Linda: You Can Take the Girl Out of the Country, April 3

You Can Take the Girl Out of the Country
But You Can’t Take the Country Out of the Girl
The Lake Palace Hotel
The Lake Palace Hotel is one of the premier world hotels. It is an 18th century palace built by the maharaja of Udaipur as a summer palace for his family and household. Its white marble shimmers on the waters (low waters) of the lake, a large, but lovely work of Indo/Mogul architecture. Eleanor and I have gazed from our ample and luxurious window seat across the waters for the past four days, curious as to what it was like there.
The morning dawns for our journey to this pearl. I am still awash with conflicting emotions as to whether we should spend so much money on a night in a hotel. We had a restful time at our present hotel with its beautiful courtyards and kind staff, who were happy to see us in Indian dress. We were even invited to a come to the end of a private puja in the hotel on the morning of Lord Rama’s birthday – something special and intimate. Why leave where one is content? But, the reservation is made and we are committed. Eleanor and I dress with care in our second best saris, saving our finest clothes for dinner. Luggage in hand, we are off to the Palace jetty.
Alas, the details that elude us hillybillys. As we come through the palace gates to the maharaja’s private jetty, we are greeted by beautifully and traditionally arrayed palace staff. We are warmly greeted with cool towels, water, and a place to sit under a tent by the jetty. But, there is no mistaking that we are not of the rich and famous. My Birkenstocks are peeking out from under my sari and Eleanor’s rope sandals are dangling from a backpack. We are obviously looking lost with so much attention, and, of course, our arrival is not in the royal Rolls Royce which often brings guests from the airport (for a fee). No, we spill out of a rickety autorickshaw loaded with backpacks and suitcases.
After a short wait and security check, we are escorted by shaded boat across the lake. Our bags are already on the other side. Hotel staff take our personal belongings and we walk up the red carpeted stairs, escorted by a traditionally uniformed palace guard bearing the royal umbrella to shelter me from the sun. He was enjoying my unexpected moment of royalty.
The hotel is lovely, and unlike the sprawling cities they call hotels now, it is a nice size – almost cozy. The lower floor is common area: a beautiful library opening onto an inner courtyard for the maharaja to view dance in a more public area, a sitting area and bar that had once been the royal court with the maharajas seat and private rooms for the ladies of the court to listen and advise. There are also two perfectly appointed restaurants, one of which retains the uncovered marble arches that would have been typical throughout the complex in the not so distant past. Windows abound and a cool breeze is felt wherever one walks throughout the palace. Through a corridor, one approaches the more private area of the maharaja with its exquisite Lotus Pool. The seat of the maharaja is on one side; this area is the last area where men would have been allowed, even as late as the 1960’s. Behind the maharaja’s seat (now a shrine to Ganesh) is a screen separating the zenana, or women’s court, and another beautiful green garden. Upstairs, there are marble terraces and alcoves overlooking the lake, as well as the rooms for guests. It is serene here, distant, apart. It was in the first moments of being here that I realized the intention of these elaborate palaces. It was to create a Paradise on Earth, a haven of beauty and peace, a perfect jewel in a difficult world. Thus, should all our homes be – a sanctuary and a place where the soul can be at rest.
Our room was beautiful in detail with inlaid Indian furniture and a pillow covered window seat overlooking the lake and City Palace. The room, it seems, was chosen with care, for it is a feminine room. Other rooms we peeked into were different. Eleanor and I giggled like provincials at all the little details of the room: the trays of bath products, robes, slippers, fruit and chocolate, the amply stocked bar, the Menu for Bedding (goose down or hypoallergenic blankets? body pillows? silk or cotton? The list of choices took two pages.) There was even a cloth cosy over the scale and the toilet paper! And there was the Spa Menu – six pages worth of choices.
The first hours here were a respite from travel. We sat in the library, sipping cool fruit drinks and looking at picture books about India. We spent two lovely hours sitting in the shade by the court, looking at the faces and places of India. Some of the places were now familiar, others were places we were about to visit. It was a happy, quiet time. In fact, it was extremely quiet! We had arrived early and for the first three hours, I saw no other guests at all. During this time, it was like being in a home. The discreet staff disappeared into the background, going about various tasks in regal attire and quiet slippers and we were alone with books. Guests begin to come in, some looking just as lost as we did. Most were in variations of shorts and blue jeans, so the tenor of dignity and beauty of form was now compromised. Western dress is so unbelievably ugly and unimaginative. Unfortunately, the Western slouch also often comes with the Western dress. The human form is so magnificent; it is a loss to see it diminished.
Eleanor and I leave the library and the trickle of guests for a luxurious treatment in the spa. It was expensive for India, of course, but about the cost of a massage back home. The spa is in the former Maharani’s (queen’s) private chambers. A bath is drawn with rose petals floating on its surface. Two hours later we emerge: foot bath in rose petals, a lovely scrub/mask with a kind of flour (besun) mixed with tumeric, sandlewood, and milk, a shower and a steam, and a delectable massage. Our skin glistened, rosy from the various herbs used. Shortly after, there is a little tour of the palace where we learn about its history and use. Sparkling wine in the Palace Court followed by a few hours of rest. Eleanor has a bath. I sit outside in a little alcove overlooking the exquisite Lotus Pool. An attendant comes and prepares our beds for the evening and tidies up our room.
7:00 and palace entertainment. A group of musicians and dancers come to perform in the courtyard by the library. They are the best public performers we have seen and give a lovely rendition of traditional Rajasthani music and dance: wailing voices, throbbing drums, singing violin, whirling women with veil and skirt floating, bells tinkling, arms moving in sinuous grace. Happy. Innocent. Lovely. A moment of beauty and joy. Afterwards, a sumptuous thali, the best tasting thali I’ve had in India. Thali is a traditional Indian meal where several dishes are served in small bowls on a large platter. In this case, the platter, bowls, and utensils were gold. (More giggles from the girls.) We dined for two hours, returning to our room to gaze out our window at the palace strewn city, whose lights twinkled on the whispering water of the lake.
In writing the description of our day, all seems lovely and serene, but conflicting emotions continued to play across my mind. A sleepless night. The food, too rich. The cost, too extravagant (even though my parents had given us money for the "do something that you would not otherwise do" and budget saving over the past few weeks). Part of me has been trying to reconcile all we’ve seen over the past week and a half. I understand the need for the massive fortifications. I understand the need for an abode of peace, of beauty, of serenity. I understand the regal need for magnificence and magnanimity, and its appreciation by all the people of every caste. And, certainly, the politics of the time required housing significant guests for long periods of time, seeing to their comfort and entertainment while important and potentially life changing negotiations are underway while seemingly lounging at table and sport. Then, there is the need for employment, something to provide the inhabitants of the kingdom with a means for caring for their own families. Thus, the simple fortifications grew, over the centuries, into these elaborate palaces. And yet, I do not really understand. It is all too much, too grand, too out of proportion. And here, in this land of the wealthiest kings in the world, the temples are small, the art work hasty. All is for the glory of the king; little seems to have been for the glory of God. In this regard, I much prefer southern India, where the king’s showed their wealth and means through the building of temples. They had their palaces, too, with the necessary courts and rooms, but it seemed more proportionate. They, too, employed many, but in projects such as temples which would provide sanctuary, medicine, and schools for all.
Perhaps there is much that I am missing. But at the end of the day, I am happy to leave this palace, to return to something more simple, and in that simplicity, more serene. Soon, we’ll leave: Birkenstocks and tatty cloth bags in the rickshaw to the bus station – and in our beautiful Indian attire. It is always a choice, my choice, to live beautifully, but simply. It is a choice which I renew with passing experiences, and which brings a joyful liberation. The freedom of nature for me, not the confining walls of a gilded palace.