Of all the countries in all the world, India least needs a festival of colour.
An ordinary day is a celebration of every shade – from canary yellow saris trimmed in light catching gold to resplendent red turbans, great big bundles of dusty green coriander, sacks of turmeric, cows sporting brilliantly blue horns.
But why stop there? In India, they welcome spring after a full moon in March by plastering each other with powdered pigments, during the festival of Holi.
In India, they welcome spring in March by plastering each other with powdered pigments during the festival of Holi
The night before, bonfires are lit to banish evil spirits – hot coals are taken indoors to cleanse the home – and Jaipur, where I am staying, glows beneath a smoky haze.
The following morning a street party outside my hotel, the homely 47 Jobner Bagh, swings into action, with bands, dancing, clouds of colour puffing into the air.
There’s drinking, even more hooting than usual from paper horns and concerts across the city. One jolly rickshaw driver cycles straight into a lamppost. ‘Whisky’ tuts my guide.
Big hotels organise events for tourists where they can ‘play’ at Holi away from the raucous pavements. But you might have more fun with the locals. Even if that means returning home with pink tinged hair. (Delhi airport bobs with fuchsia and purple rinses on the way home and my friend Jo sports a green streak).
Of course you don’t need to visit India for Holi, to appreciate its festival spirit. It’s a riot at any time of year.
And, for many, it is glitzy Rajasthan with its extraordinary royal palaces, decorative forts and the lake city that show off India at its best. This is a starting point for most visitors wanting to dip a toe into India’s extraordinary cultural offering.
Udaipur has much to recommend it – not least its old buildings and beautiful waterfront
Here, getting fort fatigue is more of a risk than Delhi belly. At Himayun’s Tomb, which was the inspiration for the Taj Mahal, in New Delhi I hear a weary American tourist bemoan ‘sometimes I get bored of splendour’.
Take a breather and go and see the house where Gandhi was killed in 1948. The museum, which gives an overview of his life and work, displays his worldly belongings – two spoons, two forks, one knife, a pair of specs, his walking stick, a stone, knife and stopwatch, stopped at the very moment he was shot.
No amount of fatigue, though, will dent your enthusiasm for the Taj Mahal in Agra, around a four hour drive from New Delhi. Yes, we’ve all seen it before in countless pictures, but in the flesh, it is still arresting in its pure whiteness, beautiful contours, utter romance.
They cleared the decks for William and Kate, pictured here earlier this year, on the famous Diana bench. Everyone else has to wait their turn (or pay for a man with a whistle) to have their photo taken.
Inside the tomb itself, it’s a bun fight. Silence is meant to be observed but as our guide puts it, ‘silence is not possible in India’. It’s a wonder the King and Queen interned below get any rest at all.
For a quieter view, you can go at sunrise to the Mughal park, Mehtab Bagh, on the opposite side of the river. Entry costs 100 rupees (£1) and there are barely any tourists.
Plus on the journey there and back from our hotel, the lovely, peaceful Trident with its gardens arranged around a cooling pool and delicious homemade pizza – you can watch Agra wake up with little fires flaming on the pavements, people brushing their teeth on the street, men gathering at the chai stalls.
For a quieter view of the Taj Mahal, you can go at sunrise to the Mughal park, on the opposite side of the river
Watching the world go by is one of the greatest pleasures of travelling through India. No matter how long the journey, you are unlikely to tire of the scenery.
The road to Jaipur – around five hours from Agra – is serene, with fields lining the roadside, women in gaudy saris carrying bales of hay on their heads and brick stacks smoking steadily. There’s even live drumming at the Welcome Break. You don’t get that off the M25.
After carousing at Holi in the Pink City (which is more of a terracotta), we fly to Udaipur and head for the newly opened, Bujera Fort, in a village outside. Peace at last.
It’s quiet, with sweeping views of the Aravalli hills and surrounding countryside, warmly decorated bedrooms, a drawing room with silver piano and its own vegetable garden. Here, you can eat salad worry-free.
This is a good place from which to walk, sunbathe and dip into Udaipur.
If you aren’t in love when you arrive, you most certainly will be when you depart
The City Palace, where Udaipur’s Royal family still live, has a vast collection of miniature paintings, sculptures, a silver gallery and peacock courtyard glinting with glass inlay.
There is tempting shopping nearby – Ganesh emporium is a fabulous trove of fabrics, antiques, enough bedspreads to fill Buckingham Palace.
Mayur Arts, which sells replica antiques, is so vast that apparently the Queen of Morocco ‘got lost’ inside for six hours. While the Dhan Mandi Bazaar is full of spices, vegetables, cane sugar juice bars and flower stalls selling temple offerings.
The lake is Udaipur’s star attraction and, perhaps the most romantic place to stay, is the Lake Palace on the water. A boat steers you there, red rose petals float over your head on arrival, a musician pipes daintily in the courtyard.
The small swimming pool with its pretty surrounding archways is bliss, especially as the light turns golden in the fading afternoon.
If you aren’t in love when you arrive, you most certainly will be when you depart.