The foyer of the palace

November 19

“We’re going to see a lion this time”, Gerald promises.  I’m not really paying much attention to him, because we’ve been jinxed for years in our attempts to see rare wildlife.  In Sariska, known for its tigers, we learned on arrival that the last tiger had been poached six months earlier.  The elusive tigers did not make an appearance in Ranthambore,either, despite our three brave attempts.  Surely in Nepal, the one horned rhino would be more accessible in Chitwan National Park, but just to make sure, we booked the super expensive jungle lodge rather than go to the more plebian hostels.  Mounted on elephants, we trekked through misty jungle, mossy vines covering the thick overhangs, both at sunrise and sunset.  Nothing . It seems that they had just cleared out a large area by burning, and scared away the animals.  We didn’t enjoy hearing the ecstatic exclamations of the backpackers the next day of all the rhinos they saw.

Arriving at our “Jungle Lodge” did not seem like an auspicious event.  It was run down, our room had mold growing all over the walls,and a big bug dropped on my head.  All this at $80 a night! Our big break was meeting Ian. He looked like a bedraggled, aging backpacker, but turned out to be a fascinating British Professor of Eastern Religions and Ceremonies, AND he was first on line for the necessary permit to get into GIR LION SANCTUARY.  Six people fit in a jeep so off we went at 3:00 pm.

I am still feeling hopeful, trying not to have any expectations, as I quietly I hum “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”.  Two hours go by, and other than hundreds of spotted deer, and a spotted owl, the place is quiet.  Then it happens.  I am sitting in the back seat, raised up a little,when the tracker points up ahead.  Right in front of us, no more than twenty feet is a huge lioness.  We slowly follow, snapping away like crazy. I have my telephoto lens,so the pictures are blurred because we are too close.

Coming up from behind

The spell is broken, and each jeep we pass with Indian tourists (we are the only foreigners) wants to see our photos and then gives us the thumbs up sign.  Apparently we are the only jeep that saw any lions that afternoon.  We poke each other and giggle like idiots.  The next morning at sunrise we go out again with Ian (maybe he is our lucky charm). First we see two lions, one male and one female, again very close to the jeep.  I  get cocky and joke that next we’ll see three.  In the forest, lying down peacefully are three lions, AND a leopard a little further behind.  We are beside ourselves, and giddily  signal to each passing jeep how many lions we have seen.  “Lucky foreigners” they say as we pass.  The word has gotten out that the “ferengi” (foreigners) have seen lions.

Mission accomplished we head off toward Wankaner where we have been invited to stay at the Palace of the Uraj and Yogini of Wankaner.  At our favorite restaurant in Udaipur we met the hotel owner and his family visiting from Gujarat.  The Rani was his sister, and she gave us the name of her cousin, and insisted we must visit.  She herself had a smaller palace near Ahmadabad and offered to host us if we had enough time.  After independence many royals retained their palatial residences and turned them into hotels.

As we drive up the hill, a majestic palace comes into view with the top of the tower broken off.  Further down the hill is a 1930’s estate where we have a room reserved.  It is like something out of Downton Abbey, and as the only guests, we feel like royalty.  Our room is the “French Suite”, replete with art deco furniture, paintings, and a beveled blue glass bathroom.

The palace of Wankaner

The Yogini has invited us for drinks and a tour of the Palace at 5 pm. Her husband is away for the evening. The entrance hall is dominated by two spiral marble staircases.  Huge animal heads cover the walls, trophies of numerous hunts, with dates and countries of origin.  We learn that the earthquake of 2001 destroyed the top pf the tower and some of the exquisite chandeliers in the foyer.  Until 2 years ago, when she married into this family, they still lived in the palace.  Now they are trying to turn it into a tourist attraction, and they live in the adjoining Zenana building.

The foyer of the palace

Back in our suite I decide to take a bath, but when I try to turn on the beveled glass faucet knob, it breaks off and shatters.  Then the toilet leaks and the floor is soaked.  Honestly, I don’t really care, the atmosphere is priceless.  The suite has three rooms and opens onto a courtyard where there was once a lavish garden and fountains with colored water.

In the morning we eat our breakfast on fine china, with the waiters hovering over us.

The perfect ending to a marvelous weekend.

“You have been to India many times”, comes as a statement, rather than a question from a shopkeeper in Udaipur. “I think you stayed here a long time”, he continues. Puzzled as to why this seems so obvious to him, I ask how he knows. “You wobble your head like an Indian when you speak”, he replies quickly.

India attracts several different “castes” of visitors. Of course there are the usual tour groups of Americans,French and Germans; cameras with huge lenses hanging off their shoulders, dressed in their R.E.I. safari clothes.

Then we have the individual travelers who can be distinguished by their dress as well. First timers, depending on the age group, will be wearing long skirts or harem pants and tank tops (the twenty to thirty year olds) or simple lightweight clothing with short sleeved tops ( the over fifty year olds). Frequent travelers will be in kurtas and long scarves of Indian fabrics draped in the local style.

Continuing down the scale is a group Gerald calls “The Tribals”. Blissed out/Bhanged out wanderers, with dreadlocks, nose rings, ear plugs and hippie era clothing. They can be of any age, and the younger ones may have their small children tagging along.

Where do I fit in? I’m always on the lookout for unusual tribal body adornments, so I try to wear some piece of Indian jewelry that will be of interest to local women. Add to that a beautiful, long saffron and red chiffon scarf with gold sequined flowers, and a head that is constantly wobbling, no matter what. It seems to work.