We had the morning to see more of Jaipur but when Mr Singh suggested going to the City Palace (again), none of us were too enthused. Instead he suggested getting a 90-minute ayurvedic massage. Christine and I were sold, and after a little more time, Glen agreed too.
The place itself was not much to write home about. Dark and dank rooms in a rundown building with the staff using their mobile phones at the reception. No soft relaxing music or scent of rose and jasmine here. It all felt a bit grimy.
We were given our options with all three of us choosing a 70-minute basic ayurvedic massage and then each added a different 20-minute experience. I went for a hot poultice back massage thing; Christine for a face beauty therapy thing; and Glen for a sinus clearing thing. We were then shown to our rooms.
Glen and I shared the same room, a curtain drawn down the middle. We were told to disrobe then a flimsy loin cloth was put on us. Definitely no use in being coy about being naked in front of clothed men here. At least it was dimly lit.
I then sat and had oil massaged into my scalp for about ten minutes, the experience invigorating for the head, while at the same time feeling like a roly-poly white lump sitting on the edge of the massage table. Perhaps needless to say, I didn’t exactly find the whole experience relaxing.
I then lay on my back while he massaged my legs, arms, torso and belly; then I turned over and he worked again on my legs and my back. Strangely, he missed my neck which really could have done with some attention.
I’m not much of a fan of massages unless they’re therapeutic and really going for a particular knot. The relaxation kind makes me uncomfortable and leaves me feeling oily, unsatisfied and uncomfortable. On the whole this was no different. There were times when I felt relaxed but there weren’t many.
The hot poultice thing was a bit strange as the poultices had to be the right temperature or else they’d burn my skin. They weren’t always cool enough so I hissed a few times. Mostly the hot pouches smelt like chapattis so they made me hungry.
At the end of the 90-minutes, I was towelled down and then I dressed, the residual oil making my clothes stick to my body. The knot in my shoulder that has aggravated me for weeks loosened a bit so that was a bonus. I was happy to get home and shower.
The Drive to Ranthambore
There weren’t many things I desperately wanted to see on this trip to India. In fact, there were only two must-dos: the Taj Mahal and an attempt to see tigers in the wild. I’d organised for Glen and I to go to Ranthambore Tiger Reserve, a three-to-four-hour drive from Jaipur. Christine chose to stay behind and go shopping.
Mr Singh picked us up at 12:30 and off we went along terrible roads into country Rajasthan. While I spent most of my time reading (the roads unfortunately too bumpy for me to do any work without getting car sick), I occasionally looked out the window at farms and hut villages.
Despite the obvious poverty and subsistence living that these people had, there was something soothing about these simple dwellings. They weren’t part of the hustle and bustle of the cities with their mountains of rubbish, constant honking of horns in chaotic traffic, or the buildings in various states of existence or destruction. Instead there were fields of greenery, cows and other livestock, thatched roofs and mud huts that, even though I’d struggle to live in, had something wholly satisfying about them.
We zoomed past them and arrived in the town of Ranthambore, driving through it to our hotel. Mr Singh dropped us off and we checked in, seeing a few black-faced langurs hanging about in the gardens.
The hotel was fine. Nothing too fancy, but it was green and spaced out. Very attentive staff, including the manager who wanted us to put in a TripAdvisor review the minute we arrived, and then asked again after dinner. I told him, politely, to back off.
We dumped our luggage, I finished off some work for a client, Glen wrote some reviews on TripAdvisor. A group of tourists arrived and the wifi disappeared. We eventually went to join the ‘cultural’ program which was a bit of bad singing and tabla playing. I didn’t mind it so much as I was reading my book and enjoying being outside in the evening without the chaos we’d had over the past week. Glen, however, couldn’t stand it and went and hid in his room.
We had dinner, more overly attentive staff. Glen couldn’t eat much because of all the capsicum. I made do with what was there, and then we went and hid in our room until it was time for bed, both dreading and looking forward to our early morning safari to see the tigers of Ranthambore.
Travels with Dan 
What do you say, eh?