Finally, I thought to myself, Rajasthan, the land of kings.
Udaipur did not disappoint.
We disembarked the sleeper bus at 5:30 am into a cold morning, and quickly ordered steaming glasses of chai to warm our bones. After some hemming and hawing, we ended up at a ghat near the Daji footbridge to start our search for a room. I was enthralled with the rising of a new sun and snapped, like, a zillion pics of Lake Pichola.
The maze that is old Udaipur captured my heart and my imagination. It is just what I imagined what India would be like, long before I ever started converting my wanderlust dreams into reality.
The buildings around the lake, save the palace, is at most three or four stories high, and does not consist of individual houses built against each other but seems to be long, oddly angled tracts of walls that happen to secrete living quarters (and who knows what else!) Only paint colors help differentiate this residence from that.
Cows and goats amble through the labryinthe of narrow streets, eating here and pooping there, never minding the constant flow of traffic screeching around them. Ladies peep through shutters either ancient or freshly painted, and children run through the alleys, shrieking happily, paying you no mind. (A stark contrast from the ever-curious children of the South).
Shopkeepers stand outside by their doors and do their best to ingratiate themselves with foreign passersby, and autorickshaw drivers are insistent when trying to offer their services. People hoping to get commissions stand at every corner and rarely take no for an answer.