Day 28 (23rd February) Bikaner to Mandawa

In the morning, we reached Mandawa, a small and rather nice town which had evidently seen better days because of the large number of havelis, town houses built by prosperous merchants. They are large buildings with numerous rooms built round a central open courtyard; an entire extended family would live there so (for example) if the parents had four sons and they each had four sons, there could be 17 families living in a haveli. They were presumably involved in the spice trade and, when it ended, the havelis were allowed to deteriorate into rack and ruin. An idea of what they once looked like can be imagined from our hotel which was very beautiful. We really enjoyed it apart from the fact that the restaurant did not appear to have any of the food listed on the menu.

A guide turned up to take us on a tour of havelis which, with a bit of imagination, could be visualised as they were in their heyday. They must have been a glorious sight with pictures of people, animals (basically elephants and camels), flowers and geometrical symbols painted on the walls. We visited seven havelis including the Jhunjhunu Wala (with a “golden painted room” which was alleged to have had 50 kilograms of gold leaf when it was built, but it seems to have been purloined), the Seth H.P.Goenka and the M.M.Haveli which Mr Mukesh told us should have been free to enter but some seedy looking men were demanding money to go in. The havelis were disgustingly dirty and it was very sad to see them being allowed to drop to bits by their owners.

Because the hotel’s restaurant had none of the food we wanted, we wandered round Mandawa looking for one and, in desperation, rang Mr Mukesh who came over from his guesthouse and took us to a little restaurant. It is what he called a “local restaurant” (where Indians eat) as opposed to a “tourist restaurant” which charges three times as much for the same food. The internet (bollox alert) tells us to beware local restaurants because we will get the shits. In fact, we decided when visiting Italy years ago that local restaurants are the place to go. Chairs with three legs, tables that haven’t been wiped for 25 years and service by a gross smelly baboon of a waiter scratching his butt-crack with one hand while wiping grease off the knife and fork on his string vest with the other, is the dining ambience we like. None of this Michelin Star crap for us. We get a splendid meal at very little cost. And despite the claims of the internet, we don’t get the shits. Au contraire, stool of perfect consistency. The local restaurant Mr Mukesh took us to was a delight, and the other patrons even called me back to tell me I had left my glasses.