, and rewarded by an awesome dinner in the rooftop restaurant overlooking the illuminated lake. Door double-locked just in case...

With love