Hand carved stone vessels, filled to the brim with scented waters and decorated with flower mandalas, have been placed auspiciously to guide our journey through ancient sandstone halls. I dip my head under carved arches and enter a courtyard of rambling bougainvillea in bloom ascending balconies of shuttered windows. I’m in the centre of a giant treasure chest. Climbing stairs to the grand entrance, I turn and survey what I’ve left behind; a spectacle of preserved history, secrets held in rooms and walls, mirrors striated with patina holding memories of ages and faces long gone.
Lilting and melodic Rajasthani music is playing in the main courtyard. We linger here only for a moment before we are swept into a private alcove and refreshed with lime soda and presented with the heavy brass key to the Maharajas Suite, an upgrade, courtesy of the owner, the Maharaja of Samode himself, His Royal Highness Yadavendra Singh with whom we’re conducting an interview. It’s also an excuse, of course, to taste the fabulous life of Maharajas!
There are no lifts in this stunning heritage hotel, and the porters carry our luggage on their heads up narrow stone stairwells, higher and higher, until we are settled in our magnificent room overlooking the dusky, sun drenched Aravalli Range. Eagles circle high above us, and flocks of rock pigeons swoop in formation around the grounds before settling back on the roof above our room at the highest point Samode Palace.
I stare out to the shimmering desert below, the silence, the solitude, the bliss of it all has captured my spirit. This is where I can dream for hours. A pattering of little feet is heard. A squeal of delight, ‘Look Mummy a bath in the middle of the room!’ In front of our four-poster bed is a huge bathtub with shiny old-fashioned taps and plenty of bubble bath that we enjoy immensely later in the night. Our suite also has a lovely dinner table for eight, a sofa you can snuggle on, a walnut-coloured desk at which one can pen letters or type engaging travel blogs.
The palace was home to Indian royalty less than a century ago, and we still feel taken into the welcome fold of a certain humble luxury by the wonderful staff, most coming from the local medieval village of Samode surrounding the ramparts. Every want and need is catered for and a there is a certain romantic magic that is subtly created here. It truly feels like you have come to visit a long lost friend in their house, albeit one of the grandest in India, rather than an anonymous guest at some five star hotel.
Exploring the Palace, we are startled to find immaculately preserved rooms of hand-painted glory depicting Krishna and his consorts in various stages of frivolity and elegant poise. The Mughal Mahal has secret windows and tiny rooms with walls are covered with scalloped cut mirrors, in our opinion the jewel in the crown of Samode Palace. And down in the lavish Dubar Hall, magnificent chandeliers quiver as they await the next imperial reception, a glorious example of Mughal design and architecture.
In the shine of the late desert sun, we sit beneath trees on striped towels, occasionally taking a dip in the marble mosaic swimming pool and later in the private infinity pool on a high up terrace.
Paloma is in heaven, playing with doves in the cool waters, watching out for cheeky long-tailed monkeys on the rooftops of the village below.
Later, under a little crescent moon we feast on delicious Rajasthani cuisine. Paloma is entertained by a traditional spangled puppet show and leaves clutching a pretty Maharani doll. Entering our suite, the covers on our bed have been folded back, music is playing and the lights are dim. Martini’s await Ben and I and we sip them looking out to a starry sky and muse on the goings on here of Rajputs of the past, dreaming of where our future adventures will take us.