| Oberoi Udaivilas
By the time I reached the Oberoi Udaivilas
in the heart of Rajasthan - arriving, like the owl and the pussycat, in a beautiful, pea-green boat after crossing the still waters of Lake Pichola - it was my last night in India and I was thinking of home.
On my week-long 'Golden Triangle' tour, I had sampled 'street' food at a kiosk next to Delhi Station - and lived to tell the tale - walked and shopped my way through the streets of Jaipur or the 'Pink City' and sat on the very bench outside the Taj Mahal where Diana had played out the final days of her marriage to Prince Charles in front of the world's media.
Along the way, I had stalked whole tribes of camels and holy cows across the Dhoond Bridge outside Jaipur at dead of night, ridden an elephant up a steep mountain to a sixteenth century Moghul Fort and had discovered that the distinctive red circles worn on millions of Indian foreheads - bindi's - can be bought in convenient stick-on form if you find yourself outside a Hindu temple without a lipstick to hand.
I had slept on the softest of feather mattresses in hotel suites sprinkled with Bollywood glamour and had breakfasted on private verandas overlooking fragrant gardens of jasmine, mimosa and orchid; one of them patrolled by a brace of peacocks.
But just as I thought I had India taped, there was the 'White City' of Udaipur - where the sightseeing opportunities include ancient palaces and a sixth-century temple - and the unforgettable splendour of Udaivilas itself, built on a forest where panthers and tigers once roamed.
It took 20 years to produce this thoroughly modern monument to opulence - from the first tentative discussions between the Oberoi and the remnants of the Indian Mewar dynasty; whose defining emblem of the Rising Sun is reproduced all over the property - to final completion. But it was worth every minute of it.
At 30 acres in total, everything at the Udaivilas resort is on a grand scale. From the Oberoi Spa by Banyan Tree - which occupies two entire floors and offers more than 30 different holistic treatments such as ayurveda and aromatherapy - to the Candle Room; a miniature glass palace or 'Sheesh Mahal' constructed of 175,000 separate mirror pieces, Udailvilas and its hospitality are simply breathtaking.
For Mr Oberoi's teams of craftsmen and women, who spent months poring over hundreds of old manuscripts in order to replicate the interior design favoured by the Mewar's themselves, the painstaking authenticity has paid off.
From the numerous gold-leafed, silvered chandeliers, murals and frescoes inside the building to the half-hidden courtyards, walkways, sculptures and gently rippling fountains that lead guests to the exquisitely-maintained gardens, the hotel is a palace in grand classic style built to exacting 21st century standards.
I was to sleep in the Great Moghul Suite, my butler, Vanessa, solemnly informed me, ushering me into a cool living area from the heat of an intensely hot late afternoon and as soon as I crossed the threshold, I knew that all my previous hotels - grand as they had been - had been an enticing warm-up before the main event.
Designed in white marble, but with vast, hand-made rugs to soothe, the large sitting room hung with exquisite Indian art and murals has both dining table and chaise longue; the latter enticingly festooned with gold, silk cushions.
Next door, the enormous bed, framed in darkest mahogany and flanked by a pair of giant lamps, is raised just far enough off the floor to give it the flavour of a full-blown four-poster and its softness promises the most relaxing of nights.
It's still light enough to see a beautiful view of Lake Pichola and nearby, the sixteenth century City Palace as Vanessa draws open the heavy, muslin curtains to reveal elegant French doors and, astonishingly, my own private, heated pool, together with fully canopied, poolside dining area. I am temporarily speechless.
Later, it will be time to dress for dinner and meet the charming, Dutch-born manager for a three-course dinner on the terrace, where we will swap our experiences of Asia against a soothing background of Sita music and sweet-toned Indian bells.
But for now, before I tuck into lemon-grass soup and a Maas Ki Kadhi spring lamb cooked with yoghurt and the ever-present ghee, I am skinny dipping in a warm, blue pool overlooking acres of lush gardens and the lake beyond with only the cicadas and a complementary bottle of vintage champagne for company.
The return ticket to Heathrow doesn't seem nearly so appealing.
Virginia Matthews
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