Udaipur has really captivated me - lake or no lake. In a way, I think its task has been made easier by the fact that its chief charm has gone AWOL.

It seems a bit of a leveller somehow; the way the fancy hotels have been left beached and embarassed, for instance. It's very much 'the emperor has no clothes' - seeing what's left when all the outer trappings are stripped away.

We strolled out to the lovely-but-imposing hotel that rests in the lake's centre yesterday. It's unthinkable that one should be able to walk there, but it's true. Meandering along the elephant-cart tracks that have formed, we shared the dusty path with a motorbike or two, several dust-bathing cows, and dodged the occasional white 4WD that the hotel was using to shuttle disgruntled patrons to and fro its premises.

Management gave us a very frosty reception, but we eventually finagled our way in to check out the opulence. It was like the moat protecting a mediaeval castle had dried up, and its draw-bridge was hanging open - suddenly, the plebs are able to enter the inner sanctum with ease, and the royals are getting twitchy!

Being here is slightly sad, too, I suppose. That's simply because the delights of this place are very evident, and seeing it in its full glory would no doubt be impressive. I like the scrambling, tumble-down effect of the old quarter spilling towards the lake. I like the serpentine streets and the nightly wedding processions that fill the air. I like the curlique shape of the windows in our tiny room. I have to admit that in full bloom this place would be obscenely beautiful.

I am definitely chalking Udaipur up on the list of places in this world I would like to re-visit.

But I'm nonetheless enjoying the charms that its current naked state is offering, too.